...and the Los Angeles-Linked Loss of Libido: Exhibit #423

A friend recently dropped her latest romantic interest. She has a kind heart, but even she could not put up with him.

He didn't believe in money, construct of The Man that it is, so he only brought things into his apartment which were found or given to him.

Which meant that she was dating....a beggar.
Who didn't have to be begging.
And who wanted to spend a lot of time at her place.
Where there was a nice warm bed and groceries. And furniture that wasn't driftwood.

Any sensible person would have laughed uproariously and told him, "J-O-B. Look into one."

(To which he would have demurred, preferring to "concentrate on his yoga". And teaching yoga was out, since that would sully his religion with cold, dirty money.)

And still he gets laid, because girls in LA think he is deep, instead of catastrophically lacking in testosterone, common sense, and shame.

Oh man, if Ned had ever tried to pull this shit...

...and the Annals of Addled Analysts Applying As Assistants

I have recently thought about taking on an assistant. There are many mysteries around me these days, and George and Bess are pretty busy.

You know who I wouldn't ever, ever hire, though?

Paul Begala, he of this penetrating quote:

“If you go to a white neighborhood in the suburbs and ask them, ‘How would you feel about a large black man kicking your door in,’ they would say, ‘That doesn’t sound good to me,’” said Democratic political consultant Paul Begala. “But if you say, 'Your house is on fire, and the firefighter happens to be black,' it’s a different situation.”

The last thing I need when I'm in hot pursuit of some hoodlums who tried to run me off the road is an assistant shouting via walkie-talkie "The suspect is hatless! Repeat, hatless!"

...and the Famine of Front-Facing Feet

The strangest thing about LA is how frequently women's feet in bathroom stalls are pointed the wrong way.

Ah...eating disorders.

Very disconcerting, like toilets flushing the opposite way in Australia, but a more city-specific variation.

I must start accounting for this in my deducting. I can no longer assume that backward-facing shoes are the dead giveaway of a man dressed in woman's shoes hiding out in the stall of a women's bathroom in order to avoid detection by the authorities and/or myself, and as such, should require additional evidence before charging in on any such stall with a triumphant "Aha!" I do not wish to be covered in vomit.

Mystery Solved

A decades-old rift in my family has finally been cleared up. Years of hurt, angry feelings because someone misheard what someone else was saying. Funny, sad, and unbelievable.

So the lesson, everyone, is clear the air. Don't let things fester! Give people a chance to explain.

And make an effort with people who seem slow to warm up to you. It could be that they haven't understood you. Perhaps literally.

And also, maybe if you find yourself at a wedding shower with the bride opening up a gift -- a beautiful peignoir -- and someone else commenting (with a smile) that it's so typical of the giver, "so full of venom", consider if that seems likely to have just been said.

Or whether the person might have said "so feminine".

Thirty-five years.

...and the Linguistically Limited Lady

My lovely older Armenian neighbor comes over to chat sometimes when we both are outside. She likes to talk with me to practice her English, and she's so sweet. She always waters my plants when I forget, which is every day, and loves my cat, who always bolts straight to her as though she is his rightful owner and I am just keeping him held hostage, apart from his one true love.

(I was feeling really awful about how much more he loved her than me until she explained to me that she always gives him huge amounts of turkey and sandwich meats to entice him. Well no wonder he loves you so much, lady.)

Her English is much better than she thinks it is; she's much too hard on herself about it. That said, her halting English does sometimes result in rather stark haiku. Like this grim little gem;

"I remember last summer. You stay inside. Your plants all die."

Ouch.

...and the Quarterback Quagmire

I am resurfacing after a year because I am overcome with so many emotions right now. Nausea and heartbreak primarily.

This can't be happening, can it? I think there's blame on both sides, or maybe it all cancels out and there's no need to blame. Just a mess. But I can't bear the thought of seeing Brett Favre in anything other than a green and gold #4. Seeing him run out onto a new home field - not Lambeau? It can't be. Nooo!

It's like watching your parents get divorced when you thought they always got along. It's awful.

It also really raises that Madden curse to a whole new level. Stupid game.

I, for one, am still Parent-Trap-hoping against hope that they can work it out. Is that all it would take, Brett? Ted? Some hijinks wherein I lure you both to a candlelight dinner, and then seal the deal with an adorable rendition of "Let's Get Together", and you both realize that you DO think I'm adorable and that you have to work it out, for me, and besides, you're still in love? Because I will totally do that.

Ah the Parent Trap. Speaking of heartbreaking. Little Lilo in that movie...so hard to watch it and see how cute and charming she was and know how different everything would be in under a decade. But she's looking great and happy these days, isn't she? Her trip to the Isle of Lesbos appears to be just what she needed. And of course the leggings.

But if coming to terms with all leggings, all the time is the price we must pay for a happy, well-adjusted Linds, well...



Awww.

Yeah, I'll pay it. Reluctantly, but I will.

Do you think she'd be interested in helping with the Brett-and-Ted get-together shenanigans? Maybe I should give her a call.

...and the Mystery Under the Water Tower

Sorry I've been away so long, faithful readers.

What with my life being chronicled on the big screen again, I've been trying to lay low. My thought was that if I didn't pay the travesty any mind, neither would anyone else. I'm glad to say my gambit paid off.

It turns out that many of you understand me better than I thought. Like this fine young lady.

While laying low, I did of course come across another case! New lot, new cover, new set of suspects. I even have an alias. Call me GiGi.