Los Angeles is a windy mother.

My windows are rattling. The trees are making that cheerleader pompom sound. And the wind is howling in through the crevices. It makes me want to go curl up under the covers and hide. With a flashlight and a book.

I can't put my finger on the weather the past two days or so. The world outside is a lot like I am inside. Too hot and too cold and seldom able to make up its mind and often in perilous danger of knocking something over.

Someone should save me. A girl enjoys a good rescue plot.