Skip to main content

Saturday in Hell...

I'm sitting in a Starbucks on Crenshaw Boulevard because a) my cave of a home doesn't received adequate wireless Internet service, and b) it's hot as Hell itself in there.

I personally think it's a crime against nature for an apartment to be hot. I knew it didn't have an air conditioner when I rented it, but I swear I didn't think it would be this miserable. This is one of those days when I'd like to lounge around the house, but there will be none of that as long as Satan himself is posted up on my couch.

In fact, it was the heat that woke me up this morning. I was a sweaty mess in my bed, so I got up, took a cold bath (really, there's nothing like a cold bath to cool your body down), and headed here. I bought a caramel frappuccino and posted up with my laptop to cool off, write, and people watch.

This particular location is bustling with activity. Not only is it the weekend, but it's also across the street from Leimert Park, Los Angeles' version of a cultural Black community. Every weekend, the people gather to play the drums and dance around. Call me crazy, but I don't see the culture in that. I need to understand what the point is. If you're calling on the ancestors or honoring something, okay. I don't get it, but I can respect it. At this point, it just looks like a bunch of weirdos flailing around in an attempt to look deep.

Anyway, all kinds venture into this coffeehouse. Some are here with their laptops to take advantage of its hot spot status. There are a few using the comfortable spot to chat with friends and make business deals. However, I think the majority are just here to escape the heat. I know I am.

I don't know if I'll ever leave. After all, that would involve me going outside, and that's what I can't do until the temperature drops somewhere below the hellish range.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Middle Aged Rant

I am single. I’ve never had a husband. I’ve never given birth to a child. I’ve never lived with a man over six months. I am 54. I’m not classically pretty. I’m overweight. I’m not very tall. My brother says I’m a unicorn. My friends are kind enough not to make me feel small. My mother mentions in passing that she wants me to find a husband. I try not to be sad about my state. I’ve lived a life that some would find enviable. I had my dream job, met and interviewed great people, made great friends, and traveled all over the world. I have a new career that I find oddly fulfilling. Men don’t always like that. Some of them are jealous because I’m not easily impressed. Some are jealous because I’ve done things they haven’t. Some are jealous because I’ve lived on both coasts. I don’t know what to do. I can’t change my life – not that I want to. I can’t change my past – not that I want to. I can’t change myself –not that I want to. I just want someone to see me, not the image I present. I want...

The Five Commandments of Houseguests

It's Sunday night, and I just put one of my girlfriends on the plane. She's a great person, but this weekend wore on me like none other. In her defense, she's in mourning. Her husband just died in September, and she's learning how to live again. They had been together since high school and now he's gone. That being said...there was NO excuse for the way she acted this weekend. Please understand...I'm not perfect. Never have been. And now that I'm 40, I don't feel the need to apologize for it. But NO ONE gets to make me feel inferior in MY house. Absolutely not! My house wasn't exactly in tip-top shape. I work two jobs, sing in the church choir, and try to work out with my trainer twice a week. So my house wasn't really ready for her. Then I realized that my mind wasn't ready for her, either. Even when we were in school, she wasn't the friend I could hang out with every day. More than that, she came with the very mentality th...

To Cook or Not to Cook

I was having a discussion with a couple of friends about whether or not a woman should be required to cook for a man. My girlfriend and I pretty much agree that we have to be inspired to bust a move with the pots and pans. In this day and age where the men we've encountered feel entitled to certain privileges, we believe that he has to do more than just call us a couple of times and come over to kick it to earn a MackDiva-licious meal. On the flip side, the brother we were talking to said he didn't really want to get serious with a woman whose idea of a culinary feat was tacos. We asked him whether he'd cook for his woman. His response? "Well, if I really wanted to impress her, I'd throw it down with my jerk chicken recipe." Upon further examination, we discovered that his need to impress was in direct correlation to some form of inspiration from the woman. At the end of the day, both men and women want a lot of the same things. However, because we speak diffe...