Blissfully Oblivious
A chick who cried wolf
8 am. I’m on my morning walk down Hollywood Boulevard, heading towards the post office. Need to: send out three slightly overdue Depop packages. Just slightly! I’m making a point to be a better girl on Depop, because people are beginning to find my profile & connecting the dots that I am me, and I would rather the internet not be mad at me for evil internet tendencies. I would ideally like to indulge in my evil internet tendencies in private (Depop Hustling), but I guess I can settle for being neither evil nor good but a third benign thing. I’m not blocking girls & cancelling their orders (as much) anymore, but I’ve in turn began taking a million years to ship out items that most likely won’t even spark joy for the purchaser in like, 3-6 months. C’est la vie.
My walk feels pleasant- sunlight sits nicely on my skin today, coating me like a thick glob of lotion. The jacaranda trees are to thank for this, temporarily shielding me from the true strength of the suns rays, light filtering through the petals, patterns blossoming on my skin.
I’m wearing my uniform: (black mini dress) (silver flats) (blue purse) (wired headphones). Living my same life, just in a new environment. It’s nice, it’s nice. New additions to my uniform while I’ve been saying hello to Hollywood include:
*******’s denim jacket,
aaand his baseball cap,
aaaand a mouthful of his nicotine gum, because I keep uncovering a bountiful supply of it throughout his studio.
It’s like a little present when I sit at his desk & spot a stray piece hidden, wedged between the stacks of books. Or when I stick my hands in the pockets of his jacket & uncover two more. Or when I grab Jack the puppy’s leash from the entryway shelf and three more loosies beckon towards me…
I said that I wouldn’t be perverted and snoop through his things but I didn’t say that the things already out in the open in his home weren’t fair game… I like playing dress up in his things, wearing his jacket & hat & hoodie & chewing on his nicotine gum & using his shampoo & conditioner & pencils & cooking oil. ******* said Make yourself at home & I said Oh, okay alright! I’m doing this in an anthropological sense, I’m slowly getting to know him while staying in his space. It’s a character study. My consensus is: Seems like a nice guy! I was going to keep this Freak Chick Behavior to myself but then I posted a photo wearing his jacket, not thinking anything of it, and he viewed the story and I messaged him WAIT, SORRY I’M WEARING YOUR JACKET and he said Help yourself! So now I am very much helping myself. Mindfully. Mindfully helping myself.
Ruby & Amelie actually met him last night & their consensus was: Seems like a nice guy! Henry was hosting an event in Brooklyn, a film premiere for his latest documentary. My closest friends were all in attendance, the turnout exceeding expectations, & my fomo/jealousy/woe-is-me vibe was tantalizing. Amelie joked to ******* upon meeting him, so you’re Diana’s replacement for the month!
The next evening, Ruby texted me after the premiere, Diana, I met this guy and he was sooo cute! And I said Do I know him? And she sent me the link to his instagram, and I said NOOOOOOOOO and she said What? Why no? And I said NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO and then we debriefed and she said NOOOOOOOOOOO.
After I dropped off my packages at the post office, I made a pit stop on my retreat home because I spotted a goodwill in the distance. This must be fate! It is surely not fate as I do not need to purchase a single new item for the duration of this stay. I’ve packed my backpack filled to the brim with the depths of my wardrobe, but yet my shopping bug just feels so insatiable. I usually only shop to be evil on Depop, but ten minutes of my time spent ambling around the thrift store resulted in me finding: a perfect pair of hot pink puma ballet flats & then a perfect pair of capris & then a perfect pair of low rise trousers, each item better than the last, all to be in my immediate possession. So I purchased these then jammed a navy mini dress into the depths of my purse, as a reward for my finds. I didn’t even really like the dress all too much, I saw it hanging on the racks and thought eh probably not but then the next thing I knew, I'm slipping the garment off the hanger, scrunching it into a little ball & shoving it into my bag. I’m not sure why I did this. I’ve been on a teeny klepto stint because there are no consequences to my actions if I tell myself that there are no consequences to my actions. I tried the dress on once I got home and thought eh, probably not.
