Trying to get to my Missed Connection
I MEAN EVERYONE, from the security guards who eye everyone, to the Chihuahuas brought in by those pretentious "I can't leave little Snookums alone for one minute in the big bad mansion while I shop for deals at the 99cent store and then head to Trader Joe's to make one of those young studs cart a tub of Charles Shaw wine to my Hummer" pseudo-ladies of the night.
Here's the rub: I broke my right ankle (freak fashion accident involving me, a pair of two inch platforms, a piece of even flooring and a decaf soy banana mocha, NOT a Malibu Rum and pineapple as many have rudely insinuated.) The Trader Joe's at Third and La Brea is the closest one to my house. My roommate is agoraphobic. OK maybe not, but she needs to plan to leave the house at least four days in advance except if she is attending a Landmark Forum seminar on how to change her life (those are scheduled weeks in advance.) My best friend (who lives down the street) just moved in with her boyfriend and they are spending all their time either arguing or in the drive thru at Yoshinoya Beef Bowl. Another friend of mine, who occasionally sleeps over when he's feeling charitable, has decided that with two perfectly fine legs he is tired of driving all the way over to my house (he lives in that place commonly known as Butt Fuck Egypt or Silverlake as the local hipsters call it.) My parents have left for vacation in N e w Y o r k (I use the term New York loosely because it sounds more glamorous than the real term which is Buffalo.) My sisters are in Berkeley single handedly solving the water crisis with their lack of showers. I've got one friend who's out of the country, but if she was in the country I would have to get in line behind her five year fuck buddy (?) and I don't recognize half the other names in my cell phone.
So....if anyone wants to drive me to my missed connection at Trader Joe's, I would be eternally grateful. My missed connection will then sweep me off my foot and Storm Trooper Aircast and lead me into the sunset. Or at least push my cart past all those super hot hipsters while I fill it with Decaf Chai Concentrate, Kashi cereal and Mochi.
it's OK to contact this person if you are over 16 with a driver's license, a healthy right leg and access to a car that is big enough to incorporate a Storm Trooper Aircast. Pretentious pseudo-ladies of the night with Hummers are more than welcome to respond.
this is in or around Los Angeles