Slave to my sun sign

Don't you love when you're horoscope actually corresponds to the day you've been having? Here is my horoscope for today--Sagittarius, in case you've forgotten or just didn't know.

Sunday, Jun 29th, 2008 -- Your inspiration today may come from the simple fact that you are running out of time and if you don't act soon, you'll lose your chance. The pressure to start something now can motivate you to act with great intensity, whether or not you will be able to sustain your current passion. But it really doesn't matter what you do or how long you continue it. What's most important is that you undertake something -- anything -- as soon as possible.

Today is Criss Chase's birthday--you know, the future recipient of the currently-stalled awesome project. I need something to give to her tomorrow when I see her and while she's been a peach with the whole "you don't have to give me anything" business, I would feel bad showing up empty handed. My bank account is depleted so I can't get cake fixings (oh, the cake will be made but maybe Wednesday) and I just cannot afford to buy anything as a gift. What to do??

"WRISTBANDS!!!! Oh hells yeah," that's what my Crazy said. My Crazy has obviously been talking to Carla's Crazy because next thing I knew I was tearing around my apartment trying to find THAT yarn, the one I knew I had and knew would be perfect for the retro wristbands I wanted to make for Criss, which truth be told is just more of the Rowan Cashsoft I used for the baby cardigan. I found the yarn and jumped right in. In little over an hour, I had one done--duplicate stitched and all, my friends. It says "Great job," which is not me bragging but rather a catchphrase from one of her favorite shows*. I tried it on and it's just a tad tight. Plus, the seaming is just a hair off. "I know," said Crazy, "knit them in the round and intarsia the wording!"

I've begun another and so far so good, but I had to stop for a nap and food. I'm sure I'll finish tonight...maybe just barely. Who needs sleep anyway?


*Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job!

Friday Rambling

I've been busy, busy, busy this week and I feel like I haven't blogged in a long time. But, no, it's only been since Tuesday. Let's see, what's going on in the land of Laurie Ann?

Well, today is my mom's birthday. She's xx years old today--I'm too lazy to do the math. I didn't get a chance to call her because I felt like I was being monitored by some people in the office who recently got a bug up their collective asses about what I do all day. Since today's tasks largely involved Internet research, the casual observer would probably think I was goofing off. I was also an emailing fool and checked my phone often because one of the folks I was dealing with was texting me. Some people should mind their collective business and not worry about what I do all day. It's not as if I'm overpaid or anything.

I fell off the no-sugar wagon with a thud. I ate all that lovely fruit by Wednesday and I was stressed--and the boss has a big dish of Jelly Belly beans on her desk. I'm not beating myself up, though. I'll just start all over again and take it day by day.

Frau sighting!! I got home yesterday to find Frau on my front porch. She watched me park, saw me get out of the car, heard me say "Hi Frau (not really, I used her name)" and yet, she stood there knocking on my door and looking annoyed that I wasn't answering. When I finally walked up the steps she said, "oh, I thought you were home." My rent is going up. She seemed very pleased with herself that she was only raising it 3%. She seemed to want me to thank her profusely. "Thank you, Frau. Thank you so much for not raising my rent the whole 5%. You're the best."

And just because I can feel your eyes glazing over and hear the stifled yawns, here are some visual aids for you. Do you see that gross stain on the head rest? How dirty is that person's hair? If you're using enough hair product to crust up your head rest, put a cover over it. I don't speak or read Spanish (see the Rodeo Grill incident) so I'm not sure what this says, but I'm thinking they either sell tamales or the fixings for tamales, as this is some kind of grocery store (corner of Vermont and James Wood). However, the picture? Doesn't look like any tamale I've ever eaten. It looks like Mr. Hanky, the Christmas Poo. I laugh every morning.
Jamie should totally have this paint job to distinguish her from the plethora of Jettas on the road. It reminded me of a car Billy Logue, a former co-worker, used to drive that was painted like a bomber plane. Oh, and there was a car in my neighborhood when I first moved to LA that was covered in fur. Tami and I were in awe because that would never fly back in Pennsyltucky.

Stalled

My awesome project is on hold due to my sudden lack of enthusiasm. For one thing, it's going to take forever, which is okay because I already warned Criss it would most likely not be done for her birthday. For another, I think it's too wide and too thick for LA. What to do? I'm sending this out for those of you who have seen the project and know what it's all about. If I switch from in the round, should I go with ribbing or seed stitch. If I do that, it will change the pattern. How can I do it without making the back side look backwards? Any suggestions?

