the candy monster

Latest.

2010-12-09T06:54:00.000-08:00

Hey folks, not sure if I will continue maintaining this blog, but I have begun my post-Los Angeles updates here:

melissaleavesthevillage.wordpress.com

Enjoy!

The Next Episode, and I love Back To The Future.

2010-11-11T11:11:00.000-08:00

Stay tuned, everybody! Am working on the new website so will keep you aprised of when it's up and running. Will be documenting my travels and such on the new site. Also another side project will be in the works so will fill you in on that as well.

Source: IMDB

Back to the Future.
Before leaving Los Angeles, I caught an anniversary screening with a couple friends of the classic, the original, Back to the Future by Steven Spielberg.

Yes - it was even more glorious than how I remember it.

Look at those jeans! Those Nikes! The 4x4! How much of a lost cause was George McFly? Man. But within the midst of those tapered jeans and the quips of "Great Scott!", I remembered something. Hit me like a ton of - no, wait - hit me like a punch in the face. ('Hit me like a ton of bricks' is getting trite, I know.)

(Future Husband, take note!)

I love movies. I love TV. Really. When I was young, I wanted to BE in the movie, and meet Marty McFly, and help him on his journey to help George end up with Lorraine. I wanted to meet Eric Matthews and hear him yell 'Feeny!' in that distressed yet lovably, enthusiastic way. I wanted to live in Capeside with Dawson and Joey, next door to the Winslows and run into Steve Urkel, become best friends with the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, watch Patrick Swayze cut it 'a la Dirty Dancing, and make out with Leo DiCaprio's Romeo in a pool. Or elevator. (Baz Luhrmann's version).

Conversations With My Mother.

2010-11-07T19:28:00.000-08:00

My mother, looking at my hair once again.
Mom: You need to cut your hair.
Me: (Silent. I roll my eyes.)

Cruising the aisles of ShopRite.
Mom: Should we get Regular or French Vanilla? Hazelnut?
Me: What do you usually get?
Mom: French Vanilla.
Me: Oh. Did you want to try something new?
Mom: Yeah. But -
Me: What?
Mom: It's risky.
Me: (Sigh.)
Do you have to have Coffeemate creamer?
Mom: Oh yeah.
Me: I usually just buy half-and-half - store brand is fine.
Mom: Oh no - I have to have Coffeemate.
Me: Ok.

While I organize and unpack my boxes of clothes
Mom: You need to stop dressing like you did in high school. And you're not in college. You're not in your early 20s anymore.
Me: (silently, in my head) Thanks, Omma. Really. Thank. You.

While debating which scarf to bring to Prague
Mom: Why don't you start dressing more ladylike? So you can get married.
Me: Ugggghhh. Yep. Because that's the ONLY thing I've been doing intentionally, the only roadblock to marriage: dressing more ladylike. Ladies' Home Journal circa 1955, are you listening?

Someone stole my shoes.

2010-11-06T22:24:00.000-07:00

No, really. Someone jacked my shoes. Someone from the US Postal Service is rockin' my jewel blue patent leather stilettos. And sky blue strappy sandals with buckle hardware detailing.

Really? Almost, but not nearly as bad as the Really? reaction I had when a guy's best delivered line to me was, "Do you know what Mamacita means?

Seriously. That's what he said. (Scene of the crime was The Mayan in downtown Los Angeles, in case you were wondering.)

Who would steal used shoes? And one shoe from each pair, at that? (Now that's what I'd call a heinous crime - going through another person's mail and stealing one shoe from each pair - other people's pettiness will never cease to amaze me.) Will put the pictures up. As soon as I find the camera charger from one of these boxes.

Mental note: call US Postal Service on Monday.

There were almost twenty boxes I had shipped to my parents' house from LA. I opened most of them already and have been busy with all the organizing and sorting. Picture frames didn't fare so well. Dunkin' Donuts ground coffee made it without a hitch, though.

The mess of boxes? The biggest ones have been opened, emptied, sorted, and recycled. I think I have maybe 5 or 6 boxes left to organize.

I've been busy making To Do lists. And yes - there's still plenty left on the list. I could resort to feral anxiety at all the work cut out for me, but instead, a strange nonchalance at doing things in a pragmatic way has surfaced via those checklists. (Wondering if the nonchalance was bred from the LA lifestyle I just left.)

Weather, and I'm moving to Prague.

Tomorrow's high is 53 degrees Fahrenheit, with a low of 34. LA? 66/56. Prague? 45/35. I suppose laying low in Philly is a good warm-up to Prague. (Irony, I know. I kill myself sometimes.)

People keep telling me about how much more extreme the cold will be in Europe. Oh yeah - I'm moving to Prague - not sure if I told you this already. (Don't worry, folks in my personal and professional life ended up hearing about it the same way. I was going to tell you - are you sitting down? Hey, babe - I need to tell you something. I'm moving to Prague.)

Back to the weather - yes, I know it will be even colder than Philly. Yes, I know - my body is now used to the sunnier and warmer days of mild-and-virtually-no-weather-and-no-distinct-seasons Los Angeles. Believe me, I know. Waking up the day after flying back East and piling on the sweaters. Walking around the streets today during the evening in my new goose down coat (I'll put a picture of this up, too - who says travelers have to sacrifice fashion for function?) I became all the more aware.

This whole time I've shrugged it off - yes, duh, it will be cold. Yes, I've been living in Los Angeles for years. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll be wearing a lot more layers. I usually just tease people for complaining about any of the mildly chilly sweater weather that SoCal experiences. I gently deride the wimpiness of their stamina.

The temps in the city of brotherly love feel frigid to me - but I know this isn't even the tip of the iceberg (Oh, irony! I must be on a roll) - it's only early November, after all.

I'm actually concerned.

It's disconcerting.

Oh yeah - will be putting up a new website for my Prague travels - will keep you posted once it's up and running.

Counting Down, Talk is Cheap. Mini COTW note.

2010-11-03T20:06:00.000-07:00

Count one.

Count not one, two, or even three, but four pillow creases slashed across my face on a particularly chilly grey morning in Los Angeles. Yep. Good morning, Beautiful! Exactly what I was thinking.

One of my co-workers walks over to me with an empty box. I have a somatic reaction to it - if you blinked, you may have missed it.

Fast forward to today; the hallway and parlour room of my parents' house are now filled with some dozen and some change boxes. Thus far, I have unpacked the four suitcases that I have checked onto my flight. Winter's entrance is in the air; the temperatures are chilly and I have already pulled out a few heavy sweaters; I'm not in Los Angeles anymore.

Talk is cheap.
I'm not talking about it anymore - about the things I want to do, experience. Talk is cheap. Talk. Talk about getting into shape. Hanging out. Reading your screenplay. Asking out your crush. Being more punctual. I absolutely abhor flakiness and wish I could admonish everyone who expresses a wish to be characterized otherwise.

Some people ask me why I'm leaving LA - as if my journey these past few years have been gravy. Yep, Los Angeles, land of milk and honey, why would anyone want to leave? Remember when, in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when Toula's father expresses his thoughts on Toula no longer working at the restaurant and starting to go to school?

"Why you want to leeeeeave me?"

I get that vibe when people ask me why I'm leaving LA. If I had a bad break up. Others ask if I'll miss particular dining establishments - in truth, that's all replaceable. I can always discover my new favorite coffeehouse or tapas joint. To reiterate, I haven't been living the sweet milk-and-honey life that, for some reason, people seem to believe. It's time to move on. And life hasn't been completely smooth this whole stint out West - this is where the aforementioned flakiness has factored in - I've learned a great deal about people, and how much more important a person's character is to me. People can, if you're lucky, be genuine, lighthearted, thoughtful, sensitive, and considerate. They can be good listeners, dependable, and good friends. Again, that's if you're lucky. People can also forget things. People can do things that are disappointing and selfish and demanding and manipulative and insecure. But I believe that, on the whole, they are well-intentioned. They just have fears and flaws, like everybody else.

Life moves apace. I have long been that kid that obeys all the rules, plays it safe.

Now I'm the one that loves to surprise people. Including myself.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Less talk. More action.

Inspiration, Joie de Vivre.

2010-10-21T01:17:00.000-07:00

Inspiration
I attended my friend's father's funeral last weekend. It had been a sudden passing, and I found my friend's resilience and ease of disposition altogether nothing short of inspiring. His mother had recently woken up from a coma and had been recovering from an illness, while his father and him didn't have a great relationship; they had come to peace with each other and let bygones be bygones. He himself had suffered epilepsy and experienced a stroke a couple of years ago.

Yet he has a genuine lightheartedness about him, a friendly, inquisitive yet sincere nature when meeting new friends. He and his lovely girlfriend recently got engaged.

As my friend delivered the eulogy that evening, he talked openly about the memory of his father; he touched upon the reminder that life was incredibly short. He was mourning, but he wasn't lamenting his death so much as he was celebrating his father's life, and his entry to a place better than the one that we all currently know. One of the things he mentioned was that his father didn't have much - in terms of wealth. He didn't have tons of money, he didn't own any property. What his son talked about, was his character. Financial assets he bore none, but character was what he had; his character was what he was known for.

There's a reason why men and women hope to "marry rich." Sure, bills are an arduous source of stress in life. But at the end of the day, no one cares about money. It won't matter how much money you made, the houses you bought, or the cars you owned; that's all just stuff.

Speaking of which, I am still clearing out my apartment. I wasted a lot of dough. And man, I have a lot of stuff - which now weighs me down - every little thing is another item I need to figure out how to get rid of - ship, donate, or toss? People waste a lot of money.

It doesn't matter if a guy sends me flowers to apologize for some sort of former disappointment. In fact, I love getting flowers - (I'm a sweeping romantic, hello!) but time is precious - any physical gift purchased could never truly replace time lost; for me, time is the most valuable thing any person could give me. The greatest disappointment or pain anyone could inflict upon you is to deem you unworthy of his or her time.

So what control do we have over our time?

The funeral just reminded me that yes, life is short. Did you already forget?

People never look back at their lives and say, "Man, I wish I had worked more." What would you do, given the opportunity to do anything at all?

Joie de Vivre
Thank goodness I'm not a drinker, a smoker, or gateway drug user. Hmm. I suppose the aforementioned are both gateway drugs.

If you look at the fine print, I have all the right ingredients for closet-case addict. Suburban angst, cultural identity conflicts, having B positive blood, I'm a writer, you get the drift. Could've been living life in the fast-and-easy lane, where the talent and passion ride strong and hot but always die young.

The physical evidence is there. I love the taste of coffee and how it makes me feel. Foods like bitter dark chocolate, Herr's ketchup potato chips, Rita's custard gelati; one of the things I can't stop talking about, one of my favorite things, is food - must be because of how significant it is to me that it activates the pleasure center in the brain. I love getting my pedicure done because of the mini foot massage that comes with it. All of that points toward satisfaction felt through physical senses - a physical kind of joie de vivre.

Hmmm. I wonder if I'll ever get some more Chocovivo before I leave town.

Hustling, Are you sad?, Guys With Bad Breath, LOTW

2010-10-16T23:42:00.000-07:00

Hollywood is all about hustling. Such is life, I know.

I'm a hustler, baby. What? I just couldn't resist. I really hate hustling. It's a tiresome game. I dread networking events or mixers. It is a much more gemütlich situation when meeting in small groups, or just one-on-one with someone you already know from a prior association.

We're all hustling in this industry. The work, the sweat, the networking, researching, and whispering in the break room. Not exactly the piece of cake it appears to be from the window.

Are you sad?
People keep asking me this. My feelings about leaving town (and country), however, haven't left me lachrymose. Honestly, I haven't had a chance to give it much thought. Life's details get in the way. You know. What with packing and moving out of my apartment and episodes of Modern Family and 30 Rock.

Guys with Bad Breath.
One of my friends suggested I go out dancing one last time before I leave town.

One bad thing about salsa dancing with guys is that you risk running into a few that have bad breath. Gentlemen, please note: this is a HUGE turn-off. I don't care how good of a dancer you are, or how attractive you might be - halitosis is enough to drive any woman away - instant babe repellent. When us women sense that something noxious is afoot, our instincts tell us to GET THE HELL AWAY FROM WHATEVER THAT SMELL IS.

Apparently in the dental world, professionals can ascertain whether the patient had tartar or plaque in their gums because of their odoriferous nature. This also contributes to bad breath. Yeah. I know. I'm brushing my teeth right now.

LOTW [lines-of-the-week]
"You will win this in the end. It's all about heart. And character. Be your best self...[aside:]I have no idea what his problem is. That's my standard advice. It's good advice, right?" Darryl, The Office, "Sex Ed."

"Hurry up, Aladdin. Before Jasmine is forced to marry Jafar!" Liz Lemon, 30 Rock, "Live Show."

"Because my name is also Britney Spears. My middle name is Susan, my last name is Pierce, that makes me Brittany S. Pierce - Britney Spears. I've lived my entire life in Britney Spears' shadow - I will never be as talented or as famous. I hope you all respect that I want glee club to remain a place where I, Brittany S. Pierce can escape the torment of Britney Spears." Brittany, Glee, "Britney/Brittany."

Hung Over, & Healthy Dose of Terror.

2010-10-14T22:40:00.000-07:00

Hung Over.
Today I feel listless. My lips are parched; I'm dehydrated. One of those days that lethargy and fatigue take over and you inevitably feel hung over. Dehydration. Hangover. Basically the same thing.

Some people go by that rule of thumb of drinking about 8 glasses of water (8 oz. each) a day. If that's the case, I down about 15-20 glasses on any given day. Why so thirsty? I have no idea. Since college I've been a fish.

This week I feel battered; my shins are bruised. I hope no one notices. I have scratches all over my hands from packing up boxes - or golf class - or cooking - or anything, really.

Hello, Terror.
Realization is rolling in with the tide and I am a bit petrified. A bit of terror is healthy every now and again, though. A side of intimidation with my peach iced tea, please. Contentment can breed complacency and grows from that crop of the Life-is-long school.

Like sushi rolls that have a pinch of hidden wasabi at the bottom, but to enjoy the entire fish you have to experience that sudden burst of spice in your nostrils. Enjoyment coupled with spice. Or a burning sensation. Comes in a package deal. No way you would have known beforehand. Or even known to ask. (Thanks, Teru Sushi. Now I'll always be suspicious.)

So go, people. Get out there. Be terrified.

Some days, you really have smooth, positive experiences at work. You feel content; you feel good; a hard day's work is done.

Other days...well.

I really like that song 'Airplanes' by B.o.B. feat. Hayley Robinson.

You can practically hear the passion and desperation and energy and seething discontentment bursting at the seams.

And - it's damn catchy.

I feel a little bit of it sometimes - in that moment when I get home from a particularly long day and I rip off my work clothes as if they were on fire.

But they are not on fire, they are just regular business casual clothes appropriate for my profession.

Forget all the glitz of your Almighty Five-Year, Ten-Year, or whatever Life Plan. When your plans unravel, what would you wish for if you had one chance?

You can't always live life in a do-or-die fashion. Sometimes you have bricks in your knapsack that cannot be discarded.

But sometimes, when the effervescence rises, it spills over.

Yikes.

Two Weeks Notice.

2010-10-07T05:45:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed that I haven't been posting lately. I have, however, been writing - though there was a paucity in volume, am expanding to different formats. I gave my notice to leave my job. It's probably one of the most difficult decisions I've had to make. So - I did it. After a considerable time of reflection and consideration, I came to a decision and revised my letter of resignation (this was the writing I was telling you about).

