We were pelted with hail as soon as we stepped out of the cafe even though it was sunny and warm out, so naturally, we decided to go for a drive in it. L and I work well because he likes long drives, I like long rides, and the Pacific Coast Highway provides the perfect setting. The windows are down, the music is up, and his arm is out undulating with the wind. California’s confused weather creates rainbows everywhere we go. Life is good. :]

If you are up at 3am and not talking to me because the sign says you’re busy, I will ignore it if THERE IS A CAT THAT SOUNDS LIKE A FRIGGEN’ POSSESSED WOMAN MEOWING OUTSIDE OF MY WINDOW. HOLY FRICK IT SCARED ME TO DEATH. The loud meowing seriously was soul-chilling. Like I’m terrified to turn out the lights, because this cat was definitely not meowing at something Earthly. Or was it? I hope it was just in a fight with a raccoon or something. Either way, now I feel like a colossal idiot for immediately thinking that it was my mom being possessed. Christ, if I had been asleep and that thing woke me up? I probably would have started crying out of sheer terror. It was SO scary sounding!!

I swear, when I move out, I’m going to get a huge monster of a dog that would just eat the cat.

Luis (my old coworker): HAAAY, tell Karen to come back and volunteer here!
Mom: Can’t! She needs to get paid!
Luis: We’ll buy her lunch!
Mom: She doesn’t even have money to buy her bus ticket here!
Luis: I’ll buy her a bike!

Knowing Luis, it would be a bike from the Goodwill that he did Micky-Mouse repairs to and it would fall apart as soon as I got on. :D But he’ll have attached a basket to the front and put little tassels on the handlebars so I wouldn’t feel too bad.

I have this unfortunate habit of looking down at the shoes of the person who is in the stall next to mine when I’m in the bathroom. Don’t ask me why — I don’t really know. So when I was working at the DOJ, I’d often look down into the stall next to mine, if anybody was in it. So one day, I heard a woman whose feet looked like she jammed it into a poor set of pointy-tipped heels that was literally bursting at the seams humming something while she was doing her business. The frick? I didn’t know if the woman just had fat feet and every pair of heels she would wear would look like chubby little plantains shoved into pointy shoes, or if they were the heels themselves. Plantain Feet and I would often have awkward bathroom conversations while washing our hands at the sink. She was a pleasant woman, but I could not get over her feet (I also never caught her name, so I’ve been calling her Plantain Feet).

So I’m at Payless today looking for a pair of black close-toed kitten heels for my interview tomorrow and the hot salesman and I are deciding between a pair of shiny pointy-toed heels and a round-toed heel. The shiny one was obviously hotter and I was just about to buy then when I say loudly “Oooooh crap, I can’t buy these! What the frick was I thinking?!”

Poor hot salesguy. He is soooo confused.

“Huh? Why not?”

So I explain to him about Plantain Feet — the way her foot looked like little bananas smooshed into her heels, the fact that she would always hum some undefinable tune while she pissed, and how I couldn’t stop staring at her feet whenever she would walk by. “I can’t buy these! I have plantain feet in them!” Hot Salesguy looked at me as if I were crazy.

“So um . . yeah. I’m going to go ahead and buy these slightly-less shiny shoes now . . . .”