Naturally sweet, just like me

Yesterday while consuming a pint of Ben & Jerry's Peach Cobbler ice cream, I told my friend Criss "I'm never going to be able to cut sugar from my diet if I keep going out and buying more." She gave me the proper admonition ("Stop It! Stop It! Stop It!) and I decided that the best way to avoid the processed sugar trap is to have a better alternative.
With this in mind, I bounded out of bed this morning with renewed motivation and headed over to the Hollywood Farmers' Market at Ivar and Selma. I loaded up on fruit-- Strawberries, blueberries, peaches, cantaloupe, and tomatoes--then came home and immediately washed and cut all my fruits into portions that I can take to work all week. Unfortunately, with so much deliciousness, I may have eaten a whole lot of my week's supply today. Doesn't this look irresistible?
And these? I just can't wait to slice them and eat them. I should probably make a salsa too, but that would require onions and stuff which I didn't buy because it was too hot to mill about. I bought bread, too, from the tattooed guys from Rancho Cucamonga because it's too good to pass up--sourdough and cranberry walnut. mmmm

Next week, if it's not too damn hot, I'll actually take my time and see what kind of veggies I can stock up on. Veggies take shopping skills, you know, and possibly a meal plan, because the impulse buy of "Hey I haven't had brussels sprouts in years" will just lead to brussels sprouts rotting in my fridge. Then again, I saw beans and I can eat them raw as snacks.

Introducing...

Hello. My name is Indigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to---Hey! Look! A turtle!You know, 'cause fish have short attention spans. Anyway, the fish is now Indigo and the turtle is Fezzik, of course. I shall have to knit some accoutrement for Fezzik as has been suggested. I'd knit them for Indigo, but well, he's a fish.

Ladies Room of Salvation

Co-worker Leslie was washing her hands alongside a woman from one of the other offices when the other woman said, "Lord Jesus, have mercy on my soul," out loud and continued to wash her hands.


What on earth had she done in that last stall that required such a declaration?

Good excuses for taking the day off

Pain: My arms and shoulders are killing me after carrying a half dozen lawn chairs to the meeting yesterday. And lest you think me a total wuss, I'm not talking about this kind with the aluminum frame:I'm talking about this kind with a heavy metal frame: Criss carried the other six. I was also carrying my purse, my briefcase, a bag of deflated beach balls, and 15 42-page packets for the meeting. My arms really hurt.

Unfinished Projects: I have 10 days to finish the awesome project I started last week and it is just far too hot to knit. Guess what just became a Christmas present? Now I'm stuck for a birthday gift but I have some ideas for store bought items. I don't want to do store bought, but it looks like I shall.

Police activity right outside your door: I walked outside to check my brake fluid, a deciding factor on whether to take the car or the bus today, and found two police cars, lights flashing, in front of my house, one in front of my car. I almost ran back upstairs to hide until I saw my neighbor's male friend (I don't know if he's her boyfriend) in cuffs at the bottom of her stairs. She was on the porch talking to an officer who was telling her, "you did the right thing." I'm so curious. [brake fluid was fine...took the car]

Cramps: 'nuff said.

Heat: My GOD! If it weren't so freakin' hot inside my apartment I might have been tempted to call in sick. As it is, it's cooler outside than in.

I did go to work only to have a couple of geniuses decide it was a good idea to drill next to an outlet because it's not as if there are ELECTRICAL WIRES behind an outlet or anything. They killed the power to the HR office, the CEO's office, and my office. You never realize how dependent on computers we have become until you can't check your outlook calendar or your contacts or the database. Yowza! And it's not going to be fixed until maybe tomorrow provided they find the super secret breaker panel that connects to those three offices and only those three. Woo Hoo!

Too hot and tired

I had a meeting today at a fancy club downtown. This is the view from the ladies room--yes, the ladies room.
The photo was actually taken while sitting on the toilet because I'm klassy with a K. I kept expecting the police helicopters to fly by and wave. Isn't it lovely? I mean, if it weren't so smoggy? The bathroom was ultra luxurious. I didn't want to leave.

