Monday, November 13, 2006


Our Woman in LA is Home Alone!

BLOGGER'S NOTE: Our Man in LA is far from LA this week, traveling for work to Chicago and the East Coast. In his stead, Our Woman in LA is back as the guest blogger:

Like Macaulay Culkin, I am now home alone. Our Man in L.A. is traveling far and wide for his employer. Before he left, he asked that I keep his blog going while he was gone. Intimidated as I was, I still said yes.

So, last night was my first night alone. It sucked. Don’t get me wrong- I do love alone time. I lived alone in a studio apartment before I moved in with Chris. The studio was super cute, even though Our Man in L.A. would say it was a bit of a slum. I loved it. The broken elevator, the weird smell of cat urine in the stairwell, the black and white checkered tile in the kitchen, the old school radiator heat . . . Winston, one of the building’s tenants, who had keys to the washer and dryer machines and would always give me free laundry, and try to sell me weed, AND try to get me to bake him cookies, AND…OK, so I digress.

The point is that I loved living alone. However, after almost seven years with Our Man in L.A. (YEP, seven years come January), I hate when he is gone. I can’t sleep well. It’s horrible. I even have weird flashbacks to when I saw GREMLINS and get scared that Gremlins are hiding in the apartment, so I must turn on all the lights before I enter a room. I know I’m weird. And my very active imagination does not help.

It also does not help that when Chris is out of town usually, the only movies on television are strange horror films. You would probably say, “ DON’T WATCH THEM!” Right? And I admit, part of me thinks that, too. But then it’s 1 a.m., and I am sitting in the dark watching THE RING. Then, I have the horrible journey from the living room to the bedroom, thinking about that scary girl in the movie, and my heart starts pounding. Usually I have to keep reminding myself that it’s only a movie, and that I have worked on movies, and that they are NOT REAL. This mantra usually gets me to the bedroom. From there I calmly remind myself that, like in the movie THE SIXTH SENSE (usually also on when Chris is gone), those ghosts just want someone to listen to them. And if I see one, just simply relax and listen to what they have to say.

OK, so clearly I have problems. Just try not to judge.

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