La Cabaña and a close call

So like I said, last night was all about Where the Wild Things Are. The evening started off at a local Mexican establishment in Venice, just about five minutes walking distance from my house. I figured it was going to be a long night, so I thought I'd get all primped and cute. I mean, job searching and spending time at the gym isn't the most glamorous lifestyle, so I have to jump on my opportunities when I can. I was feeling good as I was leaving the house. There was a little spring in my step, I had my clutch, was rockin' my grey boots, had a cute little plaid collared dress on with leggings underneath. The only issue is, because the restaurant is so close to my house, I will of course be walking there. Which normally isn't a problem, on the contrary it's rather a treat in Los Angeles just to walk somewhere. Because nobody walks in LA. And if you don't believe me, take it from some kids who really have it together. Yes, of course I'm talking about Missing Persons, who else would I trust with your peace of mind.


There is so much excellence going on in this video, I don't even know where to begin.

Anyway, so I've always had this issue of walking by myself at night, especially in busy areas when I'm dressed up. I think if I were in a bigger city like SF or NY, I wouldn't give a crap at all. But because no one is actually walking on the streets with me, I get really self-conscious that people are staring. I think this stems from when I was 13 years old. I would go on runs in Visalia on this street called Demaree. It wasn't a bad street, but it was pretty busy. Mind you by the time I was 13, I was already 5'9 and probably weighed 125 pounds. I looked like a woman. Yikes. So I would take these jogs on my way to the gym (Visalia Racquet Club woo woo) and everytime, like clockwork, get whistled to, honked at and recieve comments out the windows of hoopty El Caminos that are much too graphic in nature for this tasteful blog.

So, as I'm going to the crosswalk last night, all of these memories are coming to the forefront of my mind. But seriously, Venice isn't Visalia (it's worse) so what do I really have to worry about? I get across one street verbally unscathed. Success. As I head across Rose over to the La Cabaña steps, I see this old Chevy Astro van with tinted windows roll up to the red light. The two men in the driver and passenger seats are hanging out of their respective windows.

My inner thoughts:

"mustgetacrossmustgetacross"(while nonchalantly walking to the other side of the street).

aaaaaaaaand of course:

passenger: "hey baby I'll be at La Cabaña in 30, you know you want to wait for meeeeee"

driver: "yeah, baby I'll buy you a margaRITA (rita being said in a high pitch sing songy tone for full effect, obviously).

passenger: "yeah and maybe even a bean and cheese burrito, if you're goooood" (slapping the side of the van).

Nuff. Said. Folks.

Other than that, dinner was quite nice and afterward we quickly headed over to the Bridge theater for the movie. My friends Leah, Erin and I walk into the lobby to see the rest of the group waiting for us. The guy who organized the evening, Ted, hands all 12 or 13 of us our tickets and we all just shoot the breeze for a bit before we have to go downstairs. Before I know it, we're all walking toward the escalators and Erin is beckoning for me to walk with her. We get to the entrance of the hallway of screens and.guess.what. I pulled a Courtney. Can you guess? I bet you can.

Where is my ticket. In my clutch? (frantic scramble) no. I have no pockets, I'm wearing spandex, kids. I'm panicking, I mean, I really don't know why I'm panicking, I should be used to this by now. I am a walking disaster of senility, folks. I have been scatter-brained since birth and am somewhat convinced that my mother must have drank diet soda for breakfast, lunch and dinner while tripping down every flight of stairs during the first (and most critical) trimester. Erin quickly tells me to go upstairs to where we were sitting to see if the ticket is still there. THIS WAS A SEVENTEEN DOLLAR TICKET, I think. And not only that, but this is The Bridge, man. This is one of the largest theaters in Los Angeles, not to mention California. Take a look at this beast:
It's not going to just "be there." I sprint up the escalator and hear a few people calling my name.

YES!!! Erin must have found it. I go back to the top of the escalator and see another group of friends I know, unrelated to the group I'm with that night and realize it was just them saying hello. Dratz. "HeyIcan'ttalkrightnowbecauseIjustlostmyseventeendollarticket" I blurted out at maximum volume/lightspeed and I was off again. I ran over to the benches we were sitting at, politely ask the group of people now sitting there to see if the ticket is under them. They oblige, but no cigar. I run back to see if Erin has found it. Nope. She gives me a sad face. I give one right back. I run back to the bench one more time. I actually get on my hands and knees, ladies and gentleman. And then...I see it. Just twiddling its little paper thumbs in between a pair of feet. So arrogant. I ask the young gentleman if I can just grab something right..uh(grunt)...there. He says "by all means, pretty la-" and before he can finish his sentence I've nabbed the little treasure and started heading toward the theater. Everyone is jumping and clapping and laughing (and I actually find out that the ticket attendant would have just let me in if I hadn't found it) but what's the fun in that...right? Am I right? Guys?

***If you know me or have spent any short amount of time with me, you realize how typical this is and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the times that this will happen again, because I can promise you that it will. It is not in my control. We are all at the mercy of something much greater than basic irresponsibility and forgetfulness.

Comments/Questions/Concerns? Please email Beckie Clevenger.


Oh yeah and if you want to talk to me about how the movie went, I'd rather have a real conversation about it. I loved it. It evoked emotions in me that have been deeply rooted for some time now. It was almost spiritual and I believe that you will either love this movie, not understand it or hate it. Most likely one of the last two. There it is. That is that.
Let the wild rumpus start.