The meeting was, well, you know, a meeting. Afterward, I was cranky and stressed, so Terry gave me a cup of tea that she got from some little shop that probably sold Mogwai in Chinatown in San Francisco. It was leaf tea and she tucked it into this cute little teabag for me. It was called Vanilla Orchid. Well, I don't know what was in it besides tea leaves but after sipping for 30 minutes I was mellow as all get out. It wasn't until I told one of my least favorite co-workers, "Don't you look cute today," that I suspected I had been drugged. Terry swears there's nothing in there but I'm not buying it. I wanted to make a pitcher of Iced Tea for the boss. hmmm, maybe tomorrow.

Look what I did!

It's finished!! Hooray!!
Jaclyn, if you read this, this is for Julia. I just have to block it.

[edit]: I need an intervention. I was so happy with this yarn and inspired by Molly's bathroom rug that I cast on a mitered square blankie which may or may not be finished before Julia's first birthday. This is in addition to the project I started on Saturday at SnB, and the Lacy Ribbon scarf I cast on last Tuesday because I finally got around to winding some hand-dyed Merino I won in a contest and had to knit something with it. That's three current projects--one due on the 29th, one due whenever, but preferably before the girl goes off to college, and one for myself that will take forever to finish.

Hooray for Dads

Happy Fathers' Day to :

• my brothers Michael, Brian and Roy, fathers to Michael, Sarah, and The Roy respectively.
• my brother-in-law, Michael, father to Niko, Elyse and Mary Kate.
• Bryan Wallie, my best friend's husband, and father to my Godson, Dan.

Lastly, Happy Fathers' Day to my own father, Jake, whose sense of humor was apparently passed on to his children, because we are some damn goofy folks. Don't you love the daisy behind the ear? Goon.
Some random musings about Jake:

• He can sing and loves him some Battle Hymn of the Republic. They used to sing it a lot in our church at the end of mass and Dad would belt it out like it was his job. (For years I thought the chorus was "Laurie, Laurie, Hallelujah.")
• His real name isn't Jake. It's Martin. Or maybe Marlin? There's some confusion around that, but Jake is what everyone has called him for forever. Anyway, it makes for some great opportunities to drop a "Forget it, Jake; It's (insert town name here)" into any given situation.
• He would dance in the grocery store aisles and sing to the music playing, which makes you laugh when you're five but makes you want to die when you're 19 and he's singing and dancing to Bruce Springsteen and you know the cashier.
• The grocery store? No quick trips for my dad. He knew EVERYONE in our town (it's small) and would have to stop in each aisle to shoot the shit for a while. I swear trips to the store with Dad took hours.
  
• The goofiness!? Oh, it's a public spectacle. Besides the singing and dancing, he has been known to adopt a speech impediment, a limp, and various other affectations while in public places purely for my amusement/ embarrassment. Not to be outdone, I then am forced to embarrass him--like the time we passed a corral of goats outside the feed store and I asked, "Did that goat just call you Daaaaaad?"Or when I told him very loudly in the General Store, "Hey Dad, they have that issue of Jugs you've been looking for."
  
• Without getting into old wounds about his not being around a lot after the divorce and all, I will say that Dad gave me some very sage advice when he was around. I'm not saying I always followed his advice (because I'm stubborn) but looking back I see that he was right and I should have followed it.

So, since I know Daddy reads my blog now and then and I hate trying to find an appropriate card, I'll use this as my Fathers' Day card and say, "I love you, even though...because of...no matter what."

A good Saturday makes up for a crappy week

I got up early (for me) and went to the monthly Saturday Stitch 'n' Bitch at the Farmers' Market and cast on a new project. I can't get into it because it's a gift but I have to say, it's gonna be awesome. Since it was World Wide Knit In Public day, we were doing our part (but then we always do). The best (or worst) part was when an old man removed his shirt at a table in the corner to display his physique, saggy man boobs and all. Boy, howdy. Speaking of boobs, here's an artist's rendering of a lovely couple I saw perusing the food stalls who take the "I'm with Stupid" concept one step further.

Hey, the place between the Banana Leaf and Pinkberry finally opened. It's called Eple and from what I saw, they sell fruit and fruit sandwiches--fruit on white bread with whipped cream spread. um, okay.

I stopped at the AT&T store and got a new phone. Hooray!!! The old one kept turning off randomly and didn't hold a charge. This is what I got:yeah, I bought the skins for it because Titanium is so boring and my other choice was red, which is already owned by too many of a certain type of people.

