So today I went on an accidental 3 mile walk.  In theory, it sounded nice.  In reality, it smelled sweaty.  While my time in Los Angeles grows longer, the memories of when I used to walk thirty New York blocks daily to go to work start to fade.  In attempt to revive that time where I had a built in exercise routine, I asked if I could walk to pick up stamps for work, instead of driving.  Being in LA, the idea seemed inane and I had to plead a bit.  My wish was finally granted, and off I walked.  A sunny, breezy day from inside soon became a hot, I miss the AC, day outside.  Unlike NY where the streets are always flooded with folks, the streets of LA can be bare, sans those who call that street their home.  At first, I didn’t mind the kissy sounds made by a trucker driving by or the compliment by a blue-headed bum (I think I just created a new bar drink) as to my glowing (sweat) beauty.   I’d say my favorite comment was by a young Latino school boy who told his fellow friend, “Damn, I’d hit dat’.” I’d have to guess that any girl with a potential bed and hot shower at her access may elicit these same compliments, but I’ll take it.  Fragile self-esteem, you know how it is.  So feeling a bit hot (in more ways than one) I stroll into the nearby grocery store, request the stamps I called about prior to leaving the office, and then was handed a stack of 20 stamps.  “No, I asked if you had the rolls of 100…and you said ‘yes’.”  Not at all apologetic, the women simply told me again “yes,” and turned back to a co-worker for an off-the-clock conversation while on-the-clock.  If only the response for “I don’t speak English” wasn’t always a “Yes” or a head nod, I wouldn’t be in this situation – needing stamps, my car, and a Squeeze Breeze.  I remembered a nearby Office Depot sold stamps, so I headed in that direction.  My perspective a bit off, Office Depot is nearby in a car, not at all nearby on foot.  I walked for what must have been longer than Kim Kardashian’s marriage lasted (It feels wrong not to mention the day’s easiest joke).  Feeling a bit light headed from the heat, and freaked out by the homeless man with one hand in a bag of Cheetos and another in his pants, I trudged on.  I eventually made it back to my office, and collapsed into my seat.   Me, the same girl who once didn’t realize her car was missing for three days (parked at a friend’s house who eventually called asking  “Missing anything?” to which I replied “Not that I can think of.”) now feels like a limb is missing without it.  Clearly, my God-given limbs no longer cut it. 

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