My Weblog

Why this blog is going to land me in the unemployment line

At my computer, toiling away... trying to focus on work and impending deadline, but can't. Just downed my second triple espresso of the day and still can't seem to muster up enough energy to focus on the toxic dangers of chlorine. This is serious stuff, folks, and if I can't focus, then who will alert the public of the dangers??? Well, maybe not the general public. More like the hoity toity of a well known suburb of LA that will remain nameless, lest I piss someone off and lose my job. In all reality, while I know that my column is occasionally read, my adoring (sic) fans don't really have to worry about toxic pollutants or whatever hot topic I'm spreading the truth about this month. They pay other people to worry. For example, if my career as a writer ever takes a turn for the worse, I'll probably end up on the payroll of some rich and important executive, my sole task being to worry about his health and thus spend my days running around the city tracking down hyperbaric chambers for him to sleep in and ionizers to neutralize his air and water. That thought alone should force me to focus....

Escaped downtown Detroit and headed to the suburbs for the afternoon. Rumors of sunshine in Michigan (as told by the internet) had me intrigued, so I decided to venture out. I would have just looked out my window, but in the part of town where I live, you generally don't want to open your blinds. Probably better that way. Not only do I not have to look at the crackhouse across the street from my home-sweet-home, but the crackheads can't look in at me. I've found that you don't ever want to look at anyone too closely in this town, lest you spot some unique birthmark or scar that could help identify them in a line up. I want to be a lot of things in life, but a witness isn't one of them.

So, alas, I find myself at a coffee shop in the burbs, surrounded by other 20 somethings (I can't say that for much longer) dilligently typing away on their laptops. Someone forgot to tell the management that the sun came out today because they have the heat jacked up to a comforatable 110 degrees. I'm sweating and close to passing out but I don't want to go home. I keep looking around to see if anyone else is as freakin' hot as I am, but no one else seems to be too bothered. Is it possible that I'm experiencing the first signs of "the change"?

Uggg! My phone keeps ringing. I can't avoid work, even when I would rather stare at the wall and imagine a beach in Bermuda. I should answer- I'm used to eating on a somewhat regular basis. If I don't answer, the paychecks may just stop rolling in....

92 Days Without Gunshot Or Knife Wound!

Day 92 out of Orange County. Today the temperature is actually supposed to reach the 60's- something it apparently hasn't done since November of 2004. Sadly, I recall the ill-fated words I muttered upon my departure of California... "I fucking hate the sun!" Who knew those words would come back to haunt me? Um, perhaps the millions of weary travelers standing around me and cursing my California-sunshine-elitist attitude? Well, it's about time they got revenge on someone. Don't piss off Midwesterners, folks. They have voodoo dolls, and drawers full of sharp shiny pins just waiting for some So Cal snob to piss them off. That was not to be my day.

I have now been here, which is Detroit, for 4 months and today is the first time that I am seeing the sun. Being born and bread in what is now, disgustingly, referred to as "The OC" by frat boys and TV addicts alike, I am not used to life without the sun. Ironically, I was one of the few Californians’ who didn't have a tan, didn't surf and didn't worship the beach. I loathed it actually. While I hail from a town "conveniently" located between Huntington Beach ("the HB") and Newport Beach (yes, made famous by a bunch of anorexic vapor like celluloid "teens") I never actually spent much time peering out at the waves. On the rare occasions that I actually visited the sand, it was usually with five layers of clothes and pillow in tote. And, you guessed it, I don't have blonde hair. But I do look good in a bathing suit- just never found a place that I cared to wear one. Bathing suites=sun. My philosophy? Outside bad, inside good. It's worked well for me. That's before I realized that too much inside - very very bad! But hey, in Detroit, too much outside could mean bullets in places where you don't want holes!

A friend of mine suggested keeping a log of how many days I could go without getting stabbed and/or shot. So far, I'm happy to report, I have experienced neither offense to my person. My mother is happy about that as well.

A BRIEF SYNOPSIS OF MY FIRST WEEK IN MOTOWN

Day 1- Arrived at Detroit International Airport to find snow on the ground. Giddy with excitement, I couldn't wait to see urban squalor! I'm a writer, by trade, and a novelist, in my dreams, and thought that Detroit would provide me with life experience that I just couldn't find living in the posh stuccoed suburb of LA that I had surreptitiously escaped. Unfortunately, it was dark when my plane landed and so all I was able to see was the world's largest tire (Detroit-Motor City) on my way into the city. Downtown Detroit. My new home.

Day 2- Find apartment. Attempt to blend in. Ha! Amazing I wasn't car jacked my first full day here.

Day 3- Found dingy basement apartment smaller than my bathroom back home. Went to fabric store in attempt to "liven up the place". Bought Martha Stewart like fabric for curtains, briefly forgetting that I didn't know how to sew and that I didn't like Martha Stewart. Detroit scared me into discovering roots in my Anglo Saxon ancestors. Didn't know that I was part of Martha's bloodline. Already learning new things about myself.

Day 4- Discovered new apartment was conveniently located next to dumpsters of Greek restaurant near my building. Brilliantly deduced this when a cockroach the size of Michigan found a home on my brand new pillow case (perfectly matching my Martha curtains that still were yet to be made). Maybe I'm not cut out for Detroit. Don't like sun, but don't like cockroaches more. And WHY was I now sleeping on sheets inspired by Martha? Lack of sunshine getting to brain.

Day 5- Told landlord to find a new tenant for his basement rat hole. He actually seemed sad to see me go. Probably suspected that my rent checks wouldn't bounce. Ha! Detroit-1, Gigi- 1.

Day 6- Find beautiful flat in a desolate part of town. Only $800 a month and 5 times as big as basement rat hole. Oozing with charm... and a highly suspicious stain on the floor directly inside the front door. Oozing of blood, too? I envision a "caller" with a weapon and a resident with a bullet hole (or three) lying on my beautiful wooden floors, life bleeding out where I now stand to remove my snow boots. Buy rug to hide stain. Take up martini habit to forget stain's existence.

Day 7- Hear first round of gunshots. Hit floor. Miss sunshine. Contemplate moving home and becoming banker or computer programmer.