2004-08-09 - 8:52 p.m.

I came home from work at noon today to work from home. I had a ridiculous amount of writing to get done, but somehow the time just flew by and I got nothing done. Maybe it was because I had to keep getting up and walking to the kitchen for another spoonful of Nutella every few minutes. I couldn�t bring myself to actually carry the Nutella with me to the computer. It didn�t seem right.

So now I�m trying to wrap up not one but two fill-in-the-blank books for teen ladiez. And I have a big chunk of freelance work I need to finish for the ol� Dream Company. And why is tonight the night the hippie landlords have gone mad (again)? Sometimes they get their drogas all wrong and things go awry. They�re in the front yard making a spectacle right now. The female hippie has been carrying around a tiny battery-powered radio for weeks. She�s had it set to a very geriatric big-bandy station and she�s been toting it along with her everywhere she goes. But no more. In her drug-induced lunacy, she just flung it to the ground and yelled at the male hippie, �Kevin! You just made me break my little radio! Did you see that Kevin? You made me throw my little radio! Good job, Kevin!� Dirty hippies.

In other news, it was a glorious summery weekend. The weekend sorta began on Thursday night, as it should, with drinks aplenty at Ye Auld Dubliner. And Friday night was sushi and sake with Mr. and Mrs. Poor Elvis at Shabu Land. Poor Elvis recently ditched his gig managing a crappy (supposedly up-and-coming) band of teen boy divas, so now he�s all fired up for his next scheme. He wants to rope Erik into the scheme, and I�m worried this one is a bit Ponzi-like, and I�m going to come home to find our apartment filled with boxes of soap. Or something.

Saturday morning, I headed down to the record store in which I live (Fingerprints) to obtain wristbands for the upcoming Rilo Kiley instore. I got there a little early and ended up waiting in line outside next to THE NUTTIEST MAN IN THE UNIVERSE. But not nutty as in �Weeee!� Nutty as in �Sir, you�re scaring the shit out of me. Please stop talking.� Within two minutes, I knew all about his �real feelings� for his girlfriend he�d recently met on the Internet, and how he wishes she wasn�t so overweight. And then he launched into a lengthy tale about how he�s suing a woman from his old workplace for sexual harassment. That�s right: he is suing her. Although, from the sound of it, he didn�t mind the harassment when it was being offered. Anyway, the story got weirder, and the man got sweatier and sweatier as he carried on. I�m usually a pretty patient person, but I wanted to hit this man. Or shove him into a parking meter. Or something.

Later on Saturday, Erik and I returned to Fingerprints for a Jonathan Richman performance. I adore Jonathan Richman, and he put on a lovely show for us, accompanied by a crusty man playing the claves. Mr. Richman sang songs in no fewer than five languages: English (of course), Spanish, Italian, French, and Hebrew. He was kind enough to perform �Yo Tengo Una Novia,� which always makes me smile with its triumphant key change. You just can�t watch Jonathan Richman without grinning.

Saturday night was a lovely dinner at the home of Querida Edwin and DL. It was a Thank-You Dinner for Branderslice and her loved one, but we were lucky enough to get invited too. If you are ever offered a margarita made by DL, for the love of god, take it. It was such a nice evening full of tacos and tequila and Polaroids and The Byrds and the most fantastic molten souffl�s on Planet Earth baked by Lady Edwin.

Sunday, Erik and I went to Seal Beach and crashed out on the sand for hours, rising only to get ice cream at Ruby�s on the pier. I read one page in my annoying �How to Write a Swell Get-into-Law-School Essay� book and then layed my head back down for more loafery.

WHOA!! I interrupt this weekend report to announce that my boyfriend, who is recording music in the other wing of the apartment, is currently attempting to play the banjo with his electric razor. Why God? Should I be worried? Is that dangerous? Between the Norelco Banjo and the Hippie Circus, how is a girl supposed to get anything done?

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