Getting a head start on moving was made easier with with Trader Joe’s being so amazing in giving loads of boxes.  In Los Angeles, I called the Trader Joe’s on La Brea and they put boxes aside for me.

I try to make sense out of what he says but even if I ask a direct question such as “What duties does your current job entail?”  I’ll get another long mumbling diatribe in which I try to pick out key words to string together a cohesive answer.  It’s not easy, though.  I’ve hence found it best to just do all the talking myself “Wow, Mark.  You did a great job on the dishes.  That’s awesome that they’re giving you a lot of hours at work.  You look very nice today, btw.  Thank you so much for telling me about that job where they need Portuguese speakers.”  Now if I do ask questions, I’ll make sure they are ones requiring only a yes or no answer.  I think that’ll help us get along just fine here in our Koreatown apartment.  Mark happens to be leaving though now after just one month and I hope he enjoys his new place.

Tom and Shane are a couple.  A gorgeous couple, I might add.  They own a condo in Woodland Hills which I’ve had the pleasure of mouse sitting these days while they’ve been gallivanting through Egypt and France.  I say mouse sitting because they have an adorable mouse named Leona (she’s technically a rat but I find that term degrading).

I’ve thus enjoyed days away from Los Angeles, in their perfectly adorned and decorated condo, writing on my laptop or eating a meal with my Stan while little Leona runs around.  Uneventful seems to be the word to characterize my time away from Los Angeles, even though I’m only 20 miles away from my Koreatown apartment.  Although I did drive back to meet a transvestite who applied to our roommate ad.  She had pink hair.

It didn’t bother me none.  My housemates who I’ll call Frederick and Jon weren’t too thrilled.  “Why!?”  There were asking rhetorically to no one except themselves and myself.  “Why does it matter?”  I butted in.  “We’re in Los Angeles.  These things happen, and at least people have jobs working on these shows.”  I was taking the opposite viewpoint for no particular reason than to argue haphazardly.  Well, I wouldn’t be the one laughing later on.  None of us would be, in fact. 

Sure enough, the sucking up of the neighborhood electricity by the ‘Cold Case’ crew caused a power outage.  Jon, Frederick and myself took the opportunity to take a little trip to Vons for groceries.  It was a cold night.  In line an older lady commented on our “child-like” purchases.  “Wow, you eat like kids.”  She said after nosily peering at Jon’s and Frederick’s ramen noodles, Cap’n Crunch, pizza, potato chips, peanut butter and bread.  The hot tea was our only grown-up purchase, which is what I’d selected.  “Are you roommates?”  She asked.  “Yes, and we’re all brothers and sister.”  I said.  She first looked at me, who happen to look like a white person, then at Jon who looks white and slightly Hispanic, then at Frederick who looks full-on Mexican.  Clearly she thought we were liars.  I was going to launch into the fact that our dad first got my white British mom pregnant then some years later met a different woman, their Mexican-American mom, and got her pregnant, but I didn’t feel like getting into the convoluted family tree.

(scroll below to read the rest of the story in ”Cold Case part 2″)

“Hey, why don’t we go down to craft services and get us a hot meal!  It’s because of them we can’t even cook ourselves a pizza and our freaking heater isn’t working!  Surely they’ll be generous.  It’s only fair.”  I thus convinced my little brothers Jon and Frederick to take a little field trip down onto the street.  The three of us proceeded single file like ducks in a row, with me playing the mother duck.  “Where’s craft services?”  I asked the stout serious faced security guard.  “They left a long time ago.”  He responded.  We walked around to the end of the block and indeed all the huge white trucks were hastily packing up.  I turned to Jon and Frederick.  “Sorry guys.”

We returned back to our cozy yet cold apartment and the electricity had come back on!  We quickly proceeded to bake our pizza while we still had electricity.  The three of us then gathered around the table enjoy the warm, hot melting cheese and pepperoni.

Last night, coming home from work, I saw an adorable little Korean-American girl rollerblading around our parking lot.  I was unloading bag after bag of groceries, carrying them up the flights of stairs.  The girl rollerbladed up to me in her cute little skirt and leggings and asked if I needed help.  Heartbreaking it is that she and many other Los Angeles kids don’t have land to run around in.  Even the outdoor areas of the schools I’ve seen in Los Angeles are paved or have a rather tiny area of greenery.  I suppose that’s the price the kids pay to have parents who want to live in Los Angeles.

In Brazil, my dad always made sure we had a huge yard where we could play in, dig in, climb trees in, splash around in the rain in, play with our animals, and plant in.  Later on as a grownup in Florida before I left to move out here I was living in an apartment complex with tons of rolling greenery, lawns to walk in, with a huge lake across the street.  Even the lower income residences in Florida have yards and lawns.

So I say leap away, kids, leap onto all the ceilings of all the Los Angeles apartments.  I’ll just play music or put in my earphones.  Or maybe your parents will wisen up and we can all go to one of the local hiking parks and run around like elephants.