Next Time I Mention Leaving The House To Try and Feel Better, Just Put A Bullet In My Head

The shoes, the ugly granola but expensive shoes that I want that the Beverly Hills store said they had---they didn't have them so much. Well, they had *one* kind. That sort of looked like toddler shoes.

These shoes are becoming damn near impossible to find. And suddenly finding yourself shopping in Beverly Hills when that's not where you realized you'd be shopping is. . . interesting. At least I wasn't in the really ritzy part.

So--off to other things. Like bankings and returns and wandering around in the sun. I wear things that show some skin (my version of showing skin, which is like from the knee down) to work on my ever distant goal of one day having a Real Tan. You have to have dreams.

Well, at the Bank the Bank Dude was incredibly confused about the recent check fraud that someone tried to perpetrate on me. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to explain a fait accompli to someone who isn't going to understand and doesn't need to, all in order for you to get a basic yes/no question from them.

In this case, the yes/no question I needed was whether I needed further documentation from them before going to the police.

Well, what Bank Douche was able to tell me was that my Business Checking account was overdrawn. Which was wonderfully ironic, because I had just transferred in some money to cover it 3 days prior. Even *more* wonderfully ironic is that I was in the bank today to deposit a paycheck to my business account--a paycheck that should have been electronically deposited last week but was instead in my mailbox this past weekend.

Even *more* wonderfully ironic is that the bump that pushed the checking account over was a charge that should have gone to the business credit card.

Speaking of bumps, Bank Douche took a moment to ask me if this was the first child I was expecting.

This is a particularly nice preggo accusation, because he was mostly basing this on how I looked from chest up. Which means that my arms and face are so fat now that I guess I just look chubby all over. Sweet.

Well, after this my urge to wander around and buy makeup and look at shoes or whatfuckingever was pretty squashed. I was feeling pretty hungry, but seeing as how even though I might eat 1.5 times every 3 days or so, I guess that's still just Too Damn Much. I wandered about in the sun a bit, before giving up and driving home.

On the way back to the lot I passed a bunch of people setting up for some kind of film shoot, just right there on the Promenade. Running around with cameras and water bottles and walkie talkies. There was some trailer parked at the end. I guess the talent was in there. In a stunning reversal of my normal cosmic karma, not a single person grabbed me and shoved a headseat/script/vanity pet/mic in my hand and shouted "Get in there---you're part of the team now! It's your big break!" Gosh! And everything else just comes up roses! Go fig.

At least the parking was free. And really, it's probably for the best. All that UVA probably isn't good for the baby.

Every once in a while the message gets so clear that it can pierce through even the densest skull:

I get it, world. You've given up on me and you're just waiting around wondering why it's taking me so long to give up on you.