How far I have come from the Van Nuys Motel 6. Almost right where I started, give or take a few blocks. Since then, a friend (ok, my ex-boyfriend) took my dog cross country. Stevie (my four legged dog child) has been to San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, and today swam (or tried to) in a river in Montana. I picture snap shots of her in all these places like the garden gnome in Amélie. My ex was taking his dog cross country to work on his photography book, when all else failed he offered to take Stevie too. Seeing as Stevie and Ray Ray (actually my first dog, I lost him in the divorce) got along like peas and carrots, it was an easy decision. I floated around crashing with various cat-loving friends. Stevie is traversing the country, while I traverse the 101. I stayed in Echo Park, Highland Park, Joshua Tree, and Hollywood. With my dog gone, I was left with only my Jeep. And the bastard fate couldn't let that go. One night in Hollywood near Franklin and Vermont some cretins slashed my Jeep window and rummaged through looking for god knows what. There wasn't anything to steal— a few pairs of shoes and dirty clothes, but the repair is gonna cost 400 clams. Things were beginning to seem like they couldn't get any worse as I drove down the highway with the ripped plastic of my passenger side window slapping hard in the wind. Until I get a call from the landlord of a house I had applied for on a beautiful walk street— she picked me. I could stay in Venice. I could keep my dog. And, if I walked her dog daily I could crash at her place (behind the main house) while she was gone til the main house was available in August. I've been there a few days, it's quiet and still and peaceful. Just a few blocks from my old house, but a world away. Finally feeling back up to speed, I went out to Epoxy Box (an art gallery on Abbot Kinney) this Saturday for their raffle benefit. It was for women only and you could do all sorts of healing activities for free —digeridoo therapy (where someone gets the circular breathing going and holds the instrument close to your body), get a massage or a facial, listen to music and indulge in the ultimate healing activity —drink free booze. They raffled off spinning classes, pilates sessions and pole dancing lessons. When the latter was announced, my friend and I crossed our fingers , "not us" we whispered, "not us." "Linda Immediato" came the booming voice. I had won. I had never won anything in my life. And what do I get? A free pole dancing lesson... Maybe bastard fate was trying to push me into another profession. I say to him, in the words of the immortal Nell Carter, "Gimme a break!"
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