So, I did it

I went to Lamill coffee yesterday, traitor that I am, and as much as their menu sounds delicious I think they are definitely not a significant replacement for the Backdoor Bakery.

1. The first thing I noticed was that their outdoor area was significantly lacking. 4 tables and certainly not enough space for us locals and our dogs.

2. once inside it looked like a P.T.A. meeting from my sister's school in northridge had let out early.

3. This morning, while walking by with my dog I heard a woman in Gucci with fake boobs squeal, "what is this neighborhood? It's soooo cute! We should spend more time here!"

4. Coffee the size of one of my (very small) dog's ears for $4.

5. No trash can?!

6. No sweetener?!

7. A dog trough out back, which I didn't bother to go look at as it seems they would have been better served by creating more patio space, especially given that my pup weighs 4 pounds and cannot really be left alone with other, much bigger dogs.

In short, I will be walking up to Tropical for my morning coffee. We have no need for a little taste of brentwood in our home space.

One update on the move and they evil bitch that threw them out... Moderna Salon has 2 signs in their window.

1. Moderna Salon wishes Backdoor Bakery all the best in their future endevours.
2. Moderna salon welcomes Lamill coffee (followed by the address).

Truly, truly disgusting.

The end of an era

The Backdoor Bakery is closing, which is a perfect example of everything that has become wrong with Silver Lake. No, I haven't been here forever and maybe I am part of the problem in that I drive a jetta, but I can honestly say that what drove me out of hollywood and other parts of L.A. has followed me here. When I moved into my first apartment I was delighted to find a little coffee shop within walking distance that offered friendly faces and delicious treats for me and my pup. As I began frequenting the place more and more I got to know the owners, met their kids and the other regulars. I can't think of too many other places like that. I don't even have to order anymore, they just know what I want. Now that they are closing I am sick to my stomach at the options left to me. I can go to 7-eleven for coffee (blech!), I can go to the new (chain) place opening up down the street, which I can pretty much guarantee will NOT be the family place the Backdoor is, or I can get in my car and drive somewhere that is family owned (overuse of gas= not good for the environment). So my options suck. I guess it's time to move again, but where to?

the toothbrush

A foreign object has taken up residence in my bathroom. It's not actually foreign, it's more like a new addition to the family. I mean, it speaks the language and everything. It's rather small but it's prickly presence packs a wallop. It's red and cavorts with mine like they have always known eachother. They mingle and sometimes lie down together. Sometimes their bristles even touch. One is mine and one is hers. In case you are slow and hadn't figured it out, it's a toothbrush. Unassuming, it just sits there and mocks me anytime I brush my own teeth or wash my face or pop a zit. Sometimes when I look at it I wonder, how did I get here? Who is this woman that gets out of my bed in the morning and brushes her teeth in my sink. the panic is insignificant, but it's there, bubbling and then I see her and I remember. She is the stranger that I think about when I fall asleep alone, the stranger I think about when I wake up in the morning. The one person that makes time slip away that I actually want to sleep with. The person who makes me smile, makes me laugh uncontrollably. I hardly know her. I've only just met her but with this toothbrush I am tied to her and, strangely, that's okay. At first it scared me because I could almost see the U-Haul truck it was towing up the street behind it but then I realized, hey, it's just a fucking toothbrush. And like any new relationship you can chuck it in the bin right away or use it for two weeks six months or... well, you probably wouldn't want to use it for the rest of your life, but give me a break, it's a metaphor. The funny thing is, it slipped in just how she did, by accident. This quiet little woman just appeared in my life one day, an unexpected remedy for something I was quietly ignoring.

The nose as a window to the soul?

Smells have been on my mind recently. Not just the kinds of smells you can buy at any perfume counter or soap store but that basic, underlying personal smell. Even as a small child I was fascinated by it. I used to revel in telling people about their smells, I used to make character judgments based on them and I suppose I still do. I remember once trying to explain to a friend in the second grade how she had such a strong smell and I loved it and I wished that I had one when she informed me that I did, in fact, have one but she couldn't nail it down and it didn't matter anyway. I forgave her because we were only seven at the time and had not yet found the words to describe certain things. I chalked it up to a general lack of intellectual maturity. I don't have to concentrate hard to recall her smell, she and it are strong in my memory. It was clean and sweet and permeating. 

 I rarely notice personal smells anymore and I think that's because I can now pretty well put my finger on the source of a particular scent, be it soap or detergent or perfume; most of the mystery is gone. On occasion there is a scent or combination of scents that really sets a person apart in my memory and there is no replicating it. That's when the old intrigue sets in. Sometimes, as recently happened, a smell will be so overpowering as a memory in itself that one sniff alone is enough to send me crawling back to the first instance of heart break. Strangely, it is the basic feeling,  rarely the person attached to it. Sometimes I find myself wondering if my feelings would have been so strong if I had smelled that one particular scent out of a bottle instead of on a neck. Evidently I am not the only person to have this particular reaction to this particular fragrance. I was in a shop recently and the saleslady handed me a bottle that was all "him". It was the fragrance that an ex spritzed liberally. I said as much to the salelsady and she laughed saying that a customer had just been in and when she smelled it she said, "Wow, I stayed with the same woman for ten years based on how she smelled and this is it. If I knew you could get it in a bottle I would have dumped her years ago."

I also think a person's unique smell says a lot about their personality. A dear friend of mine has a smell that whispers who she is before her mouth says a word. It is a combination of the heady, classically scented candles she loves that so often bring a wrinkle to my nose just before they invite a headache to stay the night and a little vial of oil she rubs behind her ears, and on her hands in a pinch. The latter is more descriptive of her. It is soft, musky, floral, wispy and unassuming. Sometimes you can't miss it, it walks in, holding her hand and loud and clear says, "hello, here I am!" and other times you really have to take a long deep breath of her to even get a hint of it. The great thing is that this is her in a nutshell. Being that these women, their scents and personalities have had such an effect on me I have become rather keen on figuring out what my smell is and what it says to the world.

