why i hate l.a.

Yesterday was probably the most stressful day of this trip so far.

I think I just have to resign myself to the fact that I AM scatterbrained, and quit denying this trait of mine every time I do something irresponsible or inane. I tend to be defensive, and chalk up these so-called "isolated incidents" as exceptions to the rule.

Sigh.

This is my long, convoluted way of saying that I lost my debit card.

Yep.

I still am not sure what happened to it. The last time I used it was Saturday night, when I used it to withdraw some money by Big Wang's at West Hollywood. Jeanne swears she used the ATM after me, so there's no way I could have left my card in the machine, but I'm thinking that's probably what happened to it.

Ah well.

Also, I've decided that whatever shape or form hell takes on, it must somewhat resemble L.A.

L.A. is this breeding ground for animosity and unhappiness. The traffic is every bit as horrendous as people claim and there's just way too much concrete, glass and litter for anybody to be truly happy here.

After we dropped off Tiffany at the airport, Walt, Jeanne and I took a detour for breakfast at IHOP before continuing on to Manhattan Beach. This place I have deemed to be the one bright spot on this L.A. trip. There were several streets lined with upscale shops and eateries. A beach pier stretches into the Pacific blue, and there was even a tiny aquarium at the end of it, which we explored. The water was freezing cold, but the sand was actually warm and slightly therapeutic to walk on.

We debated about driving to Malibu Canyon--I would have loved to drive on the Pacific Coast highway for a bit--but we decided there was simply not enough time to drive all the way out there, and then still make it back in time to do laundry and pack before our 11:30 p.m. Monday night flight.

After we were done with Manhattan Beach, we decided to head back to the apartment. Jeanne and I wanted to run, so we ran through the L.A. ghetto around Sunset Boulevard to Hollywood, back down Normandy and then back to Santa Monica Boulevard. I realized that the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack makes me want to run faster than is normal for a human being, so it took everything within my willpower to slow down. When that last song gets going, I just want to sing "Jai hoooooooo" and go and break the sound barrier. Jeanne has to shout at me to slow down. She's absolutely right because there's no way I could maintain that pace for 3 whole miles.

The run was a little rough because of the heat, but that's mostly just because I'm a pansy. The constant crossing streets and waiting for lights to change forced us to take frequent breaks anyway.

After a three mile-ish run, Jeanne needed to ship her refurbished iPod back to Amazon, so we tried to hunt down a Post Office. I mapquested the nearest Post Office. It told us 300 Los Angeles Street. The directions told us it was an easy 13 minutes away.

However, in L.A., you must take the estimated Mapquest time and multiply it by 3 to get an accurate estimate. Or 30.

We get off the exit and only see gargantuan Police Headquarters, City Hall and federal buildings tower before us. Where was the Post Office?

We asked bystander waiting for a bus if she knew where the Post Office was. She wasn't sure but she said she was sure there was one in the federal building across the street. This large, windowless, imposing structure with no parking lot next to it? Yes, that one.

At this point, it was 4:15p.m. and the post office closes at 4:30. There was definitely no time for parking. Unfortunately, I can't drive a stick, so Jeanne asked if I would mind jumping out of the car and mail the iPod for her while she circled the street. I don't mind, so I jump out of the car and start jogging in the wrong direction. I found myself in front of the Police HQ before I realized I was in front of the wrong building.

I'm sure at this point it was 4:20 and there was no time for dilly dallying so I start sprinting. There's a security guard in front. Great. I have to go through security now in order to mail the package.

I put my bag through the X-ray scanner.

One guard pulls out my Canon Powershot from my purse. "Is this your camera?"

Who else could it belong to? "Yes."

"I'm sorry you can't bring this in the building."

Fine. I didn't want to take a picture of the post office anyway, Slim. "Okay. Can I leave it with you then?"

"No."

What? I'm standing there in my workout clothes, a sweaty mess in my jogging shoes. Do I look like a terrorist to you? "Can I please just leave this with you? I only need 5 minutes to go and mail a package."

"Where do you need to go?"

To mail something? Seriously? "The post office. It really should only take five minutes. Can I please leave my camera with you."

Finally, he nods his head. "Just be quick about it."

"Thank you." I make a mad dash for the post office, hoping against hope it's still open and that there is no line. There isn't. I purchase a box and insurance, scribble down the address, pay, and then send the box off into the U.S. Postal Service. 2 minutes to spare.

On my way out, all three guards give me a hard time as they hand me my camera. I don't mind.

Jeanne picks me up and we navigate the hell of L.A. traffic as we look for a Target. Wonder of wonders, there is actually free parking in the Target parking lot for the first hour.

As we round the bend looking for electronics, I see a bald Asian man pushing a cart through Target. Masuka! From Dexter. I'd bet my life on it. Erm. Maybe not.

"Hey, aren't you that guy from that show?" I stutter. Mel's finest moment of eloquence and wit.

"Yes, from Dexter," he replies. Jeanne and I gush about how much we love the show. We probably should have told him how much we hated Season 3. But we're polite. He asks us our names and shakes our hands. Then he goes on his way.

Meeting Masuka in Target and Manhattan Beach are definitely one of L.A.'s rare bright spots.

Jeanne buys her iPod from Target and we head back home. We decide to pump some extra gas to refill Sydney's Ford Focus which she has been kind enough to lend to us. It is at this point as I am attempting to purchase gas when I realize I no longer have my debit card. Oh no.

Jeanne, kind soul that she is, after refilling the tank for me, graciously suggests that I find that Filipino food that I've been craving all week. We're staying near the historic Filipino section of town and there are many Filipino restaurants and grocery stores in this area. Despite the fact that crazy L.A. drivers and traffic are stressing us both beyond belief and making us both edgy, Jeanne senses that rice will make the Asian girl feel better, and insists that we stop to pick up some Filipino food.

I pick up a whole mess of rice and pancit (Filipino noodles) and siopao (meat pastry) for a cool $3.25 in a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that reminds me of my grandma's kitchen back in New York.

Twenty minutes later, I'm happily polishing off the rice, noodles and siopao. Jeanne knows how food does wonders for me when I'm hangry (hungry + angry) and I'm grateful for her presence of mind to stop for food. I'm still anxious over canceling my card, figuring out where to send the replacement card, how the heck I'm going to survive the next 2-3 weeks without any immediate access to cash, do my laundry and pack in under 3 hours when I leave America for probably up to a year.

I sigh and take a deep breath.

I do hate L.A, but I'm on my way to Australia. And I'm pretty okay with that:)