She's a Heeler

I have not had a chance (or the stomach) to spend any quality time with Rubi for the past few days. I really want to sit down with her and get the details on how to have a “breakdown” in order to create more money, and more importantly, a Mini Cooper S. I mean, with all that fine insight on Brangelina, I’m starting to think we might be on to something.

However, I’m a little miffed with Rubi right now. She only leaves the house on Tuesday and Thursday evenings to go to her acting class. She must be pretty good because she acted her way into this house. She’s not actually an actor but an aspiring director and screenplay writer. Welcome to Los Angeles. Anyway, she must go to the bar with her classmates afterwards because she usually gets home well after midnight. That’s fine except that the front door to this castle weighs a ton and she can’t seem to figure out how to close it lightly. Then, without removing her heels, she totters up the Spanish tile stairs and into her room to do at least six laps back and forth across the hardwood floor. Sleep is clearly not included in her self help plan.

She and Mariana are making breakfast together as I type. Moments ago there was the familiar tapping on my door.

“Melissa?” It was Mariana.

“Yea?”

“Can we borrow some your coffee?”

“Sure, help yourself…” Because it grows on trees…the Starbuck Tree.