Lastly, this just kind of burns me up a bit. This car (pictured below) belongs to the daughter of Latina Gladys Kravitz. She parks here all the time. She never gets a ticket. How does blatant disregard for the most basic of parking rules--don't park in front of a driveway-- get passed by while I got a ticket every freaking day when my registration was past due. Granted, the driveway is not used by any of the tenants, as Frau PITA likes to keep it open for her random visits, but still, it's a driveway and one is just NOT allowed to park in front of driveways, not even partially. She was parked here all night and most of the day with nary a citation. I smell a conspiracy.

Never been so happy to see a week end

This has seriously been a hellacious week, but today, well, today was pretty awful. I woke up with a migraine, which is never fun. I closed my eyes and slept a little longer, then ventured off to work.

I had to stop to get gas at the Mobil station just off the 101. For being so close to the freeway, it's surprisingly cheaper there. Much as I laud fine German engineering, the gas tank on the passenger side makes it awkward to queue up when everyone else's tank is on the driver side. I waited at the one pump that serves diesel because it's off to the side and easier to maneuver the "wrong" sided gas tank only to have some douche on his cell phone totally steal my place in line then shrug as if that made it okay. So, I called him names not mentionable in polite society and drove to the 76 on Hollywood Blvd, where gas is exactly 10 cents more per gallon. At least they have the window washing stuff so I can see out my back window again.

I got to the building where I work to find a delivery truck completely blocking the East entrance to the parking garage, so I had to drive around the block to the West side, which I hate because I always end up waiting for someone trying to figure out how to take a ticket, and it's a steep hill, and I drive a stick. Already frustrated, still suffering the migraine, and late for work, I cut the last corner to P4 a little too closely and hit the support beam with the side of my car, which actually shifted the car a little to the left. It sounded and felt much worse than it was.
I really just refreshed the damage done when I sideswiped that bus two years ago, but she drove kind of loose on the way home so I may have done something to the wheel alignment.

The day--oh, what a day--was just frustrating and I actually cried that frustrated release cry at my desk. Unfortunately someone saw me crying and told the boss, who assumed I was crying because she was mad at me. I wasn't. I can handle that. It was just necessary, like Holly Hunter in Broadcast News.

But hey, all was not lost this week. I inherited a fish from co-worker Sarah who will be attending law school after a brief vacation in Australia. His name is Blue, but I think I'll be changing it because, really? Blue? He deserves better. Any suggestions?
I also inherited this ugly ceramic turtle, which just happens to be Blue's best friend.
I would love to get rid of the turtle because it's just creepy, but Blue loves him so. Look how he hangs out on that side of the tank all the time. The turtle needs a name, too.

The two branches of the bean had it out overnight and when I came in, there were entwined in a choke hold. I unraveled them and pinned them on opposite sides of the picture frame, but not before the right branch ended up with a shriveled tip (dirty). But look...a third branch is forming. Whatever will become of this one?
Stay tuned...

In which ordering lunch becomes a 45 minute ordeal

The catering menu reads: "Serves 50--100 pieces of chicken, two sides, rolls, plates, napkins, utensils." I tell the gal "I need the 50 person package, but we want grilled chicken instead of fried." She hmms and ummms for a bit and says, "the price is for the fried chicken." I explain that I understand the grilled chicken will cost more and that's fine, we just really want grilled. She plays with her calculator, bites her lip, looks at her manager for direction, looks at the menu, looks at me, then says, "I'm trying to figure out how much chicken that will be." Call me silly, but 100 pieces is 100 pieces regardless of how it's prepared. I tell her this. "But the grilled is different." Um, huh?
It's chicken. You cut it in four and either grill it or fry it. I fail to see the problem.
She then tells me that if I order the Family combo (four pieces, two sides) I'll save money. But the catering menu for 50 includes 2 pieces of chicken per person for $220, while the 26 combos I would need to ensure 2 pieces per person would cost $416. "But the Family Combo serves four," she explained. Tired of trying to make her see the difference I said, "We're big eaters. We'll need more."

This went on and on. In the end I ordered 13 Family combos and 50 extra pieces--and it wasn't ready when I went to pick it up. Damn.

Park Perceptively

Perception

1.	the act or faculty of apprehending by means of the senses or of the mind; cognition; understanding.

