When it Rains...

This is my favourite month, not only because of my second birthday (October 20th ) or “unbrithday” as I fondly call it, but because the weather becomes decidedly cooler and more serious. I should have followed my instincts the other day and taken a photo of the colourful leaves clinging gamely to a small oaky-looking sapling, but alas, after I returned, I forgot all about it. Until now, which means I'll feel obligated to go out there again and find that damn tree, just to prove to everyone that autumn happens here too.

Since last I wrote, gas prices in San Diego soared briefly to an all time high (in my experience) of 3.02 / gallon for premium, which is what we buy for the bikes. Gadzooks! Someone do the conversion on that. It must be nearly as expensive as buying gas in Canada!

I mentioned that my first one-act play was being read at a local festival and I must say, the event itself went quite well. We had a great audience, though because my script was read first, the actors were rather cold and it took a little while to get into rhythm. The woman I was most worried about (she didn't come to any rehearsals) proved my fears accurate by sitting very stiffly, leaving her hair in her face and reading like a computer. Oh well. One bit of feedback said that it was a “clever” play. Yay! I was going for clever and subtle. Phillip pointed out that I blew subtle out of the water. Heh. Well, one out of two isn't bad, right? If you'd like to read the script, you can email me. It's still a work in progress, so I'm you know... working on it.

Since then, I've started a new script for a ten minute play competition somewhere in middle America. They have posted their call for submissions with the theme of “Lone Shoe”. To explain, they are looking for short plays that might answer the question of those random shoes one sees every now and then, lonely and abandoned at the side of the road. Where did it come from? How did it get there? What's its story? I found the question amusing, so started writing. The deadline for submissions is February, so the Aspire Collective (the playwrights group I'm in) will be working on individual pieces that we can critique and edit before sending off. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

My dear friend of approximately twenty years, Lisa, came to stay with us for a week at the end of September and we had a great time. She was shown the usual San Diego attractions: Old Town, Little Italy, La Jolla, Balboa Park and the Zoo, Torrey Pines State Park and beach and we also drove up to Six Flags theme park. We also, of course, did some shopping and generally had a great time scooting around town and eating too much junk food. Good times. We highly recommend it to anyone who wishes to come south for a visit. That said, book soon! Phillip and I are planning a getaway at Christmastime to Las Vegas. Classic, no?

Lisa even came with me to the dentist where I had a cleaning appointment. Of course it was still regarded with trepidation, because rarely is a trip to the dentist JUST a cleaning for me. As feared, a cavity was discovered via x-ray, having formed underneath a very old filling. Because the old filling has to be removed, and the tooth beside it is already repaired and somewhat delicate, it will be a big, double crown job that will take two hours. This probably means I'll be in the torture-chair for at least three hours. Someone please just put me out out of my misery! I swear, I am starting to sympathize with my father's choice to have all his teeth pulled out.
Anyway, I hastily agreed to the first appointment I was given and skedaddled out of there. Unfortunately, when the day rolled around, I panicked and didn't go. Now we have a bill for seventy-five dollars for a “broken appointment”. Call me crazy, but that seems a little excessive to me. Yes, I broke an appointment, but bloody hell, I've spent more time in that office than many spend in pergatory and our insurance is literally tapped out for dentistry (over $2,500.00 at last count). That dentist is the devil and her staff are vile minions.

Last week, a new friend, Mary, invited me to a independent short-film premiere in which she starred. It was being presented at a hip new club downtown called “Thin” (entirely appropriate for the clubby girls of this city), but which won my heart by having eighteen year old Macallan's whiskey on the shelf. The bartender, seemingly surprised at actually selling an ounce of booze for fourteen dollars, poured me a double at no extra charge. Yay!

The film was cute and funny and Mary was hilarous – one of her special talents (revealed in the gag reels) is making her throat puff up like a bullfrog, I tell ya, this girl is going places. Anyway, we didn't get a chance to chat much, since she was busily working the room, so I finished my one drink and left with promises to call about a dozen people I barely know. Hopping on my scooter, I squinted into the maze of one-way streets in my search for the one that went North without being cut off by the highway.

Because of this confusion of directions, I made a mistake, turning left from a one-way onto what I thought was another one-way, but was in fact a normal street on which I was now the wrong side. I quickly corrected my mistake without any problems, since it was a relatively quiet Wednesday night. I would not have made the mistake if I had seen traffic going back and forth, but the only car on the road just then happened to be a police officer. He flashed his lights and made a U-turn, pulling up behind me. I was so surprised I did one of those “who, me?” gestures before pulling over. Big sigh.

The cop didn't buy my confused look, assuming I was playing dumb. (I was, but only a little.) The problem was that he accused me of being “impatient” about the pedestrians who had crossed in front of me before I turned into the left lane – legal, I remind you, if the street had been one way as I thought it was. I was being a “hothead on a motorbike” who was driving recklessly now. I was aghast at the injustice of his accusation. Really.

One of my rants about this city – Phillip will confirm this, is that drivers have no respect for pedestrians and routinely pull into an intersection while one is still crossing the street. One of the most impressive lessons from my driving course was to NEVER take your foot off the brake when a pedestrian is in front of your car. Now I was being accused of purposefully breaking the law because I couldn't wait for two people to cross in front of me. I insisted on being allowed to explain.

The officer had a poker face, so I gave him my explanation and papers (praying he wouldn't notice alcohol on my breath or the expired stickers on my plate) and waited while he disappeared into his car. When he came back, he explained that I had a court date in November and an unknown amount for a fine.

“So you didn't believe me when I said I made a mistake?” I asked glumly.

“I took your word for it and charged you for the lesser infraction.” Said Mr. Poker Face. I sighed.

So my very first traffic ticket EVER. Crossing the double line on a turn. Unknown ticket amount. Fourteen years of a perfect record down the tubes. Bleh. I'm going to fight it of course. I think one mistake on a quiet street hardly rates the over $250+ fine we're likely to pay – I asked a friend about the amount, and if anyone disagrees with me, I don't want to hear it. I'm not a hothead on a motorbike. Hell, I'm usually the pedestrian shaking my fist at the hotheads. I will let you all know how this little drama continues...

Halloween is fast approaching – my favourite day, and this year, Phillip and I are going “vintage”. Since Qualcomm is hosting its usual decadent bash this month, we decided to have a little fun with it and buy vintage clothing (not costumes) in which to attend. I am now the proud owner of a flapper-style dress – actually from the sixties, with delightful fringe down its length and rhinestone-decked straps, and Phillip is dashing in a grey pin-striped suit and suspenders with matching fedora. Snazzy! We'll take pictures.

Okay, I think I've gone on long enough. Thanks to those of you who replied to my last post. I apologize if I have not replied yet. I love to hear from you, it's just been like hills and valleys for me lately. Kisses all around!

K.