It’s Raining, It’s Pouring, I’m Getting Very Boring

I’m writing about the rain. It’s really come to this. It’s been teeming in LA for about 24 hours now. It’s proper rain. Not like the slight drizzle you sometimes get here that people call ‘rain’, it’s more like the heavy, sideways rain you get at home.

I paused here to check I haven’t already blogged about the rain, apparently not. I’ve only become this boring more recently.

I’d also like to apologise to anyone reading who lives in a mostly rainy place (so that probably means most of you!)

Anyway! Things I’d like to point out:

1. There is a lot less traffic in the rain. Where do all the people go? Do they just stay off work?

2. LA has no idea what to do in the rain. There may be less traffic but no one knows how to handle it. They drive 20 miles per hour on half empty streets although that’s probably because they can’t see. Another shocking (boring?) LA (USA?) fact. The streets don’t have cat's eyes! I realised that last night when I couldn’t see what lane I was supposed to be in because it was raining so much! Oh, the things you take for granted in England ❤️

3. People (who aren’t English) LOVE the rain. They talk about how much they love it, a lot. I think that’s because they know it will be sunny tomorrow.

4. I HATE the rain. I know I have lived most of my life in a place that rains a lot and even though it only happens here about 5 times a year I find myself saying things like, ‘I really need to go to the post office but it will have to wait until tomorrow, it’s raining.’ (I could drive and park outside but honestly, I’d rather forego my lunch break than go out in the rain)  

5. I thought our house was being broken into. My housemates were away, I heard a burglar. Nope, it was the rain. I don’t know what it is anymore!

6. This is a blog about rain. I’ve definitely been here too long. I’d say it’s time to move home......*

(*see point 4)

This One isn't Funny

I’m aware I haven’t done a blog for a little while. Partly because I have been busy with my family visiting and then I went to Devon for a week, where my only calories seemed to come from scones, cheese and prosecco. All great but not really blog material. The other thing is, America isn’t really that entertaining at the moment. You can’t really spin what’s going on here into a funny tale when it’s sad and depressing and scary. It’s lovely being in liberal LA, where everyone seems to feel the same, but sadly it doesn’t seem representative of the country as a whole. 

‘What can I blog about?’ I thought. Maybe I could talk about how the Scot and I nearly got caught up in a car crash that was the result of a shooting last weekend?*

It was part ‘Fast and the Furious’, part ‘The Wire’ and we had front row seats! That’s different to ‘normal’ life. Oh, hang on it’s kind of similar to when it happened back home on my lunch break from work when I was with my friend Kate. Except that time, we ran to the police for safety. This time? I dialled 911, was on to them for three minutes (that felt like an hour) before realising that we better get out of there before the police arrived and everyone started shooting at each other. 

We did learn something from this though. Don’t go clothes shopping after a stressful ordeal. I think it’s a bit like going food shopping when you’re hungry or internet shopping when you’ve had a drink. You soon realise that the 'funny' slogan t-shirts you both bought in the aftermath can never be worn and will forever be known (thanks to my sister) as 'trauma t-shirts'.

                                             

*My mum really didn’t want me to write about it in case the gunmen found me. I only reported the crash not the gunfire, so I don’t think that makes me a grass?

Wasted

I’m not drinking alcohol at the moment. I’m doing the Whole 30. It’s 30 days of no booze, sugar, wheat, dairy etc., etc., etc., yawn, yawn, yawn. In my wisdom I decided to go on a date. I say ‘decided’, a friend set me up with someone they know, and I didn’t feel like I could say, ‘well actually I’m not drinking for another 12 days and I don’t love dating so can we wait until then, so I can numb my fear with wine? Thanks!’ Also, the only thing you can really have is soda water, no Diet Coke or fruit juice to try to be a little less boring. And I was walking to the bar as he lives close by so I couldn’t using driving as an excuse. 

The funny thing is when I told people my fear of coming across as lame no one said ‘don’t worry about it, it’s fine’. I received advice ranging from ‘tell him you’re getting over a cold’ to ‘get there first and order a soda and just pretend it’s vodka’ or ‘oh just have a drink’. I was actually more bothered about what he thought of me not drinking than I was about actually not having a drink and when I googled it the only real advice I could find was articles on dating for people in recovery, apart from the whole30 founder of course who says it’s really not a big deal (easy to say when you look like her and have a multi-million dollar business!) 