Yesterday I received a comment from a viewer that she spotted me on my morning walk. That she was quote “starstruck.” Woah. That rocks. She commented that she attempted to get my attention but I didn’t notice, walking past. Sounds about right. I sent a screenshot of the comment to Max & Ella with an Omfg. Like, omfg. Today I’m walking more attentively, standing a bit straighter… making a point to wipe the scowl from my face… loosen the knot between my brows. I pass by a group of girls my age & I look at them and they look at me and…. and nothin’! It’s nice when it’s something but it’s usually, always, nothing!
Once I got home my lips felt dry so I lathered them in a layer of *******’s vaseline that he keeps with his tattoo-ing equipment, used for tattoo-ing purposes. Guess I don’t need to purchase chapstick after all!
Jack the puppy was kinda freaking me out earlier, his bark hitting the ceiling & bouncing off the walls, the way he’d follow me around the apartment, cornering me with pants of desperation, whining for food 10 seconds after I've just fed him, whining to be let outside 10 seconds after coming home from a long w-a-l-k. I talk to him like a human, repeating positive affirmations. Jack, you are loved, youthful, gorgeous. I repeat this sentiment in varying forms until his whines turn into pants turn into sighs turn into silence. FINALLY! Some peace & quiet around here. I sink into *******’s desk chair, relief washing over me. Evil iPhone starts buzzing with an evil phone call….
It’s mid afternoon & I’m inspecting the clothing pieces neatly hung up in *******’s closet. His button up’s & hoodies & flannels, my fingers playing with the fabrics. I trade my black mini dress for a grey one. A grey one that I wore both yesterday & the day before, but I just can’t seem to tire of quite yet. It’s my new favorite dress! Yesterday my new favorite dress tragically got caught between the crossfire of my mouth & a big glob of mustard on a hotdog. I clumsily dropped the dog into my lap when going in for the kill, the condiment splattered across my lap. I ran home to attempt to scrub out the stain with dish soap, to no avail. A tragedy! My new favorite dress! I like it so much that this stain doesn’t deter me from wearing it again & again & again.
I am finally here, alone, in LA. I’ve missed being alone so badly. It’s a perfect mix of solitude and companionship, this studio apartment to myself, Jack the puppy by my side, Max & Ella down the road. My ideal scenario. Dream World is a studio apartment all to myself & my best friends down the road. I hate when I get exactly what I want and yet still feel an indifference towards my current life’s happenings. I am feeling overall indifference towards my current life’s happenings.
A few weeks ago, Max & redacted were walking home from a bar in China Town, when redacted got flustered that the service was bad, that their drinks were taking too long, that their server wasn’t being attentive enough. Max made a joke about redacted’s temper & redacted responded by slapping Max’s Pepsi out of his hand, drenching him in the beverage.
They drove together to the bar but redacted got so flustered that he walked the 4 miles back home, refusing to get into Max’s Toyota. So Max tracked redacted’s location, pulled up next to him as he sulked along the side of the road, told him to get in the car, but redacted ignored him and kept trudging, avoiding eye contact. After that incident, the pair didn’t speak for two weeks. They finally squashed the beef when Max texted him: You owe me a pepsi
and redacted responded: Lol
and balance was restored, best friends once more. Wish it was always that easy. Is it always that easy? A joke, an Lol, balance restored.
I liked this one comment Max made the other night, he said: ******* & I still tease redacted that a pretty girl put herself out there, and now he just avoids her at all costs. A PRETTY GIRL? Amazing news. God I just don’t want to be avoided is all. That’s all! I feel like I could fix everything with everyone if people would just stop with all the avoiding. Give me a chance to fix everything with everyone! A chick puts herself out there one time and now Everything’s Weird & Everyone’s Weird & there’s that elephant overstaying her welcome in the room... The elephant of tension & strangeness & regret.
I’m splayed out on a blanket in Echo Park, joined by Ella & Alice Mona & our other girl friends. 1
We’re in a crowd of spectators, devotedly watching the France VS Spain soccer game on a large projector screen. I am not watching the projector screen, I am writing in my notebook, attempting to ignore the sweat pooling in the creases of my skin.
Ella & I scream laughed the entire car ride here, tear droplets leaking from our eyes through wheezing breaths, ‘cause last night at two am, Jack the puppy gave me a heart attack. I spam called her & Max sobbing, thinking it was his final moments. I woke up to Jack rapidly twitching, the details are TMI, but it was not a great sight. So I spam called ******* who did not pick up (reasonably, as it was 4 am in New York). I then spam called Max & Ella & redacted who did not pick up (reasonably, as it was 2 am in LA). I then spam called Amelie & Garrett & Henry & my roommates, who are all across the country & it’s the middle of the night & no one’s answering the phone & I am inconsolably sobbing, thinking something horrible has happened to Jack the puppy, thinking that these are his final moments, alone in this apartment with a girl who’s been dog sitting him for less than a week.