2.	immediate or intuitive recognition or appreciation, as of moral, psychological, or aesthetic qualities; insight; intuition; discernment: an artist of rare perception.

3.	the result or product of perceiving, as distinguished from the act of perceiving; percept.

4.	Psychology. a single unified awareness derived from sensory processes while a stimulus is present.

Perceptive

1.	having or showing keenness of insight, understanding, or intuition: a perceptive analysis of the problems involved.

2.	having the power or faculty of perceiving.

3.	of, pertaining to, or showing perception.

On Union Avenue, just south of Pico on the west side, there is a building with a small parking lot. The lot is unlined and there is a small sign posted which reads, "Park Perceptively." I noticed it this morning as I was waiting for the light to change and it has been bugging me all day. What on earth does that mean? What if you perceive angled parking as the best choice to allow maximum parking and Joe Nextguy sees head-on as the way to go? A sign like that assumes a level of intelligence that was clearly not on display in that parking lot because the cars were parked every which way. What kind of metaphysical thinker decided that was a better way to go than actually lining the parking lot? At least it was spelled correctly, unlike the "Clearence 5 feet" sign in our garage.

Truth in advertising

I wonder what they look like on the inside?

Gnomes and spiders

I woke up in pain this morning as if someone, or some gnomes, had beaten me in my sleep. The stiff neck I can chalk up to sleeping funny, but it doesn't explain the bruise on my hip or the pain in my side. I'm thinking the gnomes want a raise or more liquor. Either way, they're pissed and I'm feeling the brunt of their outrage. Lousy gnomes (I hope they don't read my blog).

I got in the shower hoping that hot water would loosen up the muscles in my neck (it didn't) and I saw a little Daddy-Longleg in the corner. He was slowly descending into the shower and I told him, "if you get any lower, you'll get wet and die." I'm not sure but I think he flipped me off. He got lower and lower until...
I think I'll leave a bottle of Jamison on the coffee table tonight (gnomes love whisky) and see if I'm in less pain tomorrow.

Full Service Garage

Not only do they perform rapido smog checks, they do brake lights and stop lights. No wonder they were recommended by the California DMV.But wait...what other services do they provide?
Frankly, I'm surprised they weren't busier.

Jamie got a Smog Check and I french kissed a cute young male.

It was a non-productive day and the boss was out of town, so I took Jamie to get a much overdue smog check. She passed with flying colors. As I sat there waiting, one of the mechanics walked into a storage bay at the end. Soon afterward, I heard an electric guitar. Not a radio or CD, but an actual live electric guitar. I walked over and mechanic #3 was doing his best Carlos Santana all by his lonesome in the storage area. Later, he walked out as if nothing happened. It was a little bizarre. The inspection place only takes cash, so I had to hit an ATM. I started walking to the liquor store a few blocks back and Ernesto, the inspector, said, "no, no. Take your car." Mind you, I already had the "I passed" certificate in my hand. What's to say I wouldn't just drive off and never return? I mean besides my honest nature. I must have a trustworthy face. Fools.

Here's an amusing anecdote for you:
Sarah-Jane brought Tater to work again today since the boss was away. You remember Tater; I mentioned him back here. I was holding him and reveling in his wonderful puppy goodness while Sarah-Jane was petting him. She was trying to pet his belly. She was actually petting my right breast. I said, "Hey, Sar? You're petting my boob." The look on her face was priceless and I laughed out loud. At that moment, Tater decided to lick my face and put his tongue in my mouth. Yes, that's right. I french kissed a puppy, or rather he french kissed me. Sadly, it was the most action I've had in far too long. He's awfully cute, though.

Numbers, words and the gush of warm water

Numbers vs. Words

The other day I was trying to write a letter from scratch with very little to go on. I was stumped because my brain was suffering from my lack of sleep. The Roy, who is great with this sort of thing, was unavailable for comment. I asked Criss, who is always well-spoken in business situations, and she replied "Finance Degree." I have always believed (based purely on my own shortcomings and personal observations, mind you) that people are either Numbers Folk or Words Folk. I am Word Folk, without a doubt. I love words. I love phrases and finding the right combinations of words (although this blog probably doesn't showcase that). I can and have spent hours looking up words in the dictionary. Randy Lawler and I used to spend the whole evening in the box office at the Sunset 5 playing word games with a beaten up copy of the Merriam-Webster Pocket Dictionary ('cause we're nerds). But if you ask me to add 2 + 2, you'd better give me a calculator. Okay, I'm not really that bad--I did grow up with Schoolhouse Rock--but I'm pretty lousy at anything to do with Math (and to think I was a bookkeeper--HA!).

