blustocking | (no subject)

I haven't painted my fingernails in months. Haven't had time, didn't care. Today, when I walked to the drugstore on my lunch break, I finally purchased the "Autumn Berry" shade I've been hemming and hawing over. I must say...it looks fabalus.

Los Angelian ugliness so beautiful in it's fight with nature. Sometimes, I swear I couldn't leave this city...but I will. I'll never see it all, never experience everything she has to offer and that does disturb me. It's the quiet version of Las Vegas, a subtle whore...a whore that doesn't look like a whore, but you know better. Fuck, that's half the girls in this town. I sat at a bus stop in Hollywood, on Hollywood, today at sunset. A different route. I miss it. I miss the ugly seediness, the touristy kitsch mixed with a history of a classier seediness. Old Hollywood. It's still there, barely, but still there. Hollywood is my urban fix. The closest concrete jungle I have. Downtown has it occasionally, but it's different. Where downtown Los Angeles is the quiet history, fading from view with a semblance of grace and dignity (buoyed by the occasional "revitalization") Hollywood is the boisterous aging starlet refusing to go out without a fight and a laugh. I'll miss her...I'll miss them both, eventually.

Night and day sat opposite on the 183 this evening. Her in pale, muted beiges and tans, reading Dickens' Great Expectations, mousey brown hair, long and straight, glasses...like a semi-fashion conscious librarian. Me, in black sweater, tight black pants, dark nails, darker hair, reading Neil Gaiman's American Gods. *shrugs* I found it amusing.

So yes, I'm "home" now.