Fresh off a weekend holiday in DC, I cleared my head. I felt ready. It was time to move on and finally jump off the diving board instead of tiptoeing on it and thinking about it. Amazing what a few days away from work and with some dear friends and family can do for you.

Finally, I can move forward. I'm leaving Los Angeles. Maybe I'll come back. Maybe I won't. One thing is for certain: I'm leaving my life open to possibility. Change can be a really good thing. This was the 'Restart' button I was talking about. It was a long time coming.

What next, you say?
I decided to move abroad. For a year, maybe longer. I gave it a great deal of thought and weighed my options, did the whole agonizing life re-evaluating, soulful introspection cycle. I'm not married and I don't have kids, and I may not have the opportunity to gallivant across the globe later on in life. This would be a decision made from the Life-is-Short school (which you may also recall from this post). I'm trusting in God. I'll just go wherever God takes me. There really is no telling for certain where I'll end up. So far I'm just planning on taking a teaching course for a month, and then pretty much a free agent after that. Perhaps I'll begin freelancing.

New chapter. I'm unbelievably excited and nervous. Why do I enjoy making decisions that have to be terrifying and exhilarating at the same time? Would have saved my family a ton of grief if I kept to the beaten path.

Why, you ask?
The catalyst for all this was a mundane occurrence: my leasing agreement ending. The owner of my apartment deciding to sell. A buyer was found pretty quickly, and things kind of sped up from there. I just didn't have the desire in me to move and go through the whole rigmarole of finding yet another apartment and committing to a 12-month lease. To sum up, I just didn't feel like moving. Didn't want it badly enough.

Oh, jobs.

Raspberry Rush Lipstick.
Today I wore my Raspberry Rush lipstick to work. I wonder if anyone noticed. Probably not. Most people are wrapped up in their own bubble of work, family, and friends. Or, sometimes just themselves. I hope I am at least in the work-family-friends school.

But, I wonder what people remember about you after you leave. Is it your shade of lipstick? Certain idioms you frequently use? Interesting how often people never see themselves the way others see them.

Then again, maybe I could try the Lady Gaga lipstick.

Rita's, Life is Short vs. Life is Long, and "Your Pores Are Really Clogged."

2010-10-05T23:30:00.000-07:00

I Want Rita's.
I really want Rita's. Seriously. Rita's Water Ice. It is an East coast-based institution that started in Pennsylvania. It is Italian water ice, gelati, and custard - I forgot how good it was. A recent trek Eastward and my stomach, if it could feel any emotions, felt utterly happy. I could actually feel my stomach smiling. Watermelon gelati with vanilla custard. The orange cream custard - smooth and sweet, yet light, flavorful.

What does that decision have to do with anything? Why should anybody care? You're right. Nobody cares. But it's still a decision.

Life is Short vs. Life is Long
I feel like every decision you make falls under one of two categories: Life is Short or Life is Long. Most people's decisions, I feel, fall under the Life is Long category. Let me draw some examples:

Doing laundry. Life is long.

Falling asleep with the light on and without brushing your teeth. Life is short.

Going out to dinner with friends when you should really be cleaning your room. Life is short.

Clipping coupons. Life is long.

Going out on Friday after work instead of crashing at home because you're exhausted from the week. Life is short.

Semi-flirting with that guy you've had your eye on, but still keeping your cool such that subleties keep things in the friend zone. Life is long.

Ask the guy out. Life is short.

Theatrical examples

Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Life is short.

25th Hour. Life is long.

Shawshank Redemption. Life is long.

Funny how the Life is Short category often includes items that some may consider to be irresponsible or foolish.

"You know, your pores are really clogged."
Thanks.

The woman doing my facial proceeds to do some painful extractions - this is where the pain begins and each blackhead is agonizingly pulled out, one by one. Make no mistake - those things are a bitch. I wince and eventually I can take no more.

"Please stop."

She says that the men that come in to get facials are actually the biggest babies.

For some reason I think this will make me feel better, but it doesn't. I keep wincing and have the vague feeling that something has changed. My tolerance for pain has dropped. I usually just suck it up when it comes to things like this. Today is not one of those days.

She finishes up with a soothing mask and a quick shoulder and arm massage.

You gotta be kidding me. A massage is probably one of the most luxurious things a person can have done in the world of pampering. Someone physically rubbing out the knots and the tight muscles in your body. That and cucumber water. I would like nothing more than to drink glasses of cucumber water all day. Mmmm.

Turns out, I cannot stop laughing when someone else touches my skin. It happens when someone else is putting make-up on my face, when I get massages, and apparently when I get facials (but not during extractions, since I am too busy crying inside).

In conclusion, apparently I'm not supposed to be washing my face twice a day but once. I know - you too, right? I will have to give this once-daily-wash a go of it and see what happens.

Does anybody have any cucumber water? Maybe I'll start bringing my own cucumber water to work. Office gossips be damned.

A Cry for Help, Coffee Types, and The Day You Didn't Get To Eat Lunch.

2010-09-25T02:03:00.000-07:00

A Cry For Help
There are certain pieces of evidence that indicate a cry for help.

For me, it's not smoking or drinking. For me - it is downing multiple cups of caffeine concoctions. Grande cups of chai lattes across consecutive weekdays happen when things are amiss. It means I need an extra kick in the morning, a bit of caffeine-intoxication-induced motivation to jolt me onwards.

What Your Coffee Says About You. And Your Type.
I judge people sometimes by how they take their coffee. But - there is a fine line between arbiters of taste.

My friend orders a Vietnamese iced coffee.
"Strong and sweet," she says. I nod slightly.
"Just the way I like it," she continues. I am pretty sure this is the same description I would give of her type of guy that she generally finds attractive.

I reflect on the fact that some people have had very simple or very complex coffee drinks during my days slinging espresso @ The Buck. Tall drip. Red eye. Black eye. Grande-half-caf-nonfat-extra hot-upside-down-no-foam-caramel macchiato. But some days I feel like a tall drip. And sometimes, the other intricate versions. I wonder, for some people, if their stress levels rise, their drink orders tend to get more complicated. Or less. Or if they've never tried anything else on the menu - you know, that type.

So...how was it that you take your coffee?

The Day You Didn't Get To Eat Lunch
Was not a good day. It was one of those rare days where you were so busy, and things were so incredibly hectic at work, that you didn't get a chance to EAT anything or take a BREAK all freakin' day. You tried to - but events transpired throughout the day such that that opportunity never presented itself. And THEN you finally left work and grabbed something to eat and put some bit of fuel in your stomach, and by THAT TIME, your body is already exhausted from having gone all day working and starving all day. And then your friends ask you why you didn't answer your phone that night - because, you say, I was asleep by 7:00pm, and I was freakin' exhausted

So...Why?
Why didn't you get a chance to eat? Why didn't you get yourself a break?

Big Sticks, Suspect The Old Lady, and Touch-ups.

2010-09-21T13:04:00.000-07:00

Big Sticks
Some old dudes carry long sticks or thick branches while they walk along the trails that I frequent @ Griffith Park. I never really gave it much thought, other than, hey, old dudes kind of like walking sticks, I suppose.

While on a rare phone call with my tersely versed father, I mentioned to him that I had started going on regular jogs at the park. He immediately went into overprotective-of-my-daughter-mode. What did he say? He asked if I saw dogs at the park, and I replied, yes, I often see people walking their dogs at the park. He then informed me that I should be going on my runs with a big stick, in the event that I get attacked by a dog.

I shit you not.

My Dad gets more paranoid as time passes He even surprises people, with new, unexpected sources of paranoia that you should definitely consider, apparently.

Always Suspect the Old Lady (or Man)
If you were planning on seeing Devil in theaters, be forewarned of a spoiler. So - went to a screening of the horror movie, about a handful of folks trapped in an elevator in a busy Center City office high-rise in Philadelphia. Who's the guilty one causing all this ? The devil is none other than - spoiler alert! - the harmless-looking old lady. Yup - that's right - suspect the old ladies.

Scene: Urth Caffe in West Hollywood on a late Friday afternoon.
My friend and I catch-up over some lattes. Little did we know, an old man in his 60s was eavesdropping on our entire conversation, taking it upon himself to rise from his status sitting at a table solo to rude old dude nosing his way into our conversation and abrasively questioning and analyzing the facets of our friendship. After a few minutes, we went from slightly interested to annoyed at the rude tenacity of the senior citizen. Nobody cares, we're not interested, find some other women that are younger and more gullible and actually have time in the world to give a shit. 'Cause we ain't them.

Touch-ups.
I'm sitting on the floor of my living room, an opened bottle of OPI's Blue My Mind resting nearby as I touch up the polish on my toes. I wonder for a moment who has the job of naming nail polish colors, because that would be such a fun gig.

Lately I've broken out of my usual Ugly Betty mold - the daily rush to the office and the no-frills attitude of an individual who just doesn't care how she looks and goes for substance over style and whatever's convenient. So, my attitude which stemmed from high school of not caring about what people thought of how I dressed and being on the casual/sloppy side, now being a young professional, now correlates to pure laziness when it comes to getting dressed. And laziness is quite possibly the biggest turn-off ever.

People actually noticed. I just wanted to add a little spring to my step, a refresh, another push of the 'Restart' button. Amazing how monumental effects can result from minor moves.

I've pulled out the dresses and skirts from the forgotten corner of my closet, cleared out the items I would be embarrassed to be wearing in a car accident, and dusted off the make-up compacts and eye colors. No really - I mean DUSTED OFF. I wonder if Tina Fey does the same thing.

I Want To Go To There, Restoring Order, and Watching TV in the Bathroom.

2010-09-13T21:04:00.000-07:00

I had second thoughts about putting this blurry picture up. The truth is - what you say (and write/blog) is pretty personal - which makes me hesitate because what you reveal about yourself, well, leaves you feeling a bit exposed. So - considering the fact that I've been pretty candid in this blog (albeit for names concealed to protect all those involved) - I kind of still feel that much of what I've shared here is kept among a select group (i.e. the five people that read my blog). So here we go - no turning back now, I suppose.

This is a photo of a couple items pinned to the walls of my cubicle - actual photo from my desk. The quote is from 30 Rock and says, as you can tell,"I want to go to there." It is tacked onto the wall, along with a subway map. A subway map of...a certain city in Europe. I kid you not. If you were to pass by my desk on any given day, you would find - no photographs of friends or family - but you would find these items here, tacked up behind me, whom you'll see rolling calls or printing documents or filing or reading emails.

I never really thought about it until today - this forgotten piece of paper and hard stock card, pinned up behind me on the walls surrounding my daily cluster of hustle-and-bustle. A completely abandoned thought, yet probably the one place in the world I would know to go to given the chance and the omission of obstacles such as time and money. I wonder if my boss has ever noticed it.

Where do you want to go?

Restoring Order, and Watching TV in the Bathroom
I kind of like doing the dishes. Take it easy - MY OWN dishes, that is. Out of all the household chores, I don't mind doing this one. Cleanliness is achieved; balance is restored - instant gratification. Laundry takes at least two hours. Dishes only take a moment. It's cathartic - to see the results of your work immediately - a little soap and water, some scrubbing, and order is attained. Control freak much?

I wish I had a flatscreen TV in my bathroom. I used to think that it was a luxurious piece of evidence that you were a spoiled rich kid - I mean bona fide aristocrat. But now - not so much. Why do I want a TV in my bathroom? You know, so I can finish watching my shows while shaving my legs. This is likely because I'm a product of the '80s and Saved By The Bell and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air and I like to multitask (can get the Philly girl to the West Coast, can't get the overachiever gene out of the girl).

No, really - TV in the bathroom. Think of the time you could save!

"Why?"

2010-09-07T21:19:00.000-07:00

Why. It is the question of relentless, inquisitive small children.

But I think those questions run more rampant, in reality, in adulthood. Well, just a bit more complicated. You begin to ask yourself why you want something, or why people are the way they are, or what you want and what are the things that make you happy. Why do I reach for the big mama buttery croissant some days and not others? Not that happiness is this finite thing that anyone fully grasps - well, I won't get into that now. So many questions of why. Why do we watch Jersey Shore? Why do we watch horrible car accidents?

I'm sitting down after a long, busy day at work, reading up on how the economy's still in the hole, and boy does that help kick up your gratitude at simply being employed! Not to mention what it does to your confidence in the global marketplace, and the blows it strikes to your courage in the face of fear and taking risks.

Why we do things. Speaks volumes. About who you are - because even the things you don't do are choices that you make.

Damn sometimes I wish I wasn't a writer. Maybe that would mean I wouldn't think about everything to death. And maybe I'd get a piece of that "ignorance is bliss" cake. Tell me, what does it taste like? I can only imagine.

Take, for example the people we talk to. Our friends, colleagues, acquaintances, romantic interests. The ones we call. The ones we think about calling but ultimately decide not to. Who am I talking about, now, hmmm? Wouldn't you like to know.

Observations. Refreshment. Simple Things.

2010-08-31T22:54:00.000-07:00

Not all who wander are lost. - Remember this one? Simple truths that are poignant are the ones that stick with me.

Here are some observations I have been reminded of recently:

Not all cute boys are funny.

Not all of LA is friendly.

Not all of work is drudge.

Refreshment.

I think these goals/resolution-type-activities/fun-things-I've-never-done-but-always-wanted-to of late stem from an ever increasing realization that life is short, and to take a step out of my comfort zone and outside the Cave of Same Ol' Droll. Sometimes you need to try new things. Rediscover that sense of adventure. Stop looking around you for some amusement and reach into your own bag of tricks.

It is because of this that my entire body is sore right now. Small price to pay for some much-needed rejuvenation.

Simple Things.
Life is always busy - it never stops for you - people keep on working, living. Living in the biz, and the greater LA landscape, for that matter, people are all clamoring to become successful and make a name for themselves. Who wouldn't want that? That doesn't make you unique. That's equivalent to saying 'I like nice things' makes you one of a kind.

Everybody wants something - and oftentimes they want something from you. I really appreciate those little things that seem to become more of a rarity - when someone is simply there to listen instead of just waiting to talk, offers some words of advice and a laugh. How unbelievably refreshing.

The Smell of Possibilities.

2010-08-31T00:28:00.000-07:00

I love fall. It is my favorite season. The long, hot days have now changed their minds and shifted over to the cooler nights that prelude the approach of autumn. You can smell it in the air; leaves turn gold and rays of sunlight become a honey glow of orange; a fresh start, a new beginning, the smell of possibility is undeniable. Even television comes back with new episodes around this time Coincidence? A-hem, negativo. It's a new season, shrink-wrapped and fresh and ready for uncharted territories.

I changed my hair. Went to my stylist Helen for a much-needed spring in my step. (Now I refuse to go to anyone else.) I wonder what you'd call the equivalent of that in the styling world. A bounce to my mane? A vibrance to my tresses? We need to coin some new phrases, us Americans. The most recent one that comes to mine is GTL. Sad, people Sad!

Change of Plans
In other news - a change in plans - my landlord let me know that I won't have to move in October and that the sale of his place will likely not be completed until December. Also he lowered the rent ;) for the remainder of my tenancy. Thanks, Universe! Wondering now what else I should ask for. My landlords have never lowered the rent. Not in the ten years of my renting career.

Am now thinking of more spontaneous things. Where to live next...?

