My living situation varies greatly based on your perception of my life. To most, I am a bachelor working and living alone in Orange County, but to those special few people that know what I actually do all day I’m just another blonde bimbo sitting poolside blogging. Along with spending frivolous amounts money on clothing and cannabis every time a check comes in the mail I also hate getting my hands dirty doing work that most people would consider a minor chore, plus I own more bathing suits than pants.
All of these factors may seem unrelated but the point that I am trying to make is that this blonde bimbo doesn’t like housework. This week brought a subtle heatwave to our otherwise dreary April which in turn brought an influx of uninvited house guests to the VanBilliard residence. I don’t know for sure if spiders can sense when someone is terrified of them but I can say that those eight legged monsters sure do love to hang around me, and more specifically, my kitchen. Since I’ve been absolutely swamped this week with my new skin care regimen and my hot yoga classes got moved to evenings I’ve had exactly zero time to buy the necessary equipment (kevlar, flamethrowers, grenades) I would need to combat the undocumented immigrants that have started to claim the area I used to eat cereal in.
With the access to my fridge blocked by a shantytown of arachnids (probably) procreating on my granite countertops I’ve had to seek out other avenues for sustenance. This past week I found myself in the heart of USC territory after watching Los Angeles FC take on Seattle’s sorry excuse for a soccer club and I was starving. Mixing edibles with mexican beer can always be a gamble but today this combination provided the necessary fuel for me to get out and adventure around until something spoke to my soul. On this particular evening my soul apparently wanted a hot dog.
Dirt Dog in Los Angeles serves up street food without the hassle of the actual street, or any of the colorful people you usually encounter while eating a bacon wrapped hot dog. There’s a lot of variety to chose from but for me a standard ‘house’ dog is the way to go. Perfectly cooked and served on a lobster bread roll with a smorgasbord of cheese, bacon, bell peppers, and a touch of lime for good measure, I just wish I could have gone back to try a different one. Unfortunately OC Weekly only agreed to buy me one hotdog a week and if I try and renegotiate my contract I’m worried they’ll realize they never actually hired me, I just started showing up.
So until it gets colder than 50, or I decide to evict the squatters in my dining area I’ll be at Dirt Dog.