I felt my big toe push a hole through my fishnet stockings as I stepped on the gas and drove south on Fairfax. I nibbled on the broken corner of my dark red thumb nail and made a right turn onto Pico Boulevard. I thought about lighting a cigarette to calm myself but didn’t.
I was driving to see “Vertigo Road”, a band that my recently ex-fiance and I knew quite well and my social fears were getting the best of me. They were playing at a bar with one of those anti-esoteric names I can’t remember exactly, like “The Place”, or “The Gig”, or “The Thing”.
It was an unseasonably cool night for Los Angeles in early September so, when the closest parking space I found was 8 blocks from the bar, I knew I wouldn’t mind walking. I flipped down the mirrored visor to check my lipstick and stared at my reflection for a moment. I hadn’t seen many of these people since the break up and I knew they would search my face and demeanor for clues as to how I was doing. I wanted to look amazing. I wanted to seem like I had it all figured out. I knew that was going to take some effort. I applied more lipstick.
When I turned off my Honda, it suddenly sounded like I had parked in a war zone. Sirens screamed and glass shattered. I was overtaken by the smell in the air. It was luscious and earthy and charred. I shut my eyes and gulped the aroma down for a moment and then walked quickly toward the commotion on Pico. It was a fire. A big one. And as mesmerizing as the flames were, nothing could compare to the smell.
Well I'm back. I guess I took a vacation of sorts. Since my Mom was visiting I took some time to hang out and just relax. Except we didn't relax at all. If we weren't out and about, we were cooking and cooking and cooking.
I am looking forward to more good things happening this year. With that said, the aftermath of the holiday season keeps me as far away from the kitchen as possible.
As a kid, I always wondered why we never celebrated Halloween. Only as an adult did I come to realize that it's really just an American holiday. So, I thought to myself, when do Hungarian kids get a chance to dress up and be whomever they wish to be for one day? The answer is Carnival. I never got dressed up for the holiday, but in Hungary my little nephews always did for school. But never mind all those Mardi Gras celebrations, for me, the best part about Carnival are the doughnuts. Crispy, fluffy, and airy doughnuts!
There used to be this hole-in-the-wall place in Hollywood serving these super-juicy out-of-this-world burgers. Cheese and kraut were literally melting and dripping down the sides as well as my fingers and chin. I swear these burgers were messier than a Tommy's burger, and that's saying something. I used to frequent this place when I was interning for an entertainment company right across the street from the old Grauman's Chinese Theater.