Chopin
Went to a Chopin concert last night instead of watching the Emmys. Am very happy with my decision. Was surprised that it was a packed house - I was surrounded mainly by thick glasses and gray hairs. Embarrassingly realized that I was fighting sleep about halfway through. Then I figured that most of the audience was fighting much harder than I was. The lights are turned down quite low during performances. I wonder what the composer was thinking when he was writing music. In fact, I wonder what all composers were thinking and feeling when they were making music. I have my theories. And sometimes, just sometimes, I dream - of sleep. Oh, irony.

I need more photos and images for this here blog. Didn't want to mooch off the stock images which are found all the heck over. So, am trying to at least use my own photos and such. Some attempt at personalization. So anyway, here's a Rorschach blot. Part of Andy Warhol's works at the LACMA.

What do you see? The possibilities.

Or that one-sheet from that Ashton Kutcher movie that nobody really remembers. Just that the one-sheet was a Rorschach blot.

The Status of Things

Still waiting for my passport. Itching to gallivant now that I don't have it.

I have now tried kickboxing. Check. Let's see, so for this year I've checked off - surfing, cirque du soleil , tango.

Still kinda want that Marc Jacobs purse.

OACUN [on-a-completely-unrelated-note]
Loved this line.

"Why don't you let the women and children - and men - go." - Shawn Spencer while in a hostage situation, Psych, "Ferry Tale."

You Can't Always Live Life By The Numbers.

2010-08-27T22:27:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles, like much of America, like much of the developed world, prides itself on success That's probably why America, unlike other parts of the world, is a land of workaholics.

I regret not going to my friend's wedding.

RIU Ocho Rios resort, where my friend held his wedding.

It was 2006, I had spent the money on the nonrefundable airfare to Jamaica to his very beautiful location wedding. The last thing to do then, was pay for the hotel for the week. It would have been a time to witness an important event in my friend's life: his wedding day. It also would have been my first time in Jamaica, and, for many wedding guests, it doubled as a vacation. I really wanted to go - it was one of my best friends from my years in college while studying abroad, a vibrant and lovely gentleman with a solid sense of humor tied in with a tight set of street smarts. He became a dear friend as well as an excellent traveling buddy (you know how hard it is to find a friend who doesn't get on your nerves when you're together 24/7 through foreign lands?)
[Image: http://www.riu.com/en-us/Paises/jamaica/ocho-rios/index.jsp]

I just didn't have the money. I had recently gotten hired for my first full-time job, barely enough to make the rent, and was racking up the credit card bills. The only option I had was to add the hefty charge to one of my credit cards, and keep wondering when I was going to be able to pay it all back. It would be completely irresponsible for me to charge the trip on my card when I really couldn't afford to. I declined his wedding invitation.

Fast forward to the present, 2010. I have paid off all of my credit card debt, and I now pay every single bill I have in full each month. No interest accumulates. I only purchase things and rent apartments that I can afford.

I haven't seen my friend - the one whom had gotten married in Jamaica - in six years.

I found this one article particularly insightful [MSN Money] :
"If we all lived life 'by the numbers,' we would never take vacations or sabbaticals, would never have kids, and we would never do anything unnecessary that costs money."

Nostalgia
My friend and I went to play some tennis after work. We both played on our teams during our high school years - different high schools, different states. But it gets us thinking about childhood, and adolescence, and honestly, where have all the years gone? We are not in college, far from high school, and though those years feel fresh in our hearts they are no longer who we are and the responsibilities we continue to uphold have molded us into different people - adults.

What's the sad part? Well - perhaps that all of that is behind us. The tennis team practices after school, the classes, the prom, the life and much more carefree life that we once had - that everyone once had. That means there is that much less ahead of us. Not to be too much of a downer.

Like a movie you're watching in the theater - there is this excited anticipation, during the opening scene, the rise of the title card, the initial voice-over lines heard by the audience. The adventure is only beginning.

In Battle
There's desperation out there. I can feel it. The economy, the job market, the inevitability of aging. And having been in the job market and the interview hot seat these past several years after college, there's always that pressure to wrestle your way in; set yourself apart from the crowd, get your resume in with a trusted sourced rather than flood in with the masses over the transom.

Ah, the rat race, ladies and gentlemen, the rat. Race.

The responsibility rock within me, has grown with time, just as I'd imagine it has done with my peers. Getting good grades and treating people well and working hard has expanded over the years to include paying bills on time, getting home early, and picking out a healthy meal for myself.

But the battle is there. Responsible vs. Irresponsible. Predictable vs. Romantic. I think you either see it as: Life is too long or life is too short.

Generation Gap
I've given this a bit of thought, after recent conversations with my mother. And it never hit me that my dreams were drastically different from my mother's dreams. And collectively, generationally speaking, our dreams stand in gaping disparity from those of our parents. Our dreams were not even fathomed by them. I had agonizingly debated about attending my friend's wedding in Jamaica and irresponsibly dumped the glaring charge on my credit card. My parents grew up in a time when there weren't four pieces of plastic in their wallet that they could use to earn frequent flyer miles; they grew up in a rural town in East Asia where the rich kids in school were recognized by the hard-boiled eggs in their lunch boxes.

My friend sent me this very interesting article about these splendid and tumultuous twentysomething years [What Is It About 20-Somethings?]. It discusses the many changes and aspects of our rapidly evolving lifestyle, the differences quite prominently drawn across a single generation gap.

It is reassuring to be financially independent and responsible, and not constantly be wondering if I can afford to go out for dinner with friends. Still, I hate how money is so damn important to everybody. The things we could do if we didn't have bills to pay... Lately I feel that the older you get, the more intensely that belligerent war of security is embattled; it rocks the very core of your sense of responsibility. You wake up one day and realize internally that the slight uneasiness you felt about some minor detail in your life has sparked an all-out battle royal. [Brace for impact, people! Brace. For. Impact!] Maybe you only remember there's something in there when you shake it and hear it rattle.

Life is long vs. Life is short. Which camp are you in?

This Just In: My Mother Is More Spontaneous Than Me.

2010-08-24T15:25:00.000-07:00

My mother has called me every day for the past three days.

When we finally connect, she tells me all about her spontaneous day in nyc, walking around with her friend (my best friend's mom, coincidentally), and getting lost and going to restaurants. Completely impromptu and only decided the morning of a certain Saturday. I think she wanted to brag this piece of news to me, hence the daily calls.

My mother's friend calls her up. This is their conversation. Or, at least, how I'd imagine it would've gone.

My Mother's Friend: So, you doing anything?
My Mother: Right now? No.
MMF: Where are you?
MM: At home. Wait - you called me.
MMF: Yeah. What are your plans for today?
MM: Oh. No plans. I'm not working today - the first time in a long time.
MMF: I'm going to go to New York to visit my son and hang out. Well, more just to hang out. Maybe catch a show.
MM: I don't know. How are we going to get there?
MMF: Meet me at ten o'clock. I'll drive us to Jersey and we can take the train from there.
MM: Do you know your way around there?
MMF: Yeah. I been there.
MM: Oh. Okay, then. Let's go.

Cut back to: me talking to my mother on the phone.

My Mother: So we hung out, we went to Broadway, but all the tickets were sold out or the shows were too late, except for Blue Man Group, so we went to Blue Man Group.
Me: Oh. Did you like it?
My Mother: Yeah. Was fun.
Me: Thank God you have friends. Otherwise you'd never get out of the house.

What I Did On My Day Off.

2010-08-23T23:34:00.000-07:00

Started the day off with sleeping in and putting on a pot of coffee.
I don't believe in sitting down to work hungry. Or thirsty. This is my writing smoothie. You know. Like a study cookie - same concept. Today, after a run at the park, I went home, made myself lunch. Watched Fear on DVR. I think I caught some Ugly Betty reruns - no, wait, that was last weekend. Went to Porto's and then sat down to write.

I am still store from surfing. Hello, the pain of accomplishments. Insert clever analogy here. Also the wetsuit gave me a rash on my arms and legs. So, if you smell Gold Bond powder - yeah, it's me. And there are all these scratches on my fingers - what are these from? From my wipeout? The board? Or are they from wrestling on the skintight wetsuit? We may have been in Malibu, but this ain't no beach body.

The dude next to me at the library has proceeded to put his head down and sleep. Really, buddy? Sleep? Why don't you just go home and take a nap? He does have an old school flip phone like mine, though - this is his only redeeming quality, I have determined. Which, recently I was derided for having. He wakes up, doesn't do any studying or work whatsoever, and leaves after the nap. Venga!

Wow I get annoyed at people these days. The girl next to me finally returned to her study cube, after leaving the library to drive off and get her cup of coffee and bring it back to her spot, claimed by her stack of notes left unattended. And I thought I was being sneaky bringing in my Writing Smoothie. Isn't there some code of library etiquette? I mean, sure, we all snuck our Starbucks cups into the library in college (hello, GW alum!) but - I wouldn't leave a hot commodity such as a study cube in the 3rd floor stacks and go get a cup of coffee and hog the spot that I had left. I mean, venga, people!

Eating Healthy
Breakfast: Lox on French bread, scrambled eggs.
Lunch: Sundried tomato and goat cheese salad. Ham and avocado sandwich on rustic bread.
Dinner: Paella with chorizo, bell peppers, tomatoes and the whole madness of spices in there. Made that one from scratch with the real deal - saffron and all!
And now, after an unexpectedly Mediterranean diet for today, I could really go for a cookie right about now. I must've spent two hours cooking for dinner alone.

Courage, Woman!
It hit me that I find the smallest acts in the world are the brave ones. It doesn't have to be an epic saga of stalwart character in the face of adversity, no no. It is in the courage to kill a spider, the bravery to use a port-a-potty and enduring whatever may befall you once you have entered. Okay - so I really had to hit the restroom when I went running today at the park - I pass about four port-potties and things start to look desperate. Finally I spot the restroom and bolt into there - pleasantly surprised by the fully stocked t.p., soap, and functioning hand dryer. Good things DO come to those who wait.

Surfing Lesson, Living the Clichés, Weighing the Costs.

2010-08-21T18:58:00.000-07:00

No -that's not me.

I went surfing today for the first time. I finally did it. It was one of the things in my bag-o'-tricks that I've always wanted to try. I wiped out, wished I had longer arms, and got schooled. And that wetsuit is quite possibly the tightest thing I've ever put on my body. Second skin, no joke! After finally getting the thing on I was tired! Anyhew, a whole lot of paddling out, gaining my balance, and riding the waves. Bellyboarding it and then did manage to make it on the knees. Must work up to standing up.

Note to self: Need to do daily push-ups regimen before going surfing again.

My arms are definitely feeling the workout. My wrists and forearms, achy from what I suspect to be from the strain on my existing tendonitis/carpal tunnel issues. Will ignore for the time being.

Living the Dream - I mean, Clichés
As I write this on my laptop, I am sitting in a cafe near my apartment. Doing what else? Writing. Working on my screenplay. How trite, I think. But hey - if that's what it takes to make me write, I will DO IT! I am in Sherman Oaks, and in this particular cafe there are other writers, students, and laptop-toting nerds. I get the sense that I'm among my peers. Or maybe a bunch that didn't want to sit in their hot ass apartment since it must be 92 degrees today.

I've been reading a lot of things lately. Steven Pressfield's The War of Art. The Bible. Stuff on the Matador Network. I wonder if it would make any difference if I was writing a novel in a café in Paris. Or Buenos Aires. Or Prague. Who are these people, anyway? Does anyone really write novels in cafés, gallivanting through Europe? I would like to know. That cliché is a dream of mine - no, really. Writing novels in cafés in Europe sounds MUCH more romantic than going to Panera and staking out a claim on a table near an outlet. Ooh, baby. Being surrounded by a foreign language and ordering café au laits.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Easy-on-the-eyes surfers. Sure, you're cute, but why can't you make me laugh?

Costs of Commitment
I just sent a check for $195 to renew my car registration for a year.

Out of sheer curiosity, I checked what the cost would be back in Pennsylvania, in the place of my hometown. Cost of renewal? $36.

Lines and Words and Conversations[lines-of-the-week lotw]

"Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Don't teach a man to fish, and you feed yourself. He's a grown man. Fishing's not that hard." Ron, Parks and Recreation.

peoplesuck. Adjective. Doing a peoplesuck thing. Saying a peoplesuck comment to show that YOU are one of those PEOPLE that SUCK. You know, kind of like a buzzkill. But worse. Wonder if this one will catch on.

In Conversation
Me: "I kinda want to go shopping. I like clothes that are versatile that can go from work to after hours."
Friend: "Yeah. You could go shopping."
Me: "I will. For versatile clothes."
Friend: "Or you could just change clothes."

Clean Slate.

2010-08-19T20:17:00.000-07:00

The actual magnet board in my apartment.

My friend told me to get rid of it. It's this black and white floral print dress, with satin at the hemline and mesh lining the top of the bust.

I've had it since high school. It's undergone some alterations, but its still wearable. It has withstood the tests of fashion's temperamental moods as well as my own.

My magnet board, a few moments later.

I decided to get rid of a few things. There's this one BCBG strappy number I wore to at least one wedding and one vacation, and has probably graced my closet for the better part of the last five, seven years. I toss it into a shopping bag, along with the Carlos Santana peep-toed heels that hurt like hell and look like brand new because I have never worn them.

I figured, it's time to clean things out and clear out the clutter. Hit the 'Refresh' button. Give yourself the space and the time and the peace of mind to work in, to live. To breathe.

So much easier with a clean slate.

Stuff I Love
Ok - so no crush-of-the-week lately. But I did have to share some details about some things I really love.

Angry Little Asian Girl [see image at left]. Love this. Really lovelovelove this. www.angrylittlegirls.com

Zappos. Awesome. Wish I invented Zappos. Free shipping (for returns too!) and you can return shoes within 365 days. They also have clothing and bags, etc. Oh and you can order ballroom dancing shoes, too. Bailamos?

Waiting.

2010-08-18T15:47:00.000-07:00

Waiting at the red light again. This one is particularly long. The one that makes you swear when you miss the end of the green light.

I feel like there are a lot of things that I'm waiting for. One of those obvious things about life, but even at any transient moment in life, everybody's waiting for something.

Things I'm Waiting For

American Beauty. It's the next movie in my Blockbuster queue. Status? 'Short wait.'

My new passport! It expired last month so I just sent the renewal forms and photos last week. Estimated processing time? 6 to 8 weeks. Hopefully that's just the worst case scenario. I mean, who knows if I'll even be living in the same apartment 8 weeks from now?

Waiting for Saturday. That's when I have my first surfing lesson. Hellooo, humbling experience.

The new season of 30 Rock!

Friday. (Like always?)

COTWs - I haven't been spotted lately. Los guapos, dónde estás?

Tina Fey Shows Up In My Dream. Living My Dream...But does that mean I'm asleep?

2010-08-17T10:51:00.000-07:00

Tina Fey.
Tina Fey was in my dream. I wouldn't say I was dreaming about Tina Fey, I was dreaming, and Tina Fey shows up. I'm standing on the rooftop in some area of NY (Queens or Brooklyn or somewhere) and it's raining. I must have been there with a couple of friends standing around and I'm holding an umbrella. And then I notice that there's a handful of people shooting some footage on top of the roof and all of sudden there's Tina. And I'm thinking, what are you doing in my dream, Tina Fey?
And then I start to wonder if she needs another writer on her genius TV series...and then I wake up.

These are the dreams you sometimes have when you're a struggling Hollywood Assistant/aspiring writer/me. Sometimes you have a convoluted mess of symbolism and literary motifs. Other times, Tina Fey shows up in your dreams.

