When in Rome...

Today is one of those days I would draw upon my inner richness and let my soft side gloriously get hold of me by adopting a homeless cute little fluffy kitten. No. I would actually kill everyone in this s-hole of a city. Swear to god I'd have jetted out of the motherfucker on a handmade paraglide airplane built with my brand new trench coat. Unfuckingbelievable.

First there was a bus clogging the road I go through everyday. So I thought of outsmarting them all brainless drivers by making my way round the block, and BAM, a platoon of workers cutting branches off of damn trees. Road closed. This town is going all Truman Show on me. I gotta get to the freaking Machete screening and I'm late. To make a long story short I had to go all the way down in Acapulco, cross the main street and then get back to where I was to sit the car at my usual parking near the subway. Of course the only free spot I found was on the other side of the road so I felt like doing my little unrehearsed rendition of Chariots of fire. Here I am in my new, as you know, coral red trench coat, flowing curly hair, running down the pavement, eyes obsessed with fury and tongue to the ground, cleaning it, destroyed by the prolonged lack of any physical exercise, what the hell was I thinking? Luckily I wasn’t wearing heels.

Yesterday I went to the cardiologist, the doctor of love, and he landed me this machine for a month, in order to measure my heartbeat when it skips.

Yes, I have a turntable in there, Bob Sinclar’s mixing, come visit, we hand out free drinks if you come with hot guys, preferably brunettes.

Well, at this point I was right about to take it out my purse and use the thing. I’d have recorder a freaking beatbox.

Fortunately I didn’t die before getting to the subway, managed to take the train and with a little more running I got to the screening in time. Quite the intense morning.

Thing is, I hate traffic for one, mostly because I’m always late, and the disorganization of this city, for how small it is, makes me go bonkers. Sometimes I wonder how I’ll be coping with L.A., and the size of it, and the mess, and the waits in line on the highway. I really was born a city girl but there are just times where I’d mix one big Molotov cocktail and throw it out blindly.