An hour passes and I finally get ahold of Ella & Max. In an attempt to soothe my sobs Ella chirps out, Well, just be prepared for him to die tonight!
And so I started sobbing harder at her words, hyperventilating on the other end of the line and Ella backtracks, Agh, I probably, shouldn't have said that. It’s okay Diana! He lived a very long & happy life. (Jack is a very senior dog) My autistic friends.
Jack the puppy was sound asleep, breathing steadily, the violent twitching had ceased. Thirty more minutes pass before I can get ahold of *******, who was woken up in the dead of night to a million missed calls from all of us. Horrible. I pick up his call & he goes, Diana, are you guys okay? Instead of answering if we are okay, I wail out, I’m so sorry *******, I’m so sorry *******, And then he asks to see the puppy and I pan the camera to Jack, peacefully sound asleep…. chest rising and falling…
I’m apologizing profusely, tears streaming down my face, snot dripping down my nose. He is saying You’re okay, it’s okay, don’t apologize. This is not your fault, he’s an old guy.
I’m still sobbing, Jack is still peacefully sound asleep, & ******* is still comforting me. Well, try to give him some food, thats how we’ll know if there’s something up. He would never say no to food.
So I pour Jack the puppy a half scoop of kibble & this motherfucker jumps up off the bathroom floor! He’s wagging his tail, the happiest boy in the world, scurrying over to his bowl & inhaling the pieces in a blink. Right.
Oh. Um… I guess he’s fine. Sorry for the 4am scare. I say in disbelief. Don’t apologize, I’m sure that that was scary. I’m sorry that this happened. I just want to make sure that you guys are alright. You guys. Cuteness.
Should I take him on a quick walk? Just in case?
Yeah, that might be a good idea!
Can you stay on the line with me? I’m scared that he’ll like, pass out or something.
Of course. Yeah, I'll stay on the line with you.
Hi voice is reassuring & he is so calm & I feel so crazy for all my dramatics, for scaring all my friends, waking everyone in the middle of the night for a Nothing Problem. Me & my dramatics. Feel like the chick who cried wolf.
******* reassures me that Jack the puppy just kinda like, violently twitches in his sleep sometimes. No biggie. And I said, Oh, I guess that makes sense.
He stays on the line with me while I take Jack outside even though it’s the middle of the night and I catch a glimpse of him in the camera. I see my bed & my windows & my Girl Cave & my mind pervertedly travels from: Jack the puppy final moments? To: Random Dude is in My Bed! In my Girl Cave!
So in the car ride to the park, Ella & I debriefed the play by play of last nights events, sobbing from laughter at my histrionics, at her feeble attempts at consoling me.
She squeals, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO COMFORT PEOPLE.
I respond, SO YOUR BEST BET WAS TO TELL ME THAT “YES HE’S GOING TO DIE BUT HE LIVED A LONG & HAPPY LIFE?”
I’m gripping onto her forearm as she speeds us down the 101- we proceed to have this same conversation in three different formats three more times before we reach our destination.
The sun is beating down & there’s no relief from her rays. The crowd surrounding us is gasping & groaning at the projector, arms are flailing, tensions are rising with the heat. My clothes stick to my skin, my whole body is slick. A woman came over to offer us sweat towels and the other girls said no thanks and I said are they free? The lady said yes so I said yes please and then my friends changed their minds and also said yes please & the five of us wrap the fabrics securely around our heads for a semblance of relief. We’re doting our City of LA themed sweat towels as if they’re precious silk scarves- is this the Silver Lake reservoir or the South of France?
Everything I’m looking at instead of the projector:
The guy a blanket over from us has counterfeit Louis Vuitton sneakers and white no show socks. He keeps curling and popping his toes & I’m trying to not stare but I keep making eye contact with his feet.
The wad of gum I’ve just spit out onto the grass that’s already rapidly coagulating onto the blades, melting down like a pat of butter in a frying pan.