And then I wondered if Leo and Joseph G-L were going to get here soon - you know, to portray the respective romantic interests. (Naturally.)What? I can't have them even in my own dream? Boo you.

I think about the past; I reminisce. I have a cup of my Dunkin' Donuts brewed coffee in hand and begin to wax introspectively. Goals are dreams that are reached for and, in due time, achieved. (Or failed and then achieved. Or failed multiple times and then achieved. Or just failed relentlessly. Or never attempted, which I find saddest of all.) That's all they really are. Sometimes they seem absolutely impossible, and then, one day, you find that you are sitting somewhere you've only dreamt about. So - not that I'm trying to sound cheesy, but dreams become reality. Not just for me, but for many other people.

Dreams.

I once dreamt of living in Los Angeles. Then I moved 3,000 miles and it became so.

I had a dream of working for a major television network. After a roundabout way, I landed myself in that spot.

Ever since I studied abroad in Spain, I have always wanted to share it with my family. I finally got the chance to go last year.

Goals.
I supposed these could also be found under some of your New Year's resolutions list, if you have one.

Improv classes. I took them this year. It was terrifying and painful but I did it.

Take a tango class. This one I checked off last week.

Finish a particularly pesky short story I kept shelving. That one I was able to take off my desk last month.

Find a one-bedroom apartment close to work, with parking, central air, a pool, and affordable rent. Thank goodness.

Meet a tall, intelligent, romantic, and charming gentleman who speaks four languages, knows how to salsa, cook, and make me laugh. Massage therapy training a plus.

The Black Card of All Black Cards.

2010-08-16T22:51:00.000-07:00

I just got a new credit card to replace my old one. It's black. It kind of sparkles. Weird - I've never gotten a black credit card before - no, it's not the famed AMEX toted by celebs and other heavy-hitters for doing serious damage to the tune of 250 Gs a year.

This got me thinking. I wish there was a black card - for another elite group of people. One that transcends money, fame, and power. A black card that is given out only to people whose faith has been tested, resilience attacked, integrity challenged, humility confirmed, horizons expanded. And - all requirements must have been successfully met; the card will ultimately open the door to any building, any club, and is also a ticket out of any haze of confusion (speeding ticket, etc.) that may arise regarding your legitimacy as an upstanding, and above average, citizen. A black card that indicates membership to an extraordinary fellowship of people that don't cut corners, don't kiss ass, don't gossip, don't backstab, and don't have a tremendous chip in the...you get my drift. A black card based solely on strength of character.

Invite only, of course.

[Image: http://www.upgradetravelbetter.com/2007/05/22/reader-mail-how-can-i-upgrade-flights-using-american-express/ ]

Five Honeys.

2010-08-13T10:43:00.000-07:00

Went shopping on Melrose the other day. RED FLAG, right? If you cruise by this little section just by La Cienega Blvd., you might have seen me. I was in that store. You know. Marc Jacobs.

Now, I had been walking around, maybe for about 10 or 15 minutes, on this particular occasion, looking for a handbag to replace my very beaten (and slightly abused) one. You know. All in line with the "fresh start", and adding a new "spring to my step" mantra for the season. Anyway - couldn't find a single thing I liked. Everyone's picky, right?

Well - except for one thing. I came across a purse at Marc Jacobs. No price tags are visible hanging off of any of their bags - they are all lined up, high along the walls of rows upon rows of shelves. I zero in on one purse. I check with the salesperson in the store and find out that the bag is four hundred some bucks. I check on zappos and it's listed at $428 [Photo: www.zappos.com], so including tax the grand total would be $469.73. Nearly five honeys?! Something inside me cringes - stemming from either my middle-class upbringing or my hardworking professional life. I put the bag back on the shelf. Hmm...what could $500 buy me...? A refrigerator. A roundtrip plane ticket. A vacation. God knows I'd rather spend my hard-earned dough seeing the world rather than tote some designer duds in the same zip code.

But then again...if you have the means...?

Fresh Start. The Hair - or is it the Face?

2010-08-11T23:35:00.000-07:00

I feel like I need to hit a 'Restart' button. Having a fresh start, cleaning out old clothes, getting a new book, having an extra spring in your step.

I think that's what I need these days. I'm going to review my pages and see what my latest To Do List was for this year. You know - figure out what I can check off and see what's left on the list. I don't really make New Years' Resolutions - but I'm an avid To Do Listmaker of goals throughout the year. I've been trying to pay more attention to doing this. No one else is going to make sure those things on your list get done except for YOU, anyway.

So today - today I am going back to the List. What's on my list, you say? Oh come on, this is a blog, not a spoiler alert of my life. I like to keep personal things personal; I hate loose lips.

These days I'm striving to focus - but I think trying new things is still very crucial to keeping things fresh. Don't trainers tell you not to keep doing the same ol' exercises and to mix things up? Note to self: go find that ol' bag of tricks and see what's in there.

The Hair - or is it the Face?
I feel a little unkempt today; for sure I am guilty on more than one occasion of what certain stylists would pinpoint as "getting dressed in the dark"; my hair is still wet from my limited time with the hair dryer and the mad dash out the front door.

Once finding myself surrounded by a group of people, I found my eyes resting upon one of the women. She looked old. No make-up, and the same hairstyle kept for quite some time. The hair looks old. The face looks old. Or maybe the hair and the face look tired? There is no color in her face (but she's not sick or anything) - that's just her natural look - there is simply no color in her face.

She's not much older than I am. I wonder if I look old.
I push the thought away and focus on the task at hand. I've got to call Helen. She's my stylist.

Time to shake things up a bit - I mean, do something with this hair.

It took me five years to find Helen - and yes, it is harder to find a good stylist than it is to find a boyfriend. I'm never going to any other stylist for as long as I can manage.

Who says I'm a commitment phobe ?

Noncommittal.

2010-08-07T00:20:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get into these phases where I don't want to make any plans. Leave things alone, stop all the planning and scheduling and just relax.

I'm sitting in my apartment, staring at the annual car registration renewal notice sitting in front of me. It is due on the 16th of this month, the hefty bill was actually even higher last year. The irony that even if you plan not to use your car for a year, you still have to fork over 18 bucks.

Paying the $195 tab means that I am committing to living in L.A. for another year, to living, working, and writing in this town for another twelve months of my life.

Why so noncommittal, you ask?
Good question. These days I keep feeling a bit more ambivalence when it comes to making plans. I'd like to have a bit more - flexibility, independence, freedom, I suppose. Perhaps there is a touch of the bohemian spirit left in me. Or, maybe there's something of the quarterlife crisis that remains within me as time goes by and aging refuses to be ignored. The blur of weddings and engagements surrounding me, the world that dares to continue turning while you're standing still - reorganization of life priorities ensues.

If I accept a free new cell phone from Verizon wireless, it means I'm committing myself to two more years of their services. But what if I want to terminate our relationship? I mean, who knows if I will still be happy with our agreement for two whole years? And if I don't honor our contract, that means I am penalized with a sucker-punch pricetag. Smells like a prenup.

I like Verizon, don't get me wrong. I just don't know if I love Verizon. So - I don't want to make a commitment if I'm not sure.

24 Hour Fitness: You seem pretty cool and all, but I'm just not looking for anything serious right now.

As for that month-to-month apartment lease...not going to worry about it for the time being, will just take one of those giant leaps of faith.

Letting a Guy Walk Me To My Car. Priorities vs. Options, COTW

2010-07-28T23:13:00.000-07:00

The Car Escort.
Yes, you're right. Sometimes I should just let a guy walk me to my car.
Apparently, sometimes I'm one of those women that are so staunchly independent, it can get annoying.

A colleague offers to walk me to my car after we hang out. I decline because I'm only a block away. He asks again. I decline a second time. He insists. We're walking and there's no turning back. I admit that I lied - I've parked at least a good three or four blocks.

Why is my instinct to fight it? I think it was a flash of that "annoyingly staunch independence" zone that women can get in. Yeah. I gotta get my foot outta that one.

Priorities vs. Options
"So, why aren't you dating?"
I look across at the inquisitive eyes peering at me from behind a pair of specs. It seems I can't escape the topic, there is no segue, no large crowd to deflect off of; I am cornered, face-to-face.

"Why, do you have a guy for me?"
I do love challenging a question with a question. Maybe that's the fighting spirit that stems from growing up with a brother, or the stalwart source of bravado that comes from being the youngest sibling.

Dating is not a priority; has no one been paying attention? Finding an apartment - a roof over my head and a place to stash my bed so that I can pass out upon it - is a priority. I can always date; it is available, it is possible, it is not the most important thing in my life right now - it is an option.

I do hate it when people treat you as an option and not a priority, particularly when you make them a priority in your life. I don't want to be the type of person who drops everything for someone else on the pathway to Pushover Zone. Must be the fear of other people shelving me under 'Options' instead of 'Priorities.' Maybe we all have this fear.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Guys that insist on walking you to your car, even after you decline in your oh-I'm-an-independent-woman-and-can-take-care-of-myself moment. Definitely a COTW move to make to keep insisting. Who knew? Note to self: sometimes you've got to remember to give men the space and opportunity to be gentlemen.

Wednesday Fog, Wedding Date, and COTW.

2010-07-21T21:43:00.000-07:00

For some reasons I keep thinking about things...I shouldn't be thinking about. Sometimes I feel like I relate more to 100daysinbed.blogspot.com than my own friends in that respect.

Cake Boss

Right about now I could go for a piece of cake from Sweet Lady Jane. Thanks, Cake Boss. You have just added some fondant to my thighs. Buddy! Make me a cake! That man could make a cake that looks like anything. But mainly, it's got me thinking about triple berry cakes from Sweet Lady Jane's. Not that I need to be thinking about cake. Or Roscoe's chicken-and-waffles-combo.

On the Brain.
The top of my lip is dry. I wonder if its possible to get sunburned on one part of your lip. About 2 millimeter section. Who gets dryness in a 2 millimeter spot on their lip? Yep. Real normal.

I kind of want to get a tattoo. Yes, I know. The truth is, I've always wanted to get one, I just never could decide on where exactly I would put it. Didn't think I had it in me, did ya? I did get an eyebrow ring once. Ask anyone who knew me in college. Really. I did get one. The scar is still there.

The Beauty of the Wedding Date
I'm single and incredibly independent, but I like having back-up dates for certain occasions that arise. Weddings are one of them.
My wedding date flaked. And then I remembered - if I go to a wedding single, then I'll have better chances of meeting someone THERE. Duh. Otherwise, once I saw an attractive single guy, I would have to quickly shove my date across the reception hall and spit out, "Go away! Future Husband is over there." But, honestly, it is nice to have a back-up date for these things. Why, do you ask? Luckily, I'll tell you.

Dance Partner.
Gentlemen, Listen Up, and Listen Well: Women love to dance. We really do. It's for fun, it's a way to kick back, and we always have a good time. We get sick of guys that we can't do anything with or take anywhere. Why do you think sometimes we go out dancing without any guys? It's nice to have someone to dance with at the wedding reception, when all these couples are up and about, dancing out on the floor.

To Fend off the Ugly.
Creepy Drunk Guy at the wedding stumbles over to you, his breath stankalicious with alcohol and his shirt stained with whatever didn't make it down his gullet. This is where Back-Up Date comes into play. Crucial, this one. Your lovely Date, one of your good friends, is also your Boyfriend when anyone asks, but especially when Creepy Drunk Guy, or Awkward Ugly Duckling gets up in your grill; you have someone else to help you fend him off.

To Keep You Company.
Last, but certainly not least, your date is there to do the most important thing: hang out with you. Weddings can be packed to the brim with people you don't know and may have nothing in common with you; with your awesome guy friend as your date, you'll have someone to talk to for the whole night, someone who you can make small talk with the other guests with. And, you two can order two different dishes and get to sample all the food being served.

COTW[crush-of-the-week]

Your good friend, the wedding date, of course. Looks good in a suit and tie, along with the three factors aforementioned above.

Guys that can make dessert - cakes, in particular.

Exchanging Digits, and COTW.

2010-07-19T23:24:00.000-07:00

I gave a guy my number the other day.

I wasn't expecting to give my number to this particular guy. Even as we were exchanging numbers, the thought crossed my mind that I had no intention of calling him.

He walks past me, taps me lightly on the shoulder and calls, "Hit me up, girl!"

I'm mid-conversation with a friend,"Oh...yeah - "

Wait. What?

"Hit me up, girl?" Really? What am I, 17 ?

But anyway.

COTW

Guys that stop saying "Hit me up, girl!" after they graduate high school. What's the proper response, you say? Oh, I don't know, how about, "Excuse me, miss, I will give you a ring to see if you happen to be available."

Actually, you don't even have to say anything as you're leaving. Just wave.

Shirt-and-tie-and-fitted vest-paired-with-jeans combo. Did I repeat this? Maybe. Spotted at a salsa club. Hot. Wow. Maybe I'm going for preppy again these days. (Note to dude that I danced with wearing the white polo shirt on - if you are literally dripping with sweat off of your face and brow, take a break! Dry off, man! Really, I'd rather you stop and take a breather before you pass out and I fall because we were mid-dip.

Another reminder: Guys that walk women to their cars.
Went to drinks with a colleague. Was reminded that somehow, sometimes, somewhere, the work of a gentlemen, however deeply buried, can be WITNESSED. Shocking, I know.
Had a bit of a faux pas when the guy offers to walk me to my car. I immediately respond: "No, it's okay." He asks a couple more times after I insist a couple more times that it was fine, I was only a block or so away.
Clearly, I wasn't going to win this one.
So we start walking and I admit, "Okay, well, I lied. I'm actually three or four blocks."

Sometimes being fiercely independent can backfire on you a little bit.

Apartment Hunters, Hollywood-Assistant-Style.

2010-07-16T22:24:00.000-07:00

I have moved every single year that I have lived in the greater Los Angeles area for the past five years. I count milestones of events that friends remember by which apartment I lived in at the time.

Last August, I moved into a one-bedroom apartment that met my needs; it had: close proximity to work, gated covered parking, central air, a pool, poolside grill, balcony, walk-in closet, fireplace, wood floors, ample street parking, and juxtaposition on the top floor of a building. My apartment, this apartment, is the first one I've ever lived in that I wanted to stay in for awhile, and not just jet to seek bigger and better things at the end of each 12 month lease.

A few weeks ago, my landlord called me, informing me that he had decided to list his condo for sale.

If it sells before my lease ends, say for example, the end of this month, then I need a new home at the end of August.

I truly loathe moving. The physical act of moving. The stress, the packing, the unpacking and organizing and cleaning.

Not even Jerry moved in nine years. Heck, it took awhile just for the green couch in his apartment to get updated! Did Elaine move though...?

I could sell my excessive belongings. (Note: in this case, excessive=annoying to move, too bulky to pack conveniently.)

What am I saying? I don't want to move. I hate moving. I don't want to be that chick that moves every year (this is probably already a reality, I conclude as I write). Five years. Blech. What am I, a gypsy?

The Heat Is On
The heat, my God, the heat! I live on the top floor of my humble abode in NoHo. It must have been 95 to 100 degrees this week. It was the first time I turned the air conditioning on all summer.

It is also the first time I realized that the a/c was busted. Apparently the filter had not been cleaned in some time (I've lived here for 10 1/2 months), and because the coating of dirt and filth on the filter had accumulated so much, the entire central air and heating system had crashed.

So here I am, blogging. Melting. Thank God for fans.

Note: When you move to a building that has central air, do NOT immediately toss your fan. Stuff breaks.