In the past I have had friends tell me that they smelled a perfume that smelled like me. Usually it's something I have never tested, much less worn. The one the is most often happens with is Marc jacobs, though any white floral evidently used to smell like me, even when I refused for years to wear perfume. A former girlfriend offered up her opinion without my having to ask. She once said, "You always smell so amazing and clean, I've never meat anyone who naturally smells like you". Another time she picked out my shampoo as the magic smell, underlined with cake. How the hell does a person smell like cake??? I haven't the faintest. 

My current girl, I flat out asked her what I smell like. She thought for a minute and said, "you always smell good, you smell like cookies and flowers and... well... every part of you smells like something different. You smell like a very expensive soap shop". When I told her of this little essay her response was, "did you mention the cigarettes and expensive lady perfume?" I'm not sure how I feel about that. She has a very sensitive sense of smell, so maybe she is able to pick out the different scents. Of course, I have been rather experimental in the fragrance department as of late, whereas with the first girl I was at my olfactorily plainest as I was traveling without perfume, scented soaps or creams. This worked out for us I think partially because her scent, like her, was overpowering, loud, at times antiseptic and grating while still somehow being mysteriously lovely. I had no room to add more to the olfactory party. Hmmm, sounds a bit like our relationship. 

I guess, for me, the nose is the window to the soul...and the future... and the past.

its all about me

I wish I could tell you what sent me to cafe tropical in my pajamas with my underpants in my purse, but it really isn't my business to tell, so I will just start at the moment I pulled up. It was about 9 a.m., pretty early for me to be up as of late and I thoouroughly blame this early hour for my decision to walk into a coffee shop wearing sports themed p.j.s with a bang shield of death balanced precariously on my forehead. Oh yes, it was that bad. This wasn't just any coffe shop either. THis was the place I go to EVERY DAY, as do many, many, many people I know. This place is like fucking mayberry. SO I walked in and pulled out my wallet so that it would be at the ready. Fine, right? Yeah, sure, except that along with my wallet came a a purple lace monstrocity that I am sure everyone and their mother noticed. At that point I chased it around the floor for a minute until i managed to capture it and lock it back in it's cage. It was touch and go for a moment there. I didn't even get any coffee. I just hauled ass out of there. I can only imagine what the other patrons must have been thinking... "Who is this crazy lady in the weird outfit with that thing on her head doing chasing around a pair of panties. She's obviously an exhibitionist because she didnt even buy anything!"

and no, the scenario that lead up to this is not AT ALL what you might think.

SO today, same fucking cafe. I walk in wearing my new dress. Having the kind of day where things are going pretty well. (except for being sent home early from my volunteer position and walking around all day with a hole in the back of my pants.) As I walked in I thought I saw someone I knew, years ago. years ago when I was fat and miserable. Um, right, because I am so skinny and thrilled now, well, im pretty happy, but I digress. So i went in, got my coffee and as I walked out, thinking, "oh, look at me, I'm a grown up now, with a special dress and hip bones" I nonchalantly took a sip of said coffee, pouring it completely down the front of my dress. That's fine. Just fine. I brushed it off and got in the car. I don't even think he saw. That is until I looked over and realized that it WAS him, got out to say hello and announce that I was wearing my newly purchased beverage. I don't have the time to go into the full four part harmony of the thing but let me tell you, I'm still kind of laughing. I love my life.

Hot Nuts!

I travel sometimes, I used to travel a lot more. Sometimes I miss it so I frequent various travel and air transportation websites and read people's stories just so I don't feel totally out of the loop. Vicarious travel, if you will. I read them all, the horror stories, the reviews of in-flight entertainment, which airlines had the hottest staff, who serves the best hot nuts the fastest - wait - hot nuts? What hot nuts? The more I visit these sites the more I see that they're everywhere. Every site has multiple threads and posts dedicated to these little warm airborne gems and I had never even heard of them. From L.A. to Chicago to Shanghai to Portugal first class passengers are enjoying and devouring the objects of intrigue. Hot Nuts!! Now, not only have I been a very frequent traveler in my life, but I have also been a very frequent first or at least business classer. AND I HAVE NEVER HAD HOT OR EVEN LUKE WARM NUTS. Never even been offered them while the posters on these boards have apparently had them enough times to be able to tell you which airline has the best ceramic bowls to serve them in and who has the best variety. It makes me wonder. What have I done to deserve no nuts? Do I look like the kind of person who dislikes hot nuts? Do I look like the kind of person who would turn up her nose and wave away hot nuts? No, I don't. 

I look like the kind of person who would welcome said nuts with open arms and an open mouth. I would love them gently but with passion. I would take them in my fingers and lovingly place them into my mouth where I would crush them with the delicate precision only incisors are truly capable of. Then I would send them sailing down my esophagus where they would enjoy the company of their fellows who had gone before them. Yes, I have great plans for my future nuts and I'm ready and willing to put them into action. You hear me flight crew?? Action.

Obey the rules of traffic!

You know what's really fun? Walking faster than a snail crawls. You know what else is fun? NOT stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to peruse your map. I know it's a tourist mecca, what with all of the chain stores and homeless people offering their services to relive you of that burdensome change, but that does not mean that we all just want to amble about and look at nothing. Some of us actually have a place to go, a purpose for being on this god forsaken street. I get it, I too am sort of a tourist in this town but please, for fucks sake, pull over!!!