Bread and Bread

Saturday night Christine and Jody invited AK and I and a few of our friends over for grilled tilapia and lamb chops, and a champagne toast to our sneaky Canadian nuptials . It confirmed my long-held suspicion that I have amazing friends. People have been so nice in their well-wishes that I keep thinking, Wow, if we had a real wedding we could clean up! Just kidding. Still happy with our choice. Still don’t need a juicer. In addition to warm thoughts about the essential kindness of humanity, the night also yielded one truly revolutionary idea, or at least a truly L.A. idea: Time Share Airport Parking Spot! I’ve spent a good chunk of the past few months of my life traveling, but I try to avoid rambling about the trials and tribulations of air travel at the risk of sounding like an uninspired standup comic. How about those $6 lattes at the airport Starbucks? (Okay, that wasn’t even funny, just a complaint.) But suddenly all of us were talking about the creative/exhausting ways we get to

Okay, back to Owly's. When I visited Daisye a few years ago , she and Laura had recently discovered that their ideal date was an antique auction. Always crafty, Daisye had begun fixing up her finds and arranging some of them into dioramas that were one part Grandma's house, one part Museum of Jurassic Technology . "Someday we'd love to open our own store," she said. I never would have imagined that "someday" would come so soon and so snazzily. There's something exceptionally rewarding and inspiring about watching a longtime friend turn a hobby into a passion into a business. Now Owly's Wayside Nest is a funkily curated vintage goods shop that sells kitsch quite sincerely, with a special penchant for salt and pepper shakers, refurbished dolls, cat house coins, clocks and, of course, owls. Daisye's Doll Hospital is a store-within-a-store. The girl in me who cried whenever she saw a stuffed animal in a trash can loves Daisye for rescuing these

Some months ago, AK and I hatched a plan. Seeing as how we liked each other and planned to spend as long as possible together, we wanted some of those legal rights we kept hearing so much about. But California was still denying them. Sort of. But if we got married out of state, we could bring everything except the word "marriage" back with us. And since we were both kind of meh about weddings, why not fly up to Washington, see our friends and drive up to Vancouver, land of legal pot, free health care and marriage for all? By the time our trip rolled around, I'd been snagged by a blue mood for a couple of weeks and AK was thinking that some kind of celebration--not a wedding, but something a little more festive than a paper-signing ceremony at a marriage commissioner's office--might not be such a bad idea. That's the thing about doing things the non-traditional way--you discover that all those restrictive guidelines can also be lifelines. But life is bumpy and mes

Since I spent Wednesday night unleashing my recent brand of crazy on AK, I decided Thursday night we could do what she wanted to do. She chose the Laker game followed by food at the York. I have never knowingly, willingly watched a televised sporting event that was not the Olympics, gymnastics or ice skating. I went to a Super Bowl party once, but I was really focused on the chips and dip. I may have caught a few minutes of baseball at AK’s parents’ house, but I’m sure I was putting together tomorrow’s outfit in my head, which is what I do when I’m bored. So it was a big deal to knowingly, willingly watch the last twelve minutes of the Laker game and actually pay attention. At first I was all about the Celtics’ green sneakers and retro headbands, but then AK started telling me more about the players’ seasons and lives. I started watching the expressions on their faces (thank you, big new TV!) and the very close score at the bottom of the screen. I started to feel a peculiar sensation

Hello there. It’s been a while, no? To summarize, Tucson was good, even though I got sunburned just walking down the street. Dyke Day L.A. was good, a punk rock picnic with dykes and dogs and babies, on a hill next to the house Frank Lloyd Wright built for an eccentric, radical actress and the daughter she called Sugartop. I took a bunch of pictures, which I’m too lazy to upload, so I’ll direct you to LAist’s photo essay (my back is visible in one of the pics. See if you can see me—it’s like Where’s Cheryl? Hint: Look for a brown and orange shirt). In between the fun stuff, my moody streak has continued. So I’m back in therapy, where Señor Freud, as AK calls him, is helping me repeat over and over that I don’t have to be flawless to deserve love. Eventually maybe my superego will believe it. Or just shut up. I can’t remember what the superego is supposed to do. All I know is that it’s been acting like a playground bully to my shredded little ego. AK and I are going on vacation next w

Hello from Tucson, where I’m currently working and apparently not boycotting Arizona. I thought about it. But by the time I thought about, I’d already scheduled some meetings. So I would have had to follow up and say, “Hey, so it turns out we can’t meet to talk about your amazing free writing workshops for Native American kids in juvenile hall because I’m boycotting your state.” Which didn’t really seem in the spirit of things. So here I am between pastel mesas that look like someone unfurled a painted backdrop just behind the blocks of pink and tan stucco civilization. All sorts of clichés about the inspiring beauty and openness of the Southwest are threatening to come true. I even brought my sketchbook, so who knows what will happen? For the record, I haven’t purchased anything here yet (well, except my hotel room). For lunch I ate the bag of chipotle almonds I bought at LAX. I still have some peanuts donated by the good people of Southwest Airlines, but I’m guessing they w

In my mind, I spend my weekends bumming around Highland Park, riding my bike to the farmers market, picking up a taco, ducking into art galleries and stores that sell stylish handmade goods, and meeting friends for locally brewed beer at the York. AK just looked over at my screen and said, "Oh yeah? Is that what it's like in Cheryl's mind?" In reality, a more typical day would involve cleaning the house, driving to something that at least vaguely resembles work (writing date, meeting, gym), then driving to meet up with friends who live in the Valley or on the Westside. I think my cats see more of the neighborhood than I do. I love my faraway friends and my writing dates, but today it was nice to soak in some pure HP goodness in the form of Lummis Day , "The Festival of Northeast Los Angeles." We biked, so I felt a tiny bit less like my 2009 New Year's resolution had failed. Then we listened to some lovely, funny poets at El Alisal (home of poet Suzanne