Delusions of Grandeur / Things I Shouldn't Be ~~Dreaming~~ Thinking About

Right now, I would love to hop on a plane to Barcelona.

Butter croissant, still warm from the oven.

Blowing a bunch of dough on one of James Beard's friends.

Fried chicken 'a la Roscoe's.

Lying on the beach all day. (Because of skin cancer!)

TV Shows Where Somebody Moved

Dawson's Creek: from high school to college. Not sure if this genuinely counts...

The Hills. Hate this show. Like a car accident - can't look away from the wreckage.
That's all that seems to come to mind at the moment. Maybe it's because I'm exhausted. Or maybe it's the heat.
Hmmm...I guess most shows tend to keep the same settings...that makes the show unique, that makes a show what it is.

Los Angeles ia a transient place, in more ways than one. I was aware, but I guess I never really gave it much thought until now. Who knew that even apartments, the home that you live in, could become such a transient thing as well?

Every four years.

2010-07-14T23:04:00.000-07:00

So career and dating has been on the brain lately. Well, sure, career, and the fact that I should, apparently, be focusing on dating, or at least pay some attention to it. It is, honestly, the least of my priorities at the moment.

But, I wonder, if I spent half the amount of time and energy thinking about or working on my love life that I did on my career, how successful I would be in love. I mean, that goes for anything, right? Spend time on one thing, keep working on it and improvements will arise; progress becomes imminent.

Someone posed the question of how many guys I've dated. If that includes single, one-time dates, then my total is: 6. Does that sound like a lot? I mean, I'm including my junior prom date who I never went out with after we went to prom. I think the number is low. When you stop and think about it, the percentage of guys that you meet (or vice versa the women, for guys), at least, out of all the guys you've ever met in your life, the percentage of which you end up getting interested in, and actually pursue, is fractional. Fractional, I'm telling you.

And if I calculate the total number of guys, that averages out to me dating one guy every four years or so.

So basically, then...

Every (Presidential) election year. Every Olympic year (Summer Games because they're more exciting than the Winter Games). Every leap year. Well, you get the gist of it.

Crossroads.

2010-07-10T01:11:00.000-07:00

It seems that, the older you get, the more times you are faced with crossroads. If you go down this path, the direction will lead you to a place such that you are unable to go back.

And, of course, life throws you curve balls sometimes.

Such is life.

No decision is without consequence; no step forward is made without changing you into a different person than you were pre - aforementioned step taken.

I was called in for jury duty, and selected for the jury. I found it to be quite the baneful existence. (See previous posts.) Between conversations with the temp covering my desk and hopping on the metro to downtown, my friend from New York came to town and visited me for a week, and with jury duty and going to Mexico for a missions trip (another once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence), I barely managed to spend two days with her. I had gotten what I thought was an ear infection, and then I had a case of bad carsick/motion sickness with a blend of diarrhea, migraine, and outright exhaustion.
My landlord called me - he had decided to sell his condo (which I am currently renting out and living in) and informed me that, after the lease ended, I had 30 days to move after the condo was sold. I am also keeping my eyes open for creative opportunities so that I could finally take that giant leap forward and pursue a writing career that was truly my passion (read: this means jobhunting).

Also, two writing programs' deadlines had come and gone, neither of which I ended up applying to, the aforementioned circumstances not helping my cause.

It's all happening, I suppose. It's all happening, right now, all, simultaneously.

It's all got me wondering. Hmmm. My purpose, my passion, my pursuits, my failures. Gets difficult not to dwell on one's failures. And then I remember, that God's will isn't always your will, and God's timing is for sure not going to revolve around mine. And I remember that God doesn't use perfect people.

And I also remember, Thank God I have a hot shower in bathroom. And epsom salts. Things could be a whole lot worse.

Like still being on jury duty.

Back from Mexico, and Simplified.

2010-07-08T20:17:00.000-07:00

Back from Mexico. Yep. Went to Mexico for a weekend missions trip with my church. It was an incredibly humbling and blessing experience. I have never driven to Mexico before - it is quite an experience. And yes, humbling. Thank God for modern plumbing, and I am seriously thankful that I have a hot shower and a comfy bed to sleep in.

First impressions
1. There are no border checks or customs declaration needed when entering Mexico. Like a club with no bouncer, no guestlist, and no one carding at the door. Anyone can stroll right on in. So...then...what kind of club would this be, if it were one...?
2. No easing into it. You drive over a politically drawn line, and you are right smack into the country of Mexico, and for us, the city of Tijuana. Looks...like Mexico. If you'd only ever imagined Mexico, it's what you probably imagined it would be.

Little Village
Sunday morning I woke up and took a cold shower (not even lukewarm, I mean COLD! shower) for about 60 seconds and got dressed. The shower is a small pipe that emerges from the wall of the restroom at the dorm site we were staying in. The single pipe pours out cold water in a steady flow. We had gotten up late, however, at least we ended up taking the fastest showers on record. I had paint on my arm from the day before, when we had been painting crafts with the kids the day before which I noticed hadn't completely scrubbed off.

We got into the minivans and drove off. There we were, driving along dirt roads into the mountainous enclaves of Ensenada. When we went from the highway to the dirt road, I immediately felt the change in terrain, as I'm sure my whole group did. We were bouncing around in the car as the road went from smoothly paved to rocky and hilly. There was no railing, no curb, and no signs. No lampposts. This must be the real Mexico most people don't see, I guess. After about an hour we finally arrived at our destination. A small mountainside community (or village or barrio). The restrooms were basically outhouses/port-a-potties. We had been briefed that this community was tucked away from the city, and that many of its inhabitants were likely uneducated and such.

I looked around at the surroundings we had found ourselves in. It felt like another world, another life. Los Angeles felt worlds away. This was someone else's life. People lived here. I wondered what it would be like. Because life, as we know it, the life we are born into, how we are raised, have nothing to do with us and is beyond our control. I wondered about this briefly and then focused on the task at hand.

We took a walk around, talking to the people we saw. Kids were just outside playing. Two women were cooking tortillas over a wood burning fire stove of sorts - they were rolling out the dough and making them by hand. Legit. We talked to them briefly, inviting them to come to church. We talked to a few gentlemen sitting in front of their house and learned a little about their neighborhood, their families.

A few hours later and many activities with kids later, I sat down in the little church. The migraine in my head had returned, throbbing at the temples. I sat down on the small stage, one of the other kids sat next to me. I felt winded, dehydrated. Drained all of a sudden. I grabbed a small piece of watermelon from the tray being passed around and realized that my hands were dirty and I didn't care and took a bite anyway. I spit the black watermelon seeds into my bare hands.

I was amazed at how quickly life can get simplified.

The Tale of Sleeping Ugly, and Notes from Jury Duty.

2010-06-26T21:08:00.000-07:00

I need my ugly sleep.

I must have fallen asleep by 7:00pm on Wednesday night. I had beelined for the couch and was lying down for just a moment, my brain and my body completely drained from the day. I didn't expect this kind of exhaustion. No movie talks about how the jury in a trial is absolutely spent after a day in court.

I proceeded to conk out in bed with the light on. It could have been worse - Sleeping Ugly is what I'll call it - when you are so unbelievably tired that you fall asleep without brushing your teeth, flossing, washing your face, taking out your contact lenses, etc. Those nightly rituals that, if you forget to do them, will leave you feeling (and looking) like Sleeping Ugly.

This week has been so exhausting. Maybe I'm tired because I'm depressed. Maybe I'm depressed because I'm on jury duty...?

It's 1:00am and I'm awake and starved. I whipped out some smoked salmon and proceeded to make california rolls, slicing up some cucumber and avocado. I proceeded to watch the Food Network and found out the best techniques for making French toast. (You're curious now, aren't you?) And then, after a few hours, I went back to sleep. I brushed my teeth this time.

Some notes about jury duty:
1. You are not allowed to discuss the case with anyone.
2. There are some great (!) places to eat downtown.
3. Riding the metro all the heck the way down the red line is quite tiring.
4. One of my ears hurts. I think maybe a spider bit me. Hoping it's not a tick and lyme disease...
5. Jury duty leads to weird dreams and paranoia.
6. I hope I never get sued and that no one ever sues me.
7. I hope I am never a witness to a criminal act and then have to appear in court.
8. ***Genius Idea I keep forgetting to submit for the Jury Duty Suggestion Box: There should be FREE COFFEE and a HOT BREAKFAST provided for every day of jury duty service.***
9. I thought I'd stop clockwatching after I was done with college.
10. Jury duty is like a lecture you can't get out of. All day. Monday through Friday.
11. The biggest challenge about jury duty is staying awake. And then, after that, paying attention.

In the backseat. Waking Up, Jury Duty, WOTW.

2010-06-21T21:05:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in the backseat of my mother's car once again. I flashback to the numerous times I have sat here while I was growing up, staring at my mom's shoulder and the side of her head and perhaps her eyeline in the rearview mirror. Hours spent driving me to movies, kids birthday parties, road trips. I blink back to my present adulthood. I love being a passenger these days; such a rare occurrence.

Waking Up.
I woke up at 5:00am today. I have often dreamt about waking up early - the possibilities at what I could accomplish: I could go running, make pancakes, do my QT, organize my room, stop by CVS, put gas in my car, pack a lunch, get some writing done...these are the things I think about. I have not woken up this early in a very, very long time. Well, catching a flight doesn't count. I mean waking up early on a normal, non-traveling day. (Is this what most twentysomethings think? Or just the overachievers that hail from the East coast, I wonder?)

What I had forgotten, however, was the greatest battle in getting out of bed at such an early hour. How warm and cozy and unbelievably comfortably my bed is...that, I had forgotten about.

I did not end up making any pancakes today. Will have to save those chocolate chips for another day.

Jury Duty.
I was finally picked on for jury duty. No, I know it's supposed to be at random (isn't it?), but I find that I always end up feeling like I'm being bullied when I receive that 'jury summons' letter.
Walking to the metro station and commuting for nearly an hour to the courthouse and then back home at the end of the day has left me wiped for the day. Baby, what a long and tiresome day!
Note to self: add a note for the Suggestion Box that the court offer complimentary hot breakfast and strong coffee for jurors. I know, I'm a genius....

WOTW
copacetic. adjective. very satisfactory. also spelled copasetic or copesetic.

In bed.

2010-06-12T00:19:00.000-07:00

I am writing this while in bed. No - not because I can't get out of bed, but it is simply the most comfortable spot I've found in my parents' house - in my bed in my old room. This is where I have spent most of the little spare time I've had to work on my laptop.

I need to wake up in four hours to catch my flight back to LA. It's hot out. No - rather, it's hot in my room, which is upstairs, with windows facing the backyard and seldom getting the summer breezes. I lie completely still. I feel small beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I turn out the lamp and sit in the darkness for a moment, closing my eyes, breathing more slowly. It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop (on the carpet of my room). It is dark outside - none of the other houses behind ours have a single visible light on. In this space, and in the cul-de-sac adjacent to our street, life is at rest.

I can't remember the last time I even used the word cul-de-sac.

Life in LA seems far away, the freeway traffic and the overdue dry cleaning all but a distant memory. My Blackberry vibrates and my temporary ignorance is shattered.

More to be added to this post...

Orange marmalade.

2010-06-09T20:21:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in my parents' house, in the bedroom which I slept in mainly during breaks between semesters at college.

The walls are an orange marmalade - painted after a semester abroad in Barcelona over Christmas break, the first one I had spent there since my family had moved. The walls were previously a pastel pink, a color which I couldn't stand. Being surrounded by four walls of pink felt smothering. It reminded me of Pepto-Bismol - the thick, heavy slab of pink in the plastic bottle. I elicited the help of my effervescent best friend and we got to work.

There are a few splotch marks where the paint had splashed, marring the white ceiling. I never bothered fixing it - it is the botched brushstroke of an overzealous twenty-one year old. I kind of like it.

I walk into the ensuite bathroom. There are no towels in there, no soap. I clearly don't spend much time in this room, this bathroom, this house. Nor does anyone. I don't live here anymore. I'm a grown ass woman, a friend once said to me.

I love coffee. These days, Dunkin' Donuts Original Blend is my brew of choice. I pull open the pantry in the kitchen and I see two bags of coffee. One is nearly empty, the other looks at least a year old. I sigh. Well, at least there are physical remnants of my presence that my family can recognize.

You know, like excavating evidence of civilization.

The First Laugh.

2010-06-08T00:39:00.000-07:00

I'm looking at the friend sitting across the table from me and thinking about the silly comment uttered. I laugh out loud, a giggle that evolves into a full, hearty laughter, running away on its own. I realize that this is the first time I've laughed all day. She is unaware of how witty she can be.

Independence can be a form of a crutch, I realized the other day. Just as much as dependence on another person can be a crutch. Independence can mean that you're simply preventing disappointment caused by other people. Ah, self-reliance.

As an adult, you don't hear encouraging statements or compliments in a direct and intentional manner such as when you're a kid. In fact, compliments are never quite what they seem - especially not in LA. They are loaded statements, comments for buttering up, one-liners to schmooze and charm, likely veiling ulterior and purely selfish motives; thus, I have grown to become quite skeptical of them. Some may take longer to materialize than others, but I think when you spend any given amount of time with a person, you will find out if they're being genuine or not.

Tomorrow promises to be another long day.

I guess it was a pretty long day. Thank God for laughter.

Even My DVD Player is Tired.

2010-06-07T00:41:00.000-07:00

This is the display on my DVD player.
It wasn't scrolling 'Cannot read DVD,' or 'Cannot play,' it just froze on: 'Cannot.'
Can't go on. Can't even fully say what exactly it cannot do, can only utter,'Cannot.'

Something must be going around.

Vanilla Berry Truffle Tea.
Some days, you just feel stuck. In a rut, in a routine, in your life, in your circles of friends. Stuck. In a room with no doors.

I look at the friendly face of the guy sitting across from me. It is my friend. He looks younger than his years, attractive, with a personality that is usually energetic, enthusiastic, upbeat. Today he seems a bit tired, forlorn. I wonder if he knows how much energy he is capable of bringing to a room - not everyone possesses the power to mobilize and motivate others. He's in the biz too - he gets what I'm talking about, he knows the game, the hustle.

Shut it Down.
Adulthood has an incredible amount of ups and downs - childhood and adolescence was one roller coaster, but adulthood is quite another. Sometimes the madness leaves you wanting, at times, to put everything on 'Pause' while you take a break.

It happened recently. Too many people talking. Birds were chirping just a little too fervently. The music was playing too loud in every public place I entered. At one point I felt my ears ringing from - pressure? Stress? The constant popping from the pressure of hopping elevators in a high-rise building?

Perhaps it is time for a vacation in the boonies. Or Fiji. Or some city where there is no television and no cars. A beautiful beach, untouched by mass consumer culture.

While driving, I rolled up the windows because I couldn't stand the sound of the traffic whizzing by. Lately the solace I find in the week is the morning run I take in the park on weekends. I pound the dirt paths and the pavement, sweating, pushing through exhaustion, pain; it is through this run that I clear my head, undergo a piece of solitude paired with a cathartic experience of sorts that I cannot fully explain other than cite the support of endorphins. This is what I have come to enjoy; this is what I look forward to all week; this is what gives me a mini escape from the demands from this world; from the chaos, the noise, the pandemonium.

Shut it down, everybody. Liz Lemon style.

Shut it down.

Where Have You Been?

2010-06-03T10:16:00.000-07:00

"Where have you been?"