Mona who’s sitting directly in front of me. The stack of gold jewelry on her wrists, her burgundy nail polish & the matching red elastic securing the thick braid down her back, little curls escaping throughout. The sweat slowly seeping through the back of her white top. The fresh tattoo on her forearm crafted by *******, a star wrapped up in twine.
I contemplate complimenting her bracelet stack or her braid or her tattoo, but I already complimented her shoes and ate a piece of watermelon that she offered me earlier, so I don’t want to be overbearing. But I keep repeating it in my head, how I would word it, “I really like your bracelet stack!” “Nice bracelets!” Those bracelets are really pretty.” Nothing comes out of my mouth. She interrupts me mid-typing this, Diana. Your shoes are SO CUTE. I just noticed them.
The man to my left with the fake Louis Vuitton sneakers had the genius idea of dipping his sweat towel into his ice water, wrapping it around his neck and I feel so envious of him, in awe of his genius.
Sweaty faces all around me, squinting at the TV, the flags above our heads casting triangular shadows on the grass.
Everyone’s mad at the goalie, at Spain, at France, at each other. The heat brings out the worst in us. Everyone’s angry. The girls are snippier with each other. Short tempered. I’m barely here. My body is here, drenched and dripping.
WHO THE FUCK IS #20??? TAKE HIM OUT OF THE GAME BOOOOOO. REF TAKE HIM OUT!!!! I’M SO PISSED. FUCK THIS REF BOOOO. One of the girls shrills, staring at the projector screen in horror.
Watching two elementary aged brothers across the lawn, arguing over a sweat towel. One begins to sob, throwing himself onto the grass, and the other screeches out MOMMY IT’S MINE, TELL HIM IT’S MINE.
I thought that we were finally about to go home but then the ref announces that the game has tacked on an extra seven minutes of overtime. The five of us groan out in exasperation. Doesn’t this ref know that there’s five sweaty ladies sitting in the park? I joke. We all giggle but then I remember that one of them is nonbinary and I clamp my mouth shut in horror. Fuck, my bad.
After the park, Ella asks me if I’d like to get a soda at the gas station and I say YES. So she drives us to the 7/11 by our apartments & as we’re arriving, a man is leaving. Oh, that’s redacted! Ella says. She begins to roll down her window to say hi and then looks over at me & looks over at him and rolls it back up, feigning casualness. I part my lips to say something but I don’t know what the appropriate thing to say would be. I stare at her & then at him and his back is turned to us, walking in the opposite direction. We exit the car & purchase two large diet cokes & we reenter the vehicle with our drinks & I just want to scream.
I keep moving between the patio and a table inside this coffee shop, the cafe is too cold and the patio is too hot and nothing feels quite right. I’m at Bru, this trendy, overpriced East LA cafe where I am nursing a $9 cortado, working on a real piece of fiction. Fiction, fiction. Another soccer game is occurring today & when I walked in, the three baristas were all huddled around an iPhone, watching the tiny screen intently.
I migrated back out to the patio where I took a break from writing to take a phone call with Jude. Their band is coming back to New York the week I get back into town, and thus the cycle continues. Sweat forms on my upper lip as we exchange I love you’s & I miss you’s & I’ll see you so soon’s. I retreat back into the chill of the cafe, the thermal shock of hot to cold to hot to cold making my skin feel piled up in thousands of layers of grime & sweat. Want: an inappropriately long shower & to scrub my skin raw.
Also want: to go to a target or a Marshalls or a TJ Maxx or some other variation of Suburban Paradise while I am here, temporarily residing in my Suburban Paradise.
Also want: Teal/black/pink nail polish, black box dye, a hair mask, new socks, black eyeliner, a thick body butter, nice perfume, an exfoliating loofa, vintage silver jewelry, vintage pins & brooches & hair clips, peace of mind, a relaxed vibe.
Today I made a dire mistake. I lost *******’s house keys. The morning everything was fine, I got coffee with Addie’s older sister, she picked me up and drove us to Courage Bagels. I inhaled an everything bagel with onion cream cheese & the two of us then popped into the vintage store next door, where I purchased a perfect pair of black wedges. She drops me back off at the studio, my stomach is full & I am smiling. But then, when I went to open the front door, I reached into the zipper of my purse and the keys were nowhere to be found. Jack began to whimper behind the door, listening to me fumble on the other side. I started digging around in my purse, my hands swirling around wrappers & junk & cords & cables, searching for the little piece of gold metal, the green carabiner. Nothin’! So I squat down, dumping the contents of my purse out onto the hardwood floor in his apartments hallway, Jacks whimpering growing louder, more desperate.
