Lazy Sunday

Routine has yet to happen, but tomorrow is Monday and the thought of the day screams for normalcy and idiosyncdom of the weekend to vanish.

So, I find myself drinking Shiraz and eating radishes - the very radishes i've become obsessed with from Atwater Village's farmer's market. Laced with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette, you have organic-branded heaven, or something served there.

And it's funny how Shiraz is trumped by Carmenere and radishes by apples, but I remain to choose the latter and don't think twice.

I made my way this morning to church at Our Mother of Good Counsel, again; two weeks in a row. I shook hands with the priest, ate a scone and made off with a cup of coffee in a styrafoam cup, of which I'm against.

(mariachi band going on 3 hours across the street)

Afterwards, I made my way to Atwater Village to the farmer's market, serving the best radishes anyone could ask for. I bought none, because of my reserved supply at 3411 London Street. Funny how life takes you places, you discover things, eat foods and realize; I never once even thought to like this or that. That's kind of like me and radishes, or me and LA; I never once thought I'd like it.

Never even once thought about it.