Saturday night was an assemblage of random occurrences and mishaps, a a downtown adventure with the lovely Lindsay.
Linds got stuck in horrific traffic and my anxiety-ridden neurotic self was terrified of being late to the Troop Beverly Hills + Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s dead double feature/q&a extravaganza. So I waited for Lindsay on my stoop thinking perhaps it would help traffic move faster. What a nut.Luckily, being a native I can fumble my way to most places in the city and praise jeebus this was one of those cases. The Downtown Independent Theater is in the middle of nowhere. Kind of. Pitfire Pizza + a gorgeous church are on one end of the street (think black tie gala), street dog vendors and ghetto trannys on the other. Straight up ghetto. Never seen one of those before. I guess I just run with a crew of fabulous trannys.
Anyway… inbetween the two screenings, we decide we’re hungry and want some burritos. Great idea! Wrong. The street vendors + restaurant next door only take cash. Which of course we don’t have.
We wander past a store that sells Cebo de Coyote and Colmillo de Coyote… I’m sorry, what? I’m thinking brain of coyote but then high school spanish kicked in… reminding me that cerebo is brain. Still slightly terrifying. Especially when I realize that colmillo means tooth… Where are we and what did we get ourselves into? Our gravestones flashed before my eyes:
And all they wanted was a burrito…
We ran. Got whistled at for the tenth time (did I mention we kept on getting whistled at?). Passed a creepy and seemingly ominous building.
Ran to what seemed like the suburbs compared to the other end of the block… aka Pitfire Pizza, but lo and behold they shut their doors 4 minutes before we got there. Begging for leftovers got us nowhere so we sulked our way back to the theater and feasted on water, diet coke + sour patch kids.
Alive… but heartbroken with no burritos and grumbly tummies.
How I love adventures.