Neighbors walked by me situated in my crouched position, as I desperately pawed through the infinite contents of my purse. Where the hell is this thing? Cigarettes & a lighter & my wallet & my camcorder splayed out on the hardwood floor, but no keys. I’m searching every pocket and I notice that the lining of my bag is ripped, maybe they got wedged between the lining and the pleather? So I rip the bag further in desperation, tearing through the fabric and sticking my hand deep into the abyss. I’m fumbling around and groping the accessory all over, but nothin’. Nothin’ in that goddamn pleather bag. Fuck my life. So I climb downstairs & exit his apartment complex, ringing up Addie’s sister in desperation. Heyyy, I think I may have left my keys in your car, do you mind checking for me? And she is so sweet and pulls over on her drive home & searches every crevice of her car, but doesn’t find ‘em anywhere. I thank her & hang up and then call her back 60 seconds later because I am the most annoying woman in the world. Heyyyyy, so like…. Are you sure?
And she’s the sweetest girl in the world & she pulls over again, searching high and low again, still no luck. Fuck, okay. So I thank her again and think, I probably left them at the vintage store. So I walk the 2 miles down Santa Monica, back to the store, puffy clouds looming overhead and the air is brisk and I feel red in the face, flustered that I could’ve made another mistake already. Why do I keep making mistakes here? I want for him to be able to trust that I am a competent human he can trust to stay in his home but I’ve been here for 3 days and there’s already been that leak in his ceiling & the night of the spam calls & oh yeah now it’s heyyy ******* I might’ve lost your house keys & Jack the puppy is trapped inside! Sorry!
I walked the two miles back to the vintage store and the girl siting behind the counter greets me, Oh hey! You’re back!
Heyyyy, did I leave my keys here by chance? Her face drops in concern. No one’s returned anything to the counter & I haven’t seen anything. She says, looking genuinely sorry for me.
Okay, is it cool if I look around?
Yes! Of course. I’ll help you look.
So she helps me look around the store but our attempts are futile & short-lived. Her and I both know that those keys are long gone. I make feeble attempts at retracing my steps, going back to where the car was parked earlier, back to the bagel shop, scanning the sidewalk & the grassy patches & the street to no avail. I dig through my purse again in desperation, manifesting that by some divine higher power, they magically reappear. Nothin’. Defeat is accepted. I trudge back to *******’s, tail tucked between my legs. I text Ella in invisible ink,
Do you guys maybe happen to have a spare key to *******’s apartment?
Girl. She responds.
She calls me and I give her the run down and we giggle at my foolishness, my lack of luck, and she reassures me that they yes they have a spare.
Voice Memo
Not to make excuses for myself, like there is no excuse for losing his keys. BUT. He has a singular key on a small carabiner, whereas my keychain is a really long piece of ribbon with a bunch of shit on it! I’ve never misplaced my own keys. This has never happened to me before. I’m walking home from Ella’s right now, where I just picked up the spare. She handed it to me and said that it’s maybe the key. Most likely the key. But if not then…
But, IT’S GONNA BE THE KEY. IT HAS TO BE THE KEY. This feels right. It feels good in my hand. I’m gripping it tightly in my palm & letting it make indents on my flesh, and it feels like a key alright! Im so glad that we are neighbors, that I am neighbors reunited with my besties once again. From Florida bungalow to LA apartments. I am so happy that they moved to California, ‘cause now I get to live out my being bicoastal fantasy.
I get back to *******’s apartment and slide the key into the door, where it makes a satisfying click. Thank You World. Oh that’s the key alright! Jack and I are reunited and he’s so excited to see me, so blissfully oblivious to my mistake. Can’t it always be this way? Can’t everyone just always be so blissfully oblivious to my mistakes?
A dear Blog Reader messaged me: Please change Alice’s code name to anything else because I just went through a breakup & her name was Alice and I said On it! So now Alice has become Mona.
Why am i a week late to this perfect post? Living under a rock truly. Ly xx
[everything I’m looking at instead of the projector] this was so good I loved this