So, a bloated raccoon/dog thing washed up on the shores of Montauk, and everyone is pooping their pants over it.
I dunno, I think it's a raccoon that had a REALLY shitty day, but I also love self-delusion as a life-philosophy, so I'll go along for the ride. It's a wingless Griphon!! Huzzah!!! Or, perhaps, as one skeptic suggested, the answer is closer to home:
*NOTE: Pug is sleeping, not dead. That's just how pugs roll.
In other news, we found the CUTEST new apartment in North Hollywood. It's a little guest house, with, get this, its OWN fenced-in yard. There is a lemon tree and grapes growing off the fence that you can actually eat. I don't know how you California types feel, but this little New Yorker beotch is pretty jazzed about fruit in her own yard. It makes me feel exotic and privileged. Maybe I'll get a pet peacock to wander the premises.
Anywho, it's a bit smaller than our current place, and like 150 bucks more expensive, but in a more "young", artsy area of LA, and I think it will go a long way towards making us more socially active here. Glendale has been peaceful, but in that retirement village sort of way. It was a nice antidote to the madness of our LOUD apartment in the Brooklyn, but now we are like Grizzlies emerging from social hibernation. We seek honey and berries and a good dive-bar.
We move in Sept 1st. Who wants to give us a couch for free??? HMMM?? Yeah, that's what I thought. God, I hate the fuckin futon, but it is my destiny for a while I think. Gavin has forbade me to spend our discretionary income on such Feminine Frivolities as presentable furniture. Instead, we must see all 12 super-hero related movies that come out this summer. Bastardo. No, really, he's right, we need to save our sheckels. So there you have it.