We're somebody! Who says nobody walks in LA! That's right, Michele and I WALKED to stitch and bitch at Farmer's Market last night. It's not so much that we were carrying a wine bar with us as it was to avoid the drama and stress of driving around and waiting behind cars that are waiting for parking spaces to be vacated by people who are still in the market eating! (Dumb asses) When you must exit the full parking area, you are directed to the gigantic Grove parking structure. This is one of those maneuvers that instantly reminds one of yet another reason to hate LA. In order to get to said parking lot, you must sit through a parade of plastic families of Barbies, Kens and their offspring, as we are not at liberty to mow them down in the state of California. Pity. My theory is that people en mass become cattle-like and stare blindly at headlights as they cross in a turtle-like fashion, hoping the crowd will shelter them from the big motorized chunk of metal heading straight for them. Another theory is that they really can't express their emotions as they are on some form of medication prescribed by their Beverly Hills shrinks and they couldn't register their surprise as they have had too much Botox, as prescribed by their Beverly Hills plastic surgeons. As you can see, parking at the Grove is to be avoided at all cost, even if you do see a woman carrying two chimpanzees or Frodo Baggins. Walk people, walk.