Thursday, June 8 2006
setting: Woodland Hills, California
The mother duck returned this morning as I sat out on the back patio tapping away at my laptop. This time she was in the company of a male mallard, indicating that she has moved on since becoming separated from her ducklings.
Again today our drive down to Torrance was undertaken in the early afternoon, and again we took a detour to Redondo Beach for lunch. This time we were early enough to catch the Ragin Cajun before it closed. Our waitress there was a deliberately-flirty young blond woman who had augmented the sexiness of her navel-exposing mini-tee by somehow wearing (and exposing several inches of) a lacey white half slip underneath it. None of this concealed anything in the lower half of her body; that responsibility fell entirely to a frayed denim miniskirt. Her flamboyant sluttyness was the only thing that wasn't completely authentic in the place. Unlike, say, a Hooters, there was no formula to the decor and the lunchtime diners weren't the sort a chain restaurant would try to attract; it was an odd assortment of middle-aged blue collar guys. I've never been comfortable with contrived feminine attention in places like this or, for that matter, strip clubs, but at least my catfish poboy was delicious.
After work Luc and I met Luc's girlfriend Vikki at that sushi place were we'd blown nearly $400 the other night. Our consumption was considerably less extravagant this time, with us ordering everything individually (as opposed to the less fiscally-prudent path of having the chef feed us).
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