My neighbor Lori had a party last night. ALL night. No biggie, I can sleep through pretty much anything and I was listening to music through headphones anyway. However, rather than walk up the stairs to her front door, guests (mostly men) stood on the sidewalk out front calling her name, which is pretty much my name but for the spelling and the correct pronunciation which few use. (Except Shirley Jones on The Partridge Family. I think I loved that show because she always said Laurie's name the way it was intended--and I was young and David Cassidy was cute.)
Anyway, in my half-awake state I kept hearing, "Lori. Loooorrrriiii." At first it was creepy, like the gnomes had found their way out of that door in the back of my closet and were coming to take over my apartment. But then, the calls became both plaintive and lovesick and it reminded me of the words from Thunder Road (wait...or was it Jungle Land...let me see..yes, Thunder Road) "They scream your name at night in the streets....but when you get to the porch they're gone..." because when I rolled over and looked out the window to see why these men didn't just climb the stairs, they were gone.
I think I imagined half of it because I was really tired from waiting two hours for AAA to send a tow truck, making chit chat with said tow truck driver on our way to Van Nuys, talking to Max about what is up with my car and will replacing the used Ignition Module with a brand new one make Jamie last long enough for a trade-in, photographing random restroom doors for mockery, walking two blocks (which are more like 20 in the Valley) to the Orange line, being squished by a man who smelled like yeast (a smell that comes from drinking far too much beer the night before and will forever in my mind be associated with my ex-boyfriend, Jon), running for the Red Line, walking home from Hollywood and Vine, and catching up with my friend Russell, who happened to be on the Boulevard, while my Baja Burrito got cold.
And FINALLY watching "The Silence of Sleep" which has been waiting on my end table for two weeks. Could Gael Garcia Bernal be any cuter? Don't you just want to love him and pet him and call him George? Maybe it's just this movie (nah.)
I have successfully wasted the better part of today following random thought processes on the internet when all I originally logged on to see was the route for the LA Marathon because Tami is coming over later and I didn't want her to get stuck in traffic. I'm going to 7-11 now.