The voice of my friend lingers in the air as I listen in on my cell phone.

The question hangs on my brain for a moment, as I flash back to when I was a kid in high school, arriving home late and facing a cross look from my mother, awake and tired with her arms folded. She would be the one to have uttered the same words, verbatim. I'd imagine the words have escaped the mouths of all parents with teenagers. I recall having a sense of dread while coming home and facing an angry mother and father.

I live, gloriously, alone. I am enjoying this time of independence and singlehood while I can. I have no roommates, no one else to clean up after except for myself. I do fancy the idea of getting a dog - although not ready for that kind of responsibility - I have an affinity for the concept.

The aforementioned question speaks volumes - I immediately imagine the tone of the voice uttering the words, the irritation, etc. But - also it indicates that there is someone waiting up for me at home, someone who demands to know my whereabouts at returning home at such an ungodly hour. Someone who cares about where you were and what you were doing, who you were with. It's ridiculous, I realize; but I kind of miss that.

Who waits up for you?

Less Planning, More Action, One Shoe Donation, And Seen On the Griffith Park Trail.

2010-05-31T22:46:00.000-07:00

I'm a hustler, baby. I just want you to know...

So the world has bred its hustlers. The world grows up and gets itself going in a hurry. Faster than a New York minute. I wonder if there's a West Coast equivalent. Slower than a... San Diego minute? Hmmm. Not quite the same.

I was born a planner - I plan for the future, I make To Do Lists, I like to write things down and keep track; stay organized. These days I try not to overplan my weekends, I have a loose idea of the things I need to do, the things I want to do, and the things I could do for the first time. All usually include the decision to take the time to relax. I fight back against my urge to make a To Do List and let the day flow instead.

Thus far the past few weekends have been filled with activity, all of which I did not pencil in on a rigorously filled itinerary.

I know. I surprise myself sometimes, too.

I'm lying in bed. My arms are sore. My quads, calves, and abs are all sore. To the point where laughter hurts. Over the weekend I had a boot camp-style workout with my friend and faced quite the challenge. I definitely underestimated the subsequent inflammation of muscles that soon followed.

Sometimes you cannot just rush the creative process. Would any of Picasso's masterpieces been just as excellent if he had painted under duress or with unabashed haste?

One Shoe Donation.
I realized tonight, as I pulled my car into the garage and grabbed my belongings from the trunk, that I had donated a bag of clothes this morning which included one shoe. One shoe.

I immediately flashback to an episode of Seinfeld (that show is applicable to a plethora of life experiences, btw) where Elaine has a stellar business idea of selling muffin tops. She partners up with a colleague and advises that you have to bake the whole muffin, and then cut off the stumps, the stumps end up in large plastic bags which then go on to be donated to the needy. The staff at the homeless shelter she goes to is indignant, insulted. (Who does she think they are, animals?)

I wonder what sentiment washed over the staff of the thrift store when I donated my bag of belongings today. I am curious if I donate the other shoe, if it will be reunited with its counterpart.

Seen On The Griffith Park Trail.
I have continued my weekend runs at Griffith Park. Take that, you doubting naysayers!

Last week, there was a group of four people and five dogs walking along the trail. All different kinds of dogs - chihuahua, bulldog, lab, St. Bernard. No one was talking, and none of the dogs were barking - they were all just happily walking along the trail on a particularly sunny day - tails were wagging and contentment was emanating.
I smiled to myself and wondered if the four dog owners got together weekly and made it a regular appointment - dog play dates where they walk their dogs together. Adorable.

Today, there was a couple - maybe in their late 30s - walking from their cars from the parking lot. They stopped by picnic tables and some trees, as I continued jogging along a trail nearby. I am pounding the dirt path and when I look up, the couple is kissing under the tree. The man is holding the woman, as if to hold her a little longer, and suddenly I feel like an intruder, imposing on this intimate moment. No one else is around - I am, seemingly, the only one jogging along this section at this particular point in time. Yup - just a regular ol' couple, makin' out - but then, giving it some thought, it was rather endearing. It's this stolen moment, when no one else was around, when they thought no one was looking (well- except me, of course).

Ah, romance.

Sleep, Dark Chocolate, & Music.

2010-05-18T22:21:00.000-07:00

Sleep.
I lovelovelove my bed. Yep. I tripled up on that.

Beds=comfort.
Beds=rest.
Beds, thus, entail a form of escape - the R&Rs, peace, security of getting enveloped in something physically while getting enveloped mentally. Taking a trip to the almighty Dream Land.

Maybe I should change the colors at the desk in my apartment. Something that'll help me stay awake, think freely, keep my eyes open to as many things as possible. I wonder what the ideal writing space is for most writers. I wonder where Tina Fey sits, if she faces a window overlooking some gorgeous view of Manhattan while she whips up her creative genius.

It's 9:30 p.m. and I'm ready to hit the hay.

There's a box of See's candies' dark chocolates sitting on the counter of my kitchen. I finally redeemed a gift card I received last Christmas. I also have a bowl of dark chocolates, a bar of chocolate, and some fruit. The bowl started out as a fruit bowl. But events have transpired such that the contents are no longer what they once were. Because now, sometimes, many times, anytime, dark chocolate=love.

I'm sitting in my apartment, grinding out a few story ideas - actually getting some writing done this evening, albeit the time devoted may be little, and the energy level with which it is done may be low, after a long day of work and people and pounding on a treadmill and running errands and cleaning up after dinner.

I close my eyes. I play a bit of Bach. A solo cello suite No. 1 in G Major. It is a sweet sound.

In conclusion, sleep=love. Dark chocolate=love. And music=love.

Maybe I should focus on surrounding myself with these elements that I love, eh?

Rough Days, Lobster, and Being Uncomfortably Comfortable.

2010-05-12T21:30:00.000-07:00

Today was, in fact, a rough day.
Rough around the edges. A day when the universe isn't so sweet to you, gives you the cold shoulder, or maybe even the kiss of death. All come at you like a slap in the face - unforeseen, abrupt, a sharp pain.

A low cloud hangs overhead. I try to stay positive and focus on the upcoming summer months, then wince at the weather forecast. It's been a rather chilly spring in Los Angeles, everyone keeps saying to each other. Ahh, but the universe challenges your disposition, tests your patience, and claws at your resilience.

Give me a moment - I am still recovering.

Lobster.
I am thinking about things I shouldn't be thinking about - namely, a big mama red Maine lobster with a side of buttah. I think it must be at least 2 or 3 years since I've had lobster. It is indulgent, perhaps gluttonous, reserved for special occasions when you have something to celebrate. In other words, it would not be eaten during times of famine.

So maybe it's not the lobster that I want - it's what the lobster represents.

No - I still want the lobster. (Photo: http://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/h8u6jVCQhDeGUwkBpC7kqw?select=S1e43fiC6jq4UnXhvUxB7A)

Uncomfortably Comfortable.
Back it up! Backing out of my comfort zone. Again. I realized the other day that I don't like getting too comfortable - in most situations. In a relationship, in a professional setting, in a friendship, in a city. I like to be challenged and I like taking risks. The only place I like to be comfortable is my own bed. And maybe a friend's couch. No - I take that back - friend's couches mean that I have to leave my cushy position and eventually go home. So - back to my bed. I don't like getting comfortable anywhere else.

No wonder I can sleep like a bear.

LOTW[lines-of-the-week]
This posting's LOTW come from Modern Family - they may be dated, but I am catching up on my TV these days.

Manny, about Tango class: "If you don't sweat, you're not doing it right."

Security officer at the airport: Ma'am, you seem to know a lot about sneaking contraband onto a plane.
Gloria: Yeah. I'm Colombian.

Dear Paulo Coelho...Write Back! HAGS?

2010-05-06T22:06:00.000-07:00

So I wrote a letter to Paulo Coelho.

In it, I detailed my account of the past several months, the soul-searching, the God-fearing, the toil and the emotional rollercoasters and plateaus of questioning your purpose and wondering how all the things in life have led you here.

He did not write me back. Not that I expected much. (But I had to at least give it a shot!) Here is the response I received:

Dear Melissa,
Thank you for your kind message. Concerning your inquiry, we thank you for your interest in Mr. Paulo Coelho and would like to inform you that due to scheduled appointments the writer is not able to answer personally.
If you wish, you may visit the author's internet page (http://www.paulocoelho.com.br/engl/index.html) where readers exchange their thoughts on Mr. Paulo Coelho's books, and this might help you find the answers you are looking for.
Sincerely,
Bettina Dungs
www.paulocoelho.com.br

First question that comes to mind: Who is Bettina Dungs? Does she know Paulo Coelho? Has she met him? Has she even read his books? What kind of name is Bettina? Or Dungs? Is that Brazilian? Sigh.

All things aside, I wonder if the writer gets inquiries from completely strangers so much that he casts them aside because he is, in fact, only a writer. He does not know me, does not know my family, my history, my personality. So no, Mr. Paulo Coelho, I don't need your input or your highly esteemed opinion on these matters of my life-altering decisions. I suppose I was looking to find and take them into consideration mainly for your thoughts regarding following a passion to work creatively.

But it's alright if you don't answer, because at least God knows me. I guess I just wanted some feedback, from one writer to another. Also, has anyone ever told you that you look a little like Pablo Picasso? Must be the baldheadedness of creative minds.

Lunch with Friends. And, Coffee in a Mug.

2010-04-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

I love having lunch with friends during the work day. This is a lunch that I look forward to. It reminds me that there is a world outside these walls, a world outside the career-hungry and the phones ringing off the hook and the endless inundation of emails. It is at this lunch, where I feel most uninhibited; the hour is fleeting.

Coffee in a mug means that you are not on the go, you have the time to enjoy a cup of coffee in the comfort of your own home or the home of a dear friend. It means you are not rushed, you are not getting back into the car to commute to some far-off place.

You are taking the time to drink this cup of coffee. I add my cream, I add my sugar.

Gotta go. Putting on a fresh pot.

The City and Country Beaux. And, COTW of TV.

2010-04-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

The City and Country Beaux, Francis William Edmonds. [http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectView.aspx?oid=3&sid=3]

Consider the above painting (it's currently on exhibit at the LACMA). Reflective of society at the time, Edmonds' portrayal illustrated the rivalry that existed among the city and the countryside folk in the mid-19th century.

The woman has two suitors, the gentleman from the countryside sitting off to the side of the room, and the gentleman from the city off to the right, more sharply dressed. The orientation of the city gentleman in closer proximity to the woman, suggests that she may prefer the city man as opposed to the more brutish countryman, whom sits with a more crude posture and is juxtaposed next to the door, suggesting that he's likely on his way out.

Interesting. Something to think about.

COTW [crush-of-the-week] Stylewatch
The sources of inspiration for this edition of COTW has derived from fictional characters prevalent in television. Let's take a look, shall we?

Toofer, 30 Rock. Clean, sophisticated, fresh. Preppy. [Photo: http://www.tvguide.com/tvshows/30-rock/photos/281135/95866]

Vincent Chase, Entourage. He doesn't make all the most fashionable choices, however, he is constantly rockin' the bedhead-and-I-did-not-put-any-effort-in-dressing-myself-yet-it-looks-nice-on-me look. Must be the babe magnet quality of nonchalant confidence.

Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Lots of black and leather. A tall glass of dark and brooding.

Shawn Hunter, Boy Meets World. It was the hair. All about the hair

On a completely unrelated note, Javier Bardem works at Porto's Bakery in Burbank. OKAY - it's not Javier, but someone who looks a lot like him. Is he attractive because he looks like Javier Bardem, or is Javier Bardem attractive only because he's Javier Bardem?

American Stories.

2010-04-12T12:42:00.000-07:00

American Stories is currently on exhibit at the LACMA.

Lilly Martin Spencer, one of the few female painters whom rose to prominence in the 19th century, played with different roles of women in her work - not just depicting the idealized version heralded by society.

Turns out, she got married but still pursued her art career. Her husband, a tailor, basically gives up his job to help her in her professional endeavors. She struggled financially throughout her career, but did not stray. The stories she told in her work were witty, amusing, and held a deeper understanding than met the eye.
[Photo: http://www.metmuseum.org/special/americanstories/objectView.aspx?sid=3&oid=24]

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Guys in the suit-and-sneakers combo. Fully decked out in the black-and-white suit, but paired with a set of clean kicks. Mixes the debonair and the sporty. Genius.

My friend tells me this is the historic brainchild of designer John Varvatos.

Going Against the Natural Order of Things.

2010-04-11T23:24:00.000-07:00

I finished my session of improv class. It has been - a struggle, frankly, from start to finish.

My natural instincts tell me to sit back and watch someone else perform. They tell me not to get up on stage; I can feel my body and the core of my being having a visceral reaction - resisting, not wanting to be the center of attention. Yet I am still here; I have voluntarily put myself in a position of discomfort.
Crazy. Doesn't make any sense. For some reason my paths have led me here.

No pain, no gain, I suppose?

I won't know unless I try it. If there could be a mild version of cringing that happens internally, that's what I experienced. When you knowingly face adversity of some sort, or, get out of your comfort zone, it makes you feel nervous. Anxious, intimidated. A visibly discernible uphill battle looming before you.

People do that sometimes. Some people put you in an uncomfortable position, challenge you, or pressure you to be someone they can look up to. Others may dare you to make awkward conversation amidst moments of uneasiness.

Sometimes you can strike unlikely friendships that you'd never imagine coming into fruition, especially with personalities that stand in stark contrast to each other. Yet, somehow, it happens, defying expectations and logic.

I'd like to believe I'm the type of person to give things (and people) a chance, regardless of comfort level. That the impossible, and the unimaginable, are attainable.

Many things remain to be seen. Can't wait.

It's never too late to refute the natural order of things.

It's All Happening, and Focus, Baby!

2010-04-05T04:20:00.000-07:00

What is going on? Stuff has been happening - all at the same time, of course.

My friend gets hit by a car. My other friend's father passes away. I catch a virus and I am 'man down' for nearly a week. Stay Healthy, Friends! (And Stay Home and Get Better!) Have been doing quite a bit of thinking (more than usual) which I think has me on cerebral overload.

[the situation]
So I finally get a chance to do small talk with 'Face.' He has changed his hair and now it's, well, not pretty. A dose of reality hits when the awkwardness of the conversation gets all up in there. Must find out if he has a girlfriend. And how old he is. But in the reverse order. Reminds of me of that "If...then" clause from algebra - or was it trig?

AND THEN 'Boy #2' steps in and we start chatting. Boy #2 is not my type, and you'd expect someone with his frame to be of a burly and belligerent disposition, however, this is not the case. I detect him carefully choosing his words for a moment, and I sense his serious and sensitive side. Whaaaaat ? I know! Didn't see that coming.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]
I've been paying more attention to the fact that there is at least one positive quality in every person that I meet, that I like about them. At least one trait that stands out, or that I think, in a way, fall in love with that they have this quality. This must be at least partially the source of my perpetually changing COTW, I suppose.

In other news, it has been brought to my attention that a certain birthday is approaching. I will have to adjust the age range of the profile of my current 'type' accordingly.

CWMM[conversations-with-my-mother]*new entry!
"Hello, daughter."
"Hi, Mom."
"Everything okay?"
"Yes, everything's fine. Everything okay with you and everyone back home?"
"Yeah, yeah. (pause) So, did you find a boy YET?" (Note: inflection is placed on the word "YET.")

And it starts.

Focus, Baby!
Much to do this week, researching a few professional arenas of my life, as well as doing some very well-procrastinated writing! Hoping to finish some projects for a couple of approaching deadlines.