An ex-boyfriend couldn't spell "bargain" (his attempt--"bargin") or "ricochet" when the word was right next to him on a movie poster, but he was a mathematical whiz. My goal is to be surrounded by Numbers Folk. They can do my taxes and I will always be the best speller.

Upon the suggestion of Dr. Woolanthropy, I am using a Neti Pot to clean out my blocked up sinuses. Yep, it's just as much fun as it looks. I had to do it over the tub because I'm sure if I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink, I'd laugh and end up drowning in salt water. So, the first irrigation went well and I could take a deep breath for the first time in a week. "Ah, this is awesome," I said. "Dr. Woolanthropy is genius." What she and the instruction manual failed to warn me about was that once it starts draining, it doesn't stop. **GROSS ALERT** I sat up quickly about two hours after I used the pot and a gush of saline water and boogers came running out of my nose. Lovely! The next day, I didn't get a good angle and did almost drown myself. This morning was more successful.

Hey Kids! Guess what you shouldn't do after your nasal passages are wide open? You shouldn't take a deep breath with a mouthful of chili powder-coated fruit. Chili burns those tender and open-for-the-first-time-in-weeks nostrils something fierce.

[Boo, Hiss--The Red Wings won the Stanley Cup afterall. ]

Go Penguins!

We interrupt this normally sports-free blog to say--How awesome is Marc-Andre Fleury? He's the goalie for the Pittsburgh Penguins who blocked a billion (really a little over 50) attempts by the Detroit Red Wings last night in triple overtime play to take the series to game six instead of letting the Red Wings have the cup after five games. Woo Hoo! [That's Hockey for those of you who don't follow that sort of thing] I was reminded of this guy who used to work at Tower in Marina Del Rey (Sean somethingorother) who was from Pennsyltucky and a big, big Penguins fan, and Murphy who worked at Tower on Sunset who was a HUGE Red Wings fan. I was torn as to who to cheer for, but in the end, Pennsylvania pride won out over my affection for Murphy.

In other news, could someone please tell my sinuses that this isn't fun anymore? I'm really over the whole swelling, sore throat, jaw pain, blurred vision, and all the other crap that comes with sinus infection. And the freakin' June Gloom is not making it any better.

Conversation with Frau

[2:05pm--Hollywood, CA.--our heroine is napping on the sofa having woken up way too early, but having been productive despite getting caught in that Universal Studios fire traffic]

(knock, knock, knock)
Laurie Ann (rubbing eyes and opening door): Yes?
Frau: Is everything alright?
Laurie Ann: I was sleeping. What's up?
Frau: Where's the rent?
Laurie Ann: It's in the box.
Frau: I didn't see it.
Laurie Ann: I put in in there this morning...It IS the 1st, right?
Frau: Yes. How's the plumbing?
Laurie Ann: It's fine. Anything else?
[Frau doesn't answer]
Okay, then.

Our heroine goes back upstairs and cozies up to the sofa again.
(knock, knock, knock)
Laurie Ann (mumbling): oh, what now? (opens door) Yes?
Frau: Your rent is not in there.
Laurie Ann: I put it in there at 9:00 this morning. It's in there.
Frau (shuffling through several envelopes, agitatedly): It's not here! I have hers, his, Maria's...
Laurie Ann: It's in there. Open the box.
[Frau opens the box, our heroine reaches in and pulls out the envelope containing her rent and hands it to Frau Pissmeoff.]
Frau(sheepishly): Oh, it must have been stuck to the sides.
Laurie Ann: Yeah, not so much.

[heroine once again returns to her humble abode but now, thanks to Frau, is no longer sleepy. Or rather, still sleepy, but unable to go back to sleep.]

On the plus side, no mention of a rent increase or owing her for the water bill. Also, I was barefoot as I walked from my front stoop to the porch next door and it felt soooooo good to walk outside barefoot. I really miss being able to do that. Oh, sure I could still do it, I suppose, but this being LA and knowing that people pee or worse on these sidewalks everyday gives me the willies.