So I went. And I didn’t drink. The Scot says I need to try to be a bit more ‘demure’ on a first date. Of course that’s not possible, but maybe I could be less gobby than I can be after a drink and I think I was my usual, chatty, friendly self. I first realised it probably wasn’t going great when he drank his first cocktail quite quickly and didn’t want another one and then my suspicion was stronger when hadn’t asked anything about my job or my family but we’d (he’d) chatted about his accountant for fifteen minutes. Then I felt more certain when he asked for the bill at 930pm (we met at 8) and left to go to CVS to buy milk. And if I wasn’t completely sure at that point then I was two days later when he text me to say he’d had a great time (!) but he didn’t think we were a match. I never would have guessed, so I was really happy he pointed that out after two days of me not contacting him. 

I’m not sure what the moral of this story is. Get hammered next time? The Scot said maybe I was bit ‘too much’ for him. Without a drink??? Hmm I’m sure you can buy over the counter tranquillisers here, maybe that’s the future!

Scoot Along

There’s a new craze in town. Scooters. When I first moved here I was always amazed at how there seems to be no age limit for people on skateboards. That’s just not a thing where I’m from. I really can’t imagine anyone over, erm, 12 on a skateboard in Liverpool, never mind anyone over 40. It happens here. A lot. But now the scooters have arrived. And when I say scooter I don’t mean one like George Clooney’s that they call a scooter but it looks like a motorbike. I mean a scooter like you pushed yourself along on one-footed as a child, except it’s battery powered so you put both feet on. And grown men in suits go to work on them. 

It was like they appeared overnight. Literally. On every street corner. It’s not like the bikes where they have a specific pick up point. You use an app to find one that has been abandoned pretty much anywhere by its last user, I imagine you run to it before anyone else gets it, you get on it and off you go.  Well of course you have to pay. The Scot and I were having a nose at them, and using them as a photo opportunity, and his one said to him (yes it spoke) ‘Either pay for me or I will call the police’. Clever!

I haven’t used one yet. I’m not sure how I would stop. It’s easy to say just find one, pay, get on and go but then what? It’s got disaster written all over it and I can’t be the only one in the whole of LA who wears a helmet on one. I’d like to say its making the traffic problem better but it’s not. I also wonder if it’s a ploy to avoid getting older in this crazy town.

When I did the goat improv I promised myself I would carry on trying out new things for this blog. For this one I realised I like the use of my legs too much. I’m thinking my next one will be about the marijuana shops. Let’s see which way that goes! 

The Tooth is Stranger Than Fiction

I went to the dentist today. As I was waiting nervously to go in I thought, 'Oh well, look on the bright side, maybe it will be a blogging opportunity'. And here I am! 

I did wonder how funny a trip to the dentist could actually be and if it's that different to back home*

*Spoiler alert - it's not funny and it is different. 

Look away now if you are squeamish. Oh and if animal rights are your thing, maybe you shouldn't read on either.

Things that are the same: It's not fun. It's not free. The dentist chats to you and expects you to chat back. 

Things that are not the same: You can have animal skin put into your mouth to replace the gum you have worn away by brushing too hard.

I kid you not. My dentist wasn't happy with my worn away gum that my English dentist never even mentioned. Every time I go I tell her hell will freeze over before I have any kind of operation to fix that, so please stop mentioning it. She thinks that's hilarious and mentions it every time I go. 

Today she asked if I was just there for a clean. I said, 'Yes, then you'll try to talk to me about my gums and I'll ignore you and pretend it's not happening.' I joked (kind of) and said, 'If you could maybe take some skin off my thighs and do it I might consider it.' 'Oh no,' she said, 'we can't use human skin, it has to be animal.' 

I didn't stick around to find out any more. I mean, I do have a lot of questions about that, but I think I'd pass out before I got to the end of the first one so what's the point. 

So there it is. Maybe you can have that done at home too. I hope to never find out.