Must cut back on fun, and put my nose back to the grindstone! So many distractions lately. Trying to remind myself: Writers write!
"So, you going to hang out with us?"
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I need to pursue my dreams."
"Oh. Can't you pursue your dreams during the week?"
"No. I cannot."

Conflicted, Career Quiz Results, and It's Time for That Corona.

2010-03-30T13:16:00.000-07:00

I'm standing in line at the checkout at the Assi market in Ktown. I'm looking over at the cashier - she is a Korean woman probably in her late 30s, early 40s. I wonder if she's happy. Or if she's content to just have a job in this bear market economy. She could be, right? But I wonder if this job is something she's ever dreamed about, about what her passions were when she was a child, or if by a convoluted series of events, she has simply found herself working here out of convenience and a strong sense of familial responsibility. I wonder.

I am at a crossroads. I can do what's responsible but not satisfying, or I can be irresponsible and pursue my passion, regardless of the costs. My instincts say to do the responsible thing; my heart, on the other hand, prefers to do otherwise. My past has not always followed my instincts, however.

I decided to take a career quiz. Here are my results:

"You would be very happy in a career that utilised your level-headedness, and allowed you to work mainly on your own. You want a career that allows you to be creative, without having to be involved with lots of people. Some careers that would be perfect for you are:

* Artist
* Historian
* Banker
* Novelist
* University Professor
* Photographer
* Vet
* Paralegal
* Graphic Designer
* Online Content Developer
* Webmaster
* Producer
* Managing Director
* Nutritionist
* Advertising
* Nursing

You like working and being alone. You like to avoid attention at all costs. You tend to keep to yourself, and not interact much with the people around you. You enjoy spending time with a few a close friends. You like to listen to others, but don't like sharing much about yourself. You are very quiet and private.

You are very practical, and only act after thinking things through. You don't like being forced to answer quickly. You have to evaluate the situation completely. You make decisions based on what you can verify with your senses.

You like to be deeply involved in one or two special projects. You like to be behind the scenes. You are very logical and fair. You feel you should be honest with others and protect their feelings.

You trust your gut instincts. You are easily inspired and trust that inspiration. You are very innovative. You analyse things by looking at the big picture. You are concerned about how what you do affects others. You worry about your actions and the future. You tend to use a lot of metaphors and are very descriptive and colourful in your choice of language.

You are very creative, and get bored easily if you don't get to express yourself. You like to learn new things. You don't like the same old routine. You like to leave your options open."

The first thought that came to mind was: HOW ARE BANKER AND ARTIST IN THE SAME GROUP OF RESULTS?

But, for the most part, touché, career quiz. Touché.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a drinker. I'm an eater, though.

There are few times in life where I have felt compelled to make a drastic change in my life, regardless of the obstacles that present themselves, or how deviant from logic it may be.

I think it's a propos to find time for that Corona. With extra lime.

The Language of Roses, What Your Dancing Says About You, & Prince Charming Does Not Exist.

2010-03-22T20:36:00.000-07:00

The Language of Roses.
I absolutely hate carnations. They are ugly, half-shriveled looking ruffles with a pungent, powdery aroma which is suffocating.
Do men even send flowers anymore? The romantic is a dying breed. (note: definition below.)

The Color of Roses: What They Mean.

Red: Romance & Love.

Yellow: Friendship & Caring.

White: Innocence & Purity.

Blue: Mystery, Rarity.

Pink: Happiness.

Orange: Desire.

Lavender: Enchantment. I personally hate lavender. It reminds me of musty old curtains and Miss Havisham - old and sad and beautiful only a long time ago. Blech.

Shaking What Yo' Mama Gave Ya: What Your Moves Say About You.
Every single person has a very unique dancing style. You could dance with a few different partners, each partner doing the same exact steps, but each person has a completely different style. (Sidenote: I wonder if I could recognize who I'm dancing with when blindfolded. I am pretty confident that I'd be able to identify each partner.)

Sweaty. You can feel the hands - yup, there's always that super sweaty guy.

Slow. That one slow-moving partner, not quite yet up to speed with the music. His steps are slow, not yet skilled, and he is unsure of his footing.

Aerobic. Some partners you don't feel like dancing with once you realize that when you do dance with them, it becomes more of a workout for you and less fun. Too many spins, too many intricate moves with little breaks in between.

Do you want to know what my dance partners have said about me? I'll tell you. I've been told that when I dance, my partner can sense my anticipation of the next steps. Yup - I'm basically thinking and trying to anticipate my partner's next moves. And - partners are supposed to apply an equal amount of pressure. When my partner does not lead clearly, then I tend to take the lead. I know. Shocker.

Prince Charming does not exist.
I'm aware that more likely Mr. Good Enough or Mr. Right Now evolve into Mr. Right, or Prince Charming Enough. But - ah, perfection, it does not exist. I have not ever met Prince Charming. I did meet one that came quite close - one Prince Charming Enough. I have met Prince Socially Awkward, Prince Spastic, Prince Selfish, Prince-with-Low-Self-Esteem, Prince Rhythmically Challenged, Prince Chemistry-and-Nothing-Else, Prince Boring.

WOTW [word-of-the-week]

Romantic.
1 : consisting of or resembling a romance
2 : having no basis in fact : imaginary
3 : impractical in conception or plan : visionary
4 a : marked by the imaginative or emotional appeal of what is heroic, adventurous, remote, mysterious, or idealized b often capitalized : of, relating to, or having the characteristics of romanticism c : of or relating to music of the 19th century characterized by an emphasis on subjective emotional qualities and freedom of form; also : of or relating to a composer of this music
5 a : having an inclination for romance : responsive to the appeal of what is idealized, heroic, or adventurous b : marked by expressions of love or affection c : conducive to or suitable for lovemaking
6 : of, relating to, or constituting the part of the hero especially in a light comedy
[www.merriam-webster.com]

Behold, the Power of the Cute Boy.

2010-03-19T00:32:00.000-07:00

It happened. Who knew? I started taking an improv class a few weeks ago. This is week four, and every week I have dreaded going to class. Yeah, the class is long, and yeah, it's out of my comfort zone, and yeah, I have no idea what I'm doing.
But today, at tonight's class, I had a little fun. There is the girl that reminds you of one of the girls you went to high school with, the down-to-earth one that gets along with everyone. Then there's the girl that looks like a track star. And then there's a guy that we learn wrestles for WWE. Oh yeah - and I noticed there was a cute boy in my class - let's call him 'Face.' Face looks pretty young, I'm guessing no more than 22 or 23 years old. Adorable. You just wanna hug him. Fresh-faced guy who reminds me of a guy I used to know.

Why do we instantly gravitate towards people who remind us of people we used to know? I mean, of course the physical familiarity gives us a sense of comfort - but after fully knowing well that these are complete strangers that simply resemble faces of our past, why do we still do it?

Maybe it was the tee-shirt-and-cardigan combo with that effortless mix of preppy and casual. Subtle, yet effective. Hellooo, motivation!

Ladies, beware: you can never outgrow the Power of the Cute Boy. Has Liz Lemon taught us nothing from her experience with Jamie?
[30 Rock, Season 2, 'Cougars']
(Photo: http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_k4kLJa2nGqM/R1A2laNUesI/AAAAAAAAAtc/jA_n3yHaPYM/s1600-R/30+Rock+01.jpg)

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Fresh-faced boys in your class. Or workplace. Basically the Cute Boy Power that helps motivate you to go.

Ginger Ale, Cupcake Thoughts, and Preparing for Famine.

2010-03-17T22:31:00.000-07:00

I like to keep ginger ale handy for those moments that arise when my stomach feels queasy; it calms everything down. I wish there was something else that you could drink - something sweet and bubbly, but that had a calming effect on all the events in your life.
I don't even drink soda. I do drink tons of water - abnormally large amounts.

I've enjoyed a time of harvest - "a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage."

Now, I'm preparing for a time of famine - you know, just to be prepared. I went to Whole Foods to buy some $4 yogurt, and when I couldn't find it, ended up spending $10 on ONE big jar of yogurt instead. I cringed but I had already picked it out and gotten in line - there was no turning back.

I'm thinking about cupcakes as I write this. Yummy Cupcakes on Magnolia Blvd. has this Fudge cupcake with the perfect chocolate frosting, light enough and just sweet enough, and a dollop of chocolate ganache in the middle. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Who knew that, as a kid, the same trivial things in life are what would linger on in your thoughts as an adult? I can't remember the last time I had one of these - I should wait until the next special occasion, or birthday, or - the next time there is a reason to celebrate. My sweet tooth kicks in at the end of the day, at the end of a dinner - I just need something sweet in my life. Like my affinity for hot sauces. Sometimes you need to add some spice, and sometimes, you just need to sweeten things up.

But beware, fine dining. Must cut back on the fancy. I didn't realize I was fancy - shocker, I know. There will be exceptions, I am sure. Once Trader Joe's has their sundried tomato spread back in stock again, though...

Broken Glass, Everywhere! No Pain, No Gain. Again.

2010-03-15T06:55:00.000-07:00

Ok - maybe the title is a bit dramatic. I do enjoy that Kweli song, though.

I knocked a glass onto my kitchen floor and it shattered. As I stood there, just staring at the broken pieces on the floor, I didn't move quickly to clean it up - I just stood and stared for a moment at the mess before me. The analogy hit a little too close to home. While in my home. I'm still finding and cleaning up shards of glass even a few days later.

No Pain, No Gain. Again.
I went running at the park - blue skies, sunny day. A thin, petite woman in a long-sleeved shirt and sweat pants whisked past me in the opposite direction, her face intense in focused concentration.

I returned to the same park the very next morning. I see the same woman, decked in full magenta track suit, this time carrying two small weights. I need to up my game, I thought. I immediately break into a run.
When you're not a runner, and you don't run on a regular basis, you get those sharp side stitches of stabbing pain; basically, a cramp. So I'm running. It's a beautiful yet cool morning - I'm passing the golfers on the right. My lungs begin to burn but I am running through the pain.

I tried yoga once with a friend - it didn't feel like I was doing anything that could possibly pass as sufficient exercise - we were just breathing. I think I'd rather pound the pavement. Feel the pain. Yep, real normal.

Risk, baby.

2010-03-11T23:20:00.000-08:00

WOTW [word-of-the-week]

risk. noun.
1. possibility of loss or injury: peril.
2. something or someone that creates or suggests a hazard.
3. a : the chance of loss or the perils to the subject matter of an insurance contract; also : the degree of probability of such loss b : a person or thing that is a specified hazard to an insurer c : an insurance hazard from a specified cause or source
4 : the chance that an investment (as a stock or commodity) will lose value
[www.webster.com]

"I am always doing that which I cannot do, in order that I may learn how to do it." ~Pablo Picasso

"I dip my pen in the blackest ink, because I'm not afraid of falling into my inkpot." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Living at risk is jumping off the cliff and building your wings on the way down." ~Ray Bradbury

“You have to take risks. We will only understand the miracle of life fully when we allow the unexpected to happen.” ~Paulo Coelho

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did so. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." ~Mark Twain

“Be brave. Take risks. Nothing can substitute experience.” ~Paulo Coelho

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous hand." ~Isaiah 41:10

Immature & Irresponsible.

2010-03-09T00:04:00.000-08:00

I Love Virgin America.
In-flight satellite television. Food and beverages on demand. Movies on demand. Friendly flight attendants - the ones that don't seem beaten down by life. This airline is too cool for school, just like you.
Hey - it's the little things in life. Liz Lemon would know what I'm talking about!

I wish I invented Virgin America. And Zappos.
Can I have my money now?

Took some days for R&R to visit a few friends in nyc. This is what happens as we walk down the street. It's probably 40 degrees outside.

Me: Is your face cold?
Friend: No.
Me: Oh. (break) Yeah, me either.

Immature & Irresponsible.
I'm too old to be immature and irresponsible. I don't think I was ever irresponsible, even when I was young. I'm so responsible that, as an adult, I contemplate how and why and the context in which I would plan to be irresponsible; a premeditated kind. A Planned Irresponsibility. What an oxymoron.

You can't always do what you want. There are consequences, responsibilities, etc. many things, all the things about LIFE and REALITY that you can't control.

Inevitably, and surprisingly still, I find myself in the situation. And I am left wondering how exactly it is that I got there. How exactly did everything come to this? Romeo and Juliet didn't know that the sparks would lead to offing themselves; they didn't think it would come to that. But, they always knew what they wanted at any given moment - that consistency didn't seem to waver.

I've been waxing poetic on this only because its been weighing heavily upon me. What next? What does the girl in the mirror say? Stay tuned, folks!

WOTW

polemic. An aggressive attack on or refutation of the opinions or principles of another; the art or practice of disputation or controversy; an aggressive controversialist.

Damn Sexy. And, Mr. Good Enough.

2010-03-03T00:21:00.000-08:00

Some days, you feel Damn Sexy. Not sexy, but Damn Sexy.

Today, however, is not one of those days.

I put some toothpaste on a double-whitehead pimple last night. Yep - not one, but two whiteheads seemed to emerge out of nowhere, right next to each other. It has morphed into THE ONE BIG PIMPLE. I hyperbolize. It's different if you already have a dozen blemishes; what's one more ? It's another story, when you have THE ONE BIG PIMPLE. Oh well. Life goes on.

Mr. Good Enough
I've given it some thought. Some people wait forever looking for Mr. Perfect or Mr. Right. But there are a few people you run into - Mr. Good Enough. Perhaps some women are considering opting for this gentleman when they meet him. You're not settling if you stop looking for something that doesn't exist, right? You're just choosing an option, more, let's say, real ?
Let's come back to this topic later.

Hollywood Assistants
Some people ask me what it is I do. I answer, and, naturally, I think of characters from film and television to draw as examples.

Andrea Sachs, Anne Hathaway's character on The Devil Wears Prada.

Lloyd, Ari Gold's assistant on Entourage.

Jonathan, Jack Donaghy's assistant on 30 Rock.

Doralee Rhodes in Nine to Five. She worked in Mr. Hart's office.

Looking for Flaws.

2010-02-23T14:38:00.000-08:00

I correct people sometimes because I know that they know better. And, though I have a scrutinizing list of qualities I would like in a gentleman suitor, I must admit that, although things may not seem to be of the malleable inclination, at the heart of it, I could just as easily abandon all of my requisites - given the right opportunity.

There's knowing what you want. There's also being a spoiled brat and always demanding that you get those things that you have distinguished that you desire.

So. It has been brought to my attention that, subconsciously, inadvertently, what may be masked as a meticulous discernment for detail, may, in fact, be a thinly veiled method of looking for flaws. There, I said it. i didn't think I'd be one of those - but hey, it happens.

In lieu of all the above, I'm abandoning the "uber-observational" eye.

Mothers, lock up your 28-32 year old sons... (Actually, I would hope they'd be out of the house by now, so [insert equivalent adage here]...)

DELETE. DELETE. DELETE. And NO, Don't remember me.

2010-02-18T21:50:00.000-08:00

WHEN IN DOUBT, DELETE!
(In low monotone) DELETE. DELETE. DELETE. Since when did we get so many emails? Sometimes it's best to do a clean sweep. Junk mail. Junk e-mails. All the cool e-newsletters that you have to subscribe to for staying in the loop.

Annoying guy that keeps getting in your face to flirt with you - I will look deep into your eyes - and then DELETE.
SUV parking in a 'compact' parking spot - DELETE.
Slow walkers - DELETE.
Neighbor with smelly dog that leaves an odoriferous mark in the elevator long after departing - DEAR GOD, DELETE!

