I love living in Pasadena. It’s gorgeous, quiet, scenic, close to the mountains, and nice but with none of the bougie-ness found in other parts of Los Angeles. In a nutshell, it’s perfect. You would never, ever know you are a 15 minute drive from this:
Plus, there are parrots.
I had lived here a few months when I first discovered the parrots while walking through a nearby neighborhood. I rounded a corner, heard a cacophony of cawing, and looked up to find several dozen green parrots in a tree. I stood there a moment, trying to figure out why there were parrots, and could come up with no good reason (the speculation is that they are descendants of parrots released from a pet emporium that caught fire in 1959). I went home and told my husband about how weird it was, and his response was something along the lines of , “um-hmmmm hrmp”. He really didn’t care. I, on the other hand, am fascinated by this oddity. I only run into them once every few months, and whenever it happens I always stop to watch.
Now that I know what they sound like, when I hear them I get super excited. So today I’m speed walking along, and low and behold, the sounds of tropical birds filled my ears. When I got to the tree they were in, I stopped per my usual. Today there were more gathered in one place than I’ve ever seen. Seriously, there were about 40 or 50 of those suckers, and they were loud.
I’m standing there, in my pink running shorts and camouflage sweatshirt, mouth hanging open, staring at the birds. I don’t know if something spooked them, or they just got tired of my oogling, or what, but out of nowhere all of them started beating their wings, and seconds later they were flying overhead. I was still standing there like a reject thinking it was totally cool when the first blob of liquefied shit hit the ground a few feet away. I looked down, and all of a sudden, plop plop plop.
So I did what any moron would do. I crouched down in a semi-fetal position, all Tipi Hedren-esque, except without the chic-ness and cute haircut. I am sure the person that drove by in the Prius laughed his or her ass off. Amazingly, not one bird shit on me, and it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying.
Today was a good day, therefore I am rewarding myself with a cocktail.
• ½ oz Woodford Reserve
• ½ oz Campari
• Ginger ale or club soda, whichever you prefer
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but typically when I make Friday cocktails with the proper proportions, I take a sip and pass it off to my husband because I am a lightweight, then I make myself a smaller version. I simply can’t hang anymore. This drink, however, is all for me, hence the lesser amount of liquor involved – plus, a little Campari goes a looooong way.
Enjoy, and may no birds poo on you this weekend. Happy Friday y’all!