The Grass Is Greener

lots of rain will do that to a lawn. los angeles has endured a steady stream of mother nature's piss this past month, with the grass seed and compost in my backyard sucking up the rain, the runoff and then some to become an overgrown mess -- a veritable green afro of grass.

i don't mind because i love love love the rain. it gives the semblance of a season in this too temperate town known for perfect sunshine and year-round tans. it cleans the smoggy air and washes my car. and it provides the perfect backdrop for an evening of warm socks, a hot cup of mint tea and a rented DVD that i watch while juice sleeps beside me, her snoring head burrowed in my lap.

unfortunately, that scene has been difficult to reproduce since daytimes find me sitting in the titanium tower downtown while gazing out the window and wishing i were at home. then comes the evening commute, slippery and slow when wet. at least the view the next day is breathtaking.

april came out of nowhere, didn't it? this year seems to be zooming by, and i'm reluctant to catch up to it. what a cognitive leap to accept that the year is almost half over and i haven't done shit. again, i'm not sure what i expected to have done by now, but i'm sure i haven't done it. blame the rain.

my betta fish died and that saddened me. i never thought i gave a shit about that fucker until he went belly up (har har). but every morning, i would sleepwalk into my kitchen and sprinkle a few flakes into his bowl, tapping on the glass to beckon him to breakfast. "what are you going to do today, Fifi?" i would mock while preparing my coffee. "let me guess -- nothing!" i would cackle when he didn't answer me. he'd just swim away in silence and poop in his bowl.

my mom gave me Fifi two years ago and i almost flushed him down the toilet then, convinced as i was that fish weren't real pets. they were more like dinner -- salmon and halibut and orange roughy. juice was all the pet i really needed. then he died (of natural causes) and i realized how much i missed abusing him. it had become part of my morning ritual. so off to Petco i went and got myself a new betta for $3.95. in keeping with the west hollywood fetish theme, i named this one Butch. he's fiery red with blue speckles on his tail.

i also got a new bed. a queen on a queen finally! having slept on it for over two weeks already, i cannot believe i ever slept on that crappy full mattress i had before. flipside is that it's making getting out of bed each morning even more difficult. blame the rain. so that's a new and bigger bed and mattress -- and new pillows and sheets and comforter and duvet cover. i'm broke but sleeping like a rockefeller. a fresh coat of paint on the bedroom walls will soon follow, as will a new dresser and bookcase.

i can't believe how bourgie i've gotten. i went from being a goth in high school, when i wore doc martins and crushed velvet clothing to Cure concerts; then came college with its hippie-esque foray into corduroy and hallucinogenics; post-college style found me rummaging through san francisco's myriad thrift stores; and the move back to LA had me decked out in Hollywood hipster gear.

i'm quite concerned about the fashion sense i'll exhibit during my thirties. i find myself gravitating toward collared blouses and pants with pleats. i don't think i own a single concert T-shirt anymore. i also don't recall ever using the word "blouse" before starting my corporate job -- it had always been just a "shirt."

my new evening look has become "the sexy executive" where i throw one of my business jackets over a slutty top. but perhaps i should lay off the slutty tops? i don't want to be the past-her-prime girl out at the clubs looking ridiculous while trying to seem young. i'm thinking a more sophisticated look is in order. something more fitting with my new demographic. i suppose i should embrace it and become the bourgeois princess i likely have always been. but if i move to the suburbs or begin voting republican, please shoot me.