The Wandering Jew

I am not even joking, this plant is called a Wandering Jew ... I'm thinking Hitler was involved.

So I’m back in the city that never sleeps — but has to be up and ready to go for a morning jog at about 6 am because it just gets to be too hot and we all know that sweat glands clog our pores and that would just be really gross because what is that hot barista at Starbucks going to think if he sees me ordering my nonfat latte with like a blackhead or something?? … So I’m in LA.

Oh and I went on that date with Mr. Write (we’ll call him that because he’s a writer and such) — and it was surprisingly not bad/awkward/get me out of here immediately. We met at Starbucks (thank GOD I didn’t have any blackheads) and there he was. Wearing aviators and a green striped shirt that made me think of high school. We started out talking about things people talk about and short walks on the beach … such a fairytale.

As it was approximately a million and two degrees outside, I suggested that instead of discussing life’s greatest mysterious on what felt like the surface of the sun, we go inside Borders. He then proceeded to show me his favorite sections that included fiction and mystery … nice. When he asked me to show me mine — favorite sections that is — I slowly pointed a quivering finger towards Twilight. Just kidding … it’s still too soon to pull the Twilight card.

We then ventured over to the movie theaters to watch Toy Story 3 when I bet him (money obviously) that he would be the first one to cry when Andy went off to college. And by the way, damnit Andy … why did you have to grow up!? You were supposed to be freakin 9 forever! …

Anyways, he quickly assured me that as a person raised Jewish, he was trained not to cry. I am still confused. I always thought that was a Mormon thing.

Finally, as the date came to a close and we sat and talked … “talked” … out in the parking lot, we watched the sun go down over the massive power plant across the street and I listened to him as he told me about some of the craziest things I’ve ever heard happen to a person. And my mama always told me to date someone crazier than yourself so you can only imagine my excitement. Anyways, he’s interesting.

But alas, I am now back down in the city by the bay — I mean, the ocean — and who knows when I will again venture up into the nothingness that is Placerville. Soon I gather due to the wonderousness that is unemployment. And maybe the next date we go on won’t feel like high noon in the great Sahara desert … a girl can dream.