the los angeles kind

I’ve been trying to make this Grown Up Week, where I take care of all the grown-up things I have to do. I was going to get my new driver’s license, registration, insurance, get my oil changed and my smog check — basically do everything I’ve been putting off for too long.

Grown Up Week has proven even more difficult. I’m cranking away at my work, which always takes longer than I think it will, and other problems pop up. I’m trying to set up the t-shirt shop, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I’m trying to do it in a way that you can’t tell that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

I got my smog check/oil change yesterday and that took enough of the afternoon that I only got a bit of work done before I had to go to class.

Then I got home and prepared to study. Yeah, study. I have a test. A driver’s test. California wants to make sure you really know how to drive. The book is big and there are some different laws here in California than there were in Texas and all of my friends that have taken the test told me that they barely passed and I consider all of them smart people so I’m cramming.

I rescheduled the test until Monday so I can study. Also that gives me this weekend to stock up on beer, cigarettes and, I guess, porn because they’re going to confiscate my Texas ID and make me carry a paper one around. I get carded for rated-R movies. I’m sure I’m fixing to have a month of misery.

This morning Ray and I went to get a cup of coffee and ended up at an audition. It was for Absolut and they were collecting headshots at an open call. But it was also some sort of media circus, and Ray and I found ourselves being interviewed for Uncovered. He asked me if I had plans on being a big star and if what brought me to Los Angeles. “You don’t care,” I told him. You and I both know we came here for the free booze and there isn’t any.

The woman collecting the headshots told me that mine are very nice (it’s like, four years old and not like me at all) and said that I might want to get new ones anyway that look more like me on a daily basis. She said my look was popular right now. “Reality.”

Reality, people. That’s my look. Not the sex goddess or lust queen you drunkenly pass out next to after humping each other silly for three hours. I’m the puffy-eyed, gravel-voiced, dirty fingernailed grumpy girl that wakes you up the next morning by shouting, “OW! You’re on my HAIR, fucker!”

She said I’m a prettier Sarah Jessica Parker and then told me not to tell Sarah she said that because Sarah and I are clearly old friends. Actually, there’s a way I could tell her myself if I ever get to visit my friend Alex, but whatever.

I spent the afternoon working. Because of the school shooting today they didn’t air that fine entertainment television program and my possible .02 seconds of fame was pre-empted for coverage of police statements.

Then this afternoon I had every intention of writing an entry but instead I spent the entire time glued to the television. You see, I’m still kinda new to Los Angeles, so I find every police chase incredibly fascinating. And there I was, the time just racing by, staring at the screen wondering why this man kept going in circles on the highway, smoking a cigarette, just leading cops in a giant loop four times. The phone would ring with news of the outside world but I didn’t listen. I wanted to know if the guy was going to head back to the scene of the crime outside Compton.

Some thoughts going through my head during the pursuit:

I wonder where that is. Is that near me at all?

There’s a highway called 601? I wonder where that is.

Channel eleven is covering this, too.

Ooh, he almost hit that car.

This man is an excellent driver. Eric would be so impressed with the way he swerves around traffic.

Back to channel seven. I like them better because you can hear the helicopter in the background. It sounds more official.

I’m thirsty. Oh, hell. He’s getting back into traffic. I’ll get some water later.

Ray just called with good news. I don’t have time to congratulate him.

He’s smoking a cigarette! What a bad ass!

Channel eleven.

They just said that if he had a full tank of gas this chase could go on “forever.” And the rest of the newspeople and the police officer agreed with him. I love it.

He rolled up his window to smoke his cigarette. He is crazy.

Channel seven. Eleven. Seven. Dammit! Someone get a tighter shot! I wanna see what he’s trying to find in his seat cushions!

stee just called to say he saw Dave Navarro at the Coffee Bean. Why can’t I get more excited than this guy— OOH! He almost hit that car.

He’s sure driving fast, there.

Channel eleven. Seven. Eleven. His wife is following the cops in her own car? I love it!

Ooh! He almost hit that car.

I’ve been watching this for over an hour.

Channel eleven.

He’s made this loop four times. He’ll never lose them if he keeps driving in a circle.

City of Compton! All I ever needed to know about Los Angeles I learned from Snoop.

An hour and a half later Ray came home with some dinner right as the car had driven into street traffic. I yelled to Ray that his timing was perfect and we were about to see the final throwdown. Would it end with gunplay? Would he run on foot? Would he kill himself? Would he escape? Would he get away?

“Oh NO!” Ray shouted. I turned around.

Ray had dropped a Carl’s J. Bucket O’ Diet Coke on the floor. All over the table. The table that had my laptop.

I swooped it up and started drying it with my sweater sleeve, my sock, anything that would absorb. The mouse stopped working and I was trying to shut the computer quickly down. I finally got the mouse to work enough to shut down when I heard behind me:

“Well, it’s all over.”

I turned around to see the suspect cuffed and on his stomach on the street.

“DAMMIT! I missed it! I spent two hours of my life waiting to see what was going to happen! Dammit!”

“I ruined everything,” Ray said.

We dried the computer with a hair dryer. We mopped and dried and Windexed. We celebrated Ray’s possible good luck today. I ate a weird chicken sandwich. And I’m impatient, so I turned the laptop back on, even though I can still see a small puddle of Diet Coke trapped under the plastic on the front of the machine. I had to know if it worked.

And now that I’ve finished this entry, I think it pretty much does.

[db]

More sxsw recaps at Allison’s and anna beth’s. Poor Anna Beth, having to meet Bob Marley without anyone to help her.