I guess I should start calling LA home now

I started this post on March 6th.

Today marks the second week of my glorious return to Los Angeles.

On the night I got back I was so shitfaced from the flight I went straight to bed. When I woke up I felt kind of stoned. First of all it was 5:00 am, a time frame I don't chew on easily. Second, I wasn't sure where I stood in relation to the place I woke up into, it felt like I knew it, in some sort of etherial way, like I had once dreamt of it. That kind of threw me off a bit. I floated around its lavishly dirty locales (two months and counting without a single dusting - but I have to admit it looked better than I expected, which was basically a single comprehensive rolling hay bale of lint) and since I couldn't really make out if I was awake or not, I went to get a new phone deal and a car. Upon my retreat to the palace I took a breather and realized that I had indeed not seen it in my dreams, quite the contrary, I had lived in it and made it much my own. A wave of recognition crushed my skull and everything suddenly started to get a lot more real. So real in fact that I got hungry, and wanted to make soup, only to discover that I had no gas. Apparently you have to pay bills in the US, tsk.

Cue day two. I took a trip to the Gas Company because they had to cross check two photo IDs before they could issue me any services. By any means the US government cares to make you feel like a vicious cockroach. When that was settled I found out the first available appointment with a technician was going to be in a week. Jesus H Christ. Ok Ralph's, load me up with frozen meals. Thank the begeezes I had purchased a microwave before leaving. No cooking ability at home gave me the opportunity to space out, thus making it possible for me to gather an LED TV, a 3D blu ray player, a Keurig, cable TV and a gazillion knick knacks to make my place much homier. So when gas finally made its way back I was totally dolled up in a bubble of joy. Not to mention that my week in the making gas guy found out the heater in my living room was slowly killing me via carbon monoxide. Bad bad bad rental agency. Should I sue? Come on it's America!!

The Oscars kind of marked the end of my big transition. It was so over the top to be here, just a couple of blocks away from the real thing that after that glorious Sunday things shifted back to a lower, steadier gear. As they should.

To begin with, Stacy Keibler was wearing gold. And a big fat flower on her hip. When her man is up for an award a lady does not outdo him. Take Angelina, and let's please forget about her leg for a moment, who stood aside and let nominated Brad Pitt walk the carpet alone and get his press and shiz. Now we know you're not really dating George, Stacy, but since you're pretending you should pretend well, and with class.

Then I saw Penelope Cruz, and once again she butchered the English language. Now these are things that fuck with me. She is allowed to come and go as she pleases, she practically lives here, and doesn't even care to learn how to speak. I'll tell you more. I went to Sears the other day looking for power strips, so I approached this sales assistant, regularly employed, possibly possessing permanent residency, Lord have mercy even citizenship, and told him what I needed. This is what he responded: "Can you ask someone else? I only be in America one year. I no speak English". Should I comment? No, because I totally could. In fact I will. One thing is to make it to immigrant status before I do, I will bitchslap you, but not hate on you. One entirely other thing is telling TO MY FACE that you are legally allowed to stay and work in this country, and you have in fact already been hanging around for a complete earth turnaround, and you didn't even bother learning how to fucking speak English... when I am quite frankly an asset but was cornered like a motherfucker and almost asked to pee on a stick to be allowed back in the door. How does that happen? HOW DOES IT HAPPEN??

Back to the Academy Awards, ok, they were obsessing over telling us how much they love the movies. Will you just go back to buying tickets to the theaters America? So they can spare us. Thank you very much. On this matter I actually read the tweet that summed it all up, @poniewozik wrote: You know what part of the Oscars should remind people that they love movies? THE NOMINATED FILMS. Amen.

And just as a side note everyone I know texted me about the lady dedicating her Oscar to Italee. Yes, we thug.

One more thing that strikes me every year is how all the technical winners always manage to stand up and walk to the stage, no matter how emotional or astonished. They cry and smile and overall healthily react to the win. It's a huge thing for them too you know. And then there's actors. Oh actors just have to add that twist. They have to. Octavia Spencer, I kind of like you. But what about the fact that you need help to be extracted from your chair and wobble your way up like a huge truffle with disabilities. You just wanna milk the very last drop of that standing ovation, attention whore. Actors.

Speaking of, watching with me in the Burbank living room it was mostly kiwi actors, out here for pilot season. They're all so pretty without even trying. Gracious, from within their sundresses and impossibly sculpted perfect fake bed hair.

Back on March 6th, this is where I was going to go with it:

- actors depress me, because they always look better than you, they are funnier than you, they have better answers and nicer jokes. They also most of the times have less brain, but that, not always I find easy to remember.

- coming down from the Oscars high was hard. The little animals of the forest retired in their warm burrows and left me out in the cold. No one seemed to remember I had once lived here, despite my describing all the newfound memories of me actually inhabiting the land. And then I discovered Food Network and I pondered a change of career. But that didn't happen. I'm too greedy to share meals with others.

And this is what I'm gonna say now:
- bye!