I'm sighing for what must be the millionth time today. This week.
Those February doldrums and the droll hours they bring. I keep wanting to close my eyes.
I just got home. I don't feel like cooking. Can I leave on that note? Is that enough? I do not feel like cooking.

The Situation

Starbucks downtown - at L.A. Live. First off - the 'Buck downtown is nice! Spotted: cutie with dark hair, dark eyes whom works there.
Starbucks employee: Hi, what can I get for ya?
Me: (pause) Hi. Can I get - a grande -
Starbucks employee: mm-hmm. (He pulls out a clear plastic grande cup.)
Me: Hot.
Starbucks employee: ok. (He returns the plastic cup and pulls out a paper cup.)
Me: Nonfat, extra-hot, no-foam, vanilla latte ?
Starbucks employee: (trying to feign like he ISN'T taken aback). O - Kay.
Me: I know. It's complicated.
Starbucks employee: What's your name?
(I tell him.)
Starbucks employee: Ok. I'm going to remember that name.
Me: Oh no. (Thinking: I hope he doesn't spit in my coffee.)
Starbucks employee: So, you live around here?

What? He could be my type. If he just cut his hair and you gave him the right clothes.

Get By.

2010-02-12T05:52:00.000-08:00

Fight Me. I dare ya.
Bursts of road rage. A whole lot of deep sighs. Indignancies run rampant and the dark clouds have somehow rolled into the SoCal landscape. Weird.

The Follies of February.
I had the unfortunate experience of becoming the target of a racial insult while driving in LA. In the middle of Koreatown. Admittedly, I flared up a bit, wanting to literally stop, get out of my car, and exchange a few words with the man. And by words, I don't mean words. I'm sure it would've been a sight, all 5'3" of me.

Get By.
I forgot how much I used to like Kweli. He is a lyrical genius.

This morning, I woke up
Feeling brand new and I jumped up
Feeling my highs, and my lows
In my soul, and my goals
Just to stop smokin, and stop drinkin
And I've been thinkin - I've got my reasons
Just to get by, just to get by
Just to get by, just to get by

We are in the doldrums of February, that haze of slush and fog and thaw and refreeze and thaw cycle. It trudges on, removed from the anticlimax of January and dragging its feet until the promise of spring in March.
You want February, indeed, just to get by.

My calves hurt. My cousin once said to me that it was because when I walk I am probably one of those rushed lazy calf-lifters.

The Situation.
This is a new entry. I would like to call this section something else. Any suggestions? If only Jersey Shore didn't have to have crazy cartoon character people with kitschy nicknames. I'm sure Wolf Blitzer wasn't happy.

A late-night bite with a bunch of friends. You ever find yourself at the section of the table with the socially inept members of the group? It can be pretty frustrating. Not to mention the eternal turn-off factor of realizing some mutual friends are, the tweedledee-and-tweedle-duh, and the awkward fish. Initially, you wonder how that dynamic has transpired, such that you are the only one making the effort at conversation. Sometimes I suspect it boils down to pure social laziness. NERDS!

Private party. Guy walks over to a group of women, interrupting to introduce himself. Women seem to be cool with it, and Guy proceeds to zero in on the bright-as-light-blonde woman. The other two in the group are becoming painfully aware of the fact that they are not needed in this conversation. They stand by so as not to be rude. Guy proceeds to keep talking and all three women wonder when he'll reveal himself to be a walking cliche. If you can't talk to a collective group of women, engaging and listening to each person in conversation, then don't go and interrupt them. No, you didn't rock our world, babe. Get a grip.

COTW[crush-of-the-week]

Benicio del Toro. Dark and looming with street-cred, yet a touch of the debonair.

XOXO cookies covered in dark chocolate icing. Available now, at Porto's. Can I have my money now?

Cirque Class, Burning the Midnight Oil, and 'I Gotta Feeling.'

2010-01-31T21:23:00.000-08:00

This week, I took my first cirque class - it is the type of workout 'a la Cirque du Soleil franchise. [www.cirqueschoolla.com]

Felt it was time to try something new.

There's fabric rope that you hoist yourself up on. A thick braided rope dangling from metal beams - back to Phys. Ed., seventh grade. A few trapeze swings. Dozens of medicine balls. And so, we went to town.

Circuit training at each station, and somehow we killed an hour. Tendonitis and carpal tunnel tendencies don't render the workout any easier. I wince through the braided rope lifting. My brain is still young, it is still on the East Coast. My body is not.

In conclusion, I am no longer queen of the monkey bars. Or ten years old.

Burning the Midnight Oil
The coffee's on, and I'm two cups deep into my Dunkin' Donuts Original Blend, and a bag of original Cheetos. I watch the last ep of The Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien. I'll try not to be cynical. Conan said so.
I'm trying to edit a writing piece for a submission for one of the opportunities 'a la Withoutabox. It's a Saturday night, and Friday was a doozy, leaving most of this afternoon and tonight being the only real window of time, considering the hustle-and-bustle of the daily grind leaves you with sparse time, not to mention little energy. If only I had more time...

'I Gotta Feeling'
Does it bother ANYONE ELSE that the hit single by the Black Eyed Peas is grammatically, completely incorrect? 'Gotta', being a form of 'got to', is supposed to be followed by an infinitive verb of some sort. Since the word following the hot track's verb is a noun, 'Feeling,' the form of 'I Gotta', is not in fact what the song's title should be utilizing, but 'I've Got A', since it is describing a possession of a direct object noun, in this case, it should be 'I've Got A Feeling.'

Way to go for supporting education, American pop stars.

'Dear Black Eyed Peas,
Did you know that the title of your song is grammatically incorrect? As music professionals and songwriters, you should be fully aware of your lyrics. Now, millions of kids who aren't paying attention in school that absorb the Billboard's Top 100 singles more likely than classic American literature, will think that this is correct phrasing. And what's a tragedy is that when they become college kids and young professionals, they will still get the phrasing wrong. You know better. At least we hope you do. Have you every considered writing your lyrics on Microsoft Word ? It has grammar and spell-check.'

Perhaps what is sadder are the enablers, accepting all this. If the song wasn't so damn catchy...

COTW

James McAvoy. He's not strikingly attractive. But something very genuine about him; must be the the clear-cut eyes.

Guys that know that 'a lot' is NOT ONE WORD. (Sad. I think I just heard my standards drop a few notches.)

Los Angeles - a reluctant relationship? [a mini-post]

2010-01-28T21:41:00.000-08:00

Friends know when they're going to stick. There's the flaky friend, the friend you go to for fun, the friend you go to when you need a serious conversation and opinion, the friend you go with for concerts, the friend you share your artsy afternoons with at the museum, the friend you go to for professional advice, the friend you talk to for dating advice.

Staying in LA has become somewhat of a reluctant relationship - I'm sorta sticking around, not really happy with the situation, but too scared/lazy/tired/trapped to get to know anybody else.

Such high highs and low lows - say, aren't most abusive relationships that way?

LOTW [lines-of-the-week]
Maybe we just need that resource, or helping hand to reach out, should we need it. As Author Richard Ford described:

"the Gideons leave Bibles in cheap hotel rooms, as a way of saying to the hapless inhabitant: 'In case your reckless ways should strand you here, there's help.'" Well put. Where is that Bible of mine?

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Bedhead boys. 'Cappy' from Greek. 'Nuff said. NOTE: This is a deviation from the usual clean-cut, well-dressed gentleman portrait from which I usually derive many of my COTW notes. There are always exceptions to every rule.

WOTW [word-of-the-week]

wonky. (Wonky's a WORD?! I'm betting someone made it up and it somehow caught on.)[www.webster.com]
Etymology: probably alteration of English dial. wankle, from Middle English wankel, from Old English wancol; akin to Old High German wankōn to totter — more at wench
Date: 1918
1 British : unsteady, shaky
2 chiefly British : awry, wrong

Hell to the NO !, Insomnia, And, For A Good Time, Call...Someone Else.

2010-01-19T22:56:00.000-08:00

Hell to the NO!
Sometimes I wish I was a large, sassy black woman. Okay, mainly just for the sassy quips. There's just so much character behind the words, even if just a few words. People be crazy. See ?

Hello, Insomnia.
It's a Monday night. I'm exhausted and would welcome sleep but it does not arrive. My brain will not go to sleep.

I have a disease. It's called you're-one-of-those-people-that-thinks-too-much. If unharnessed could easily have been of an OCD disposition.

Mid-life crises come early. You question everything in a time of crisis. And maybe, you can't sleep.

For example, I love TV. I love writing. I love food. I do not LOVE LA. Los Angeles. I don't mind LA, I take the good with the bad, there are things I enjoy and hate about LA, but no, I am not one of those transplants whom absolutely, unequivocally, annoyingly, loves LA and everything about it.

Really. If you pitch the weather to me one more time, I just might throw up.

So, here we are. Back to the table. Back to reality. Gotta pay the bills. When did life latch onto your soul and start saying 'gotta pay the bills' ? Insert lamenting the lost days of youth here. So odd, these places we find ourselves in, these people we find we've somehow become one day.

Perhaps, if you are given everything and desire nothing, you wouldn't feel as anguished as I do. Or, if everything in life has always worked out smoothly with no detours, delays, or bumps, then you wouldn't stop to reexamine, to question, or to any loss of sleep.

I wonder if the migraines are from thinking too much. Must be a certain personality type that is pre-disposed to such things.

I absolutely love closing my eyes. Getting into a hot bath and closing my eyes and forgetting the world around me for twenty minutes. The world does keep turning, then you keep on turning.

God, I'm tired. Hoping the hot milk will hit soon.

For A Good Time, Call...Someone Else
I just want to be alone right now. Ya know ? I have revisited the goal of seeking LA's Great Escapes - the places I go to in the LA area where I feel like I'm getting away from LA - the traffic, the people, the noise.

Oh yeah - made the mistake of dishing out my plans for the weekend - sometimes you invite one person, and ten people end up showing up ? Oh, mutual friend groups. Didn't realize that what I needed the most was some alone time. Gosh! Sometimes life is so demanding that the person whose needs are not being met are yours - and hey, I'm not even a mother or married.

Listen to yourself, folks. Go ahead, go on, do it yourself, because I'm not going to take a plus one to my LA Escape this time; I just want to be alone right now.

Note to self: discover more great LA Escapes.
Supplemental note to self: Do not reveal all aforementioned Escapes. This may compromise the very nature of their existence.

Less than 24 hours.

2010-01-09T21:30:00.000-08:00

It was the holidays, and the holidays have come and gone yet again. It feels like a faded memory.

I've been at my parents' house for less than 24 hours and I'm bored and already thinking about what I need to do when I get back to la-la land.

My mother keeps commenting on my hair - the bangs are too short, and the length is too long. She recounts the comment of a cousin of mine what must have been given to her months ago - she pulls from the files of her memory and keeps dragging it out to me, over and over again, as if I didn't absorb it the first five times.

Yep, I'm definitely back at my parents' house again.

It's been about 8 years since I've lived with my parents, after I went to college and spent my summers interning, and then entered the workforce.

In other news, maybe this is exactly what I need/want. Some time away from the city, from work, from the hustle-and-bustle. When you're not at home you can focus on, well, having time to focus on the things you don't usually get to focus on. For example, not overusing the word, 'focus.'

A lot can happen in less than 24 hours, I'm aware. Thanks, pop culture and film world.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Guys in 1940s haircuts. 50s, too. Lately the throwback to post-war slicked hair combed to the side or with a slight poof and wave has had a certain charm. Who knew?

WOTW [words-of-the-week]

glib. adjective. marked by ease or informality; nonchalant. showing little forethought or preparation : offhand. lacking depth and substance : superficial.

it smells like a man in my apartment.

2009-12-21T07:12:00.000-08:00

I have gotten quite used to living on my own in my apartment. It is a beautiful thing, not to have to clean up after other people after a hard-working day on the job.

So, I turn the key into the lock. I push the door open. I flip the switch and turn around to close the door. There is a faint smell - something smells different in my apartment. What is that...? It smells like a man in my apartment.

The aroma of cologne is distinct, wafting through my kitchen. I'm slightly creeped out but curious. I have no idea what kind of cologne it is. I quickly walk into my bedroom and bathroom, curious as to what (or whom) would be emanating the scent.

Spotted! A dark jacket draped over the barstool. It does not belong to me. I lean over and take a quick sniff. Source of cologne, identified. It is my friend's jacket - he had left it from a dinner party I had the night before. I'm appeased. Now I'm slightly ill at ease because it smells like a man in my apartment and my apartment doesn't smell, well, like my apartment.

I know I haven't blogged in awhile - but trust me, at least I have been (somewhat) productive. I've begun working on a short story, which I anticipated to be 8-10 pages but instead has turned into upwards of 35 pages, with plenty of development and revisions ahead of me. Also, I have finished all of my holiday shopping! Things get busy when you're competing with 12.9 million greater LA residents for parking spaces at the mall.

WOTW

boon. benefit, favor.

fracas. a noisy quarrel.

Next: bracing myself for 34 degree weather.

Paris, Je t'aime.

2009-12-01T23:43:00.000-08:00

I rented a DVD of Paris, Je t'aime. I can't stop watching it; it's charming. It is a series of short films, love stories that happen in Paris. It is the city of love, after all. Although I would never recommend for ANYONE to visit Paris while it is miserably cold in December. Kind of freezes up the romance right out of it.

New love, unlikely love, old and hurt love. Refreshing. Filmmakers and actors featured include the Coen brothers, Alfonso Cuaron, Walter Salles, Natalie Portman, Elijah Wood, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Gena Rowlands.

I especially liked 'Tuileries,' by Joel & Ethan Coen. Steve Buscemi plays an American tourist, confusingly trying to make his way around the city. He flips through his guidebook while waitng on the platofrm of the Tuileries Metro station. He notices a couple making out on the opposite platform, and is spotted staring at them. The couple, offended at this peeping intrusion, gets into an argument, and by the time the story ends, Steve Buscemi's character ends up having made out with the French girl and getting beaten up by her boyfriend, all the while a small boy has been pelting him with spitballs.

Perhaps even more enchanting is '14th Arrondissement', Alexander Payne's story about a postal worker from Denver. She studied French for two years and saved up for a six day trip to Paris. She had wanted to go for two weeks but didn't want to leave her two dogs at home for too long. She wanders through Paris alone, opting instead to enjoy the city on her own rather than following a tour group, as she was an independent type. She is happy with many friends, but can't help but wish that she had someone to share all of her beautiful travels.
She finally walks into a park, on a picture-postcard sunny afternoon in Paris, and, although she is in this incredibly romantic city alone, far away from all of her family and her friends, it is in this foreign country, while she sits by herself on a park bench, where she feels most alive.

COTW figured.

2009-11-17T22:19:00.001-08:00

I think I've figured it out.

Maybe not ALL of it, but some figuring has been done, nonetheless.

Everyone wants a 'hot' bf or gf.

But - when I think back upon the men I have dated or was interested in; I didn't think much of them to be that attractive upon first meeting. They weren't hideous; they were decent, some pretty plain, and of course some more attractive than others. But they were all unique, distinct in look and personal style.

So it wasn't necessarily physical attraction that drew me to them.

I must say, the traits that I'm really attracted to, undeniably are the guys - not the guys with cocky attitudes, not the tallest guys in the room, not the men with the finest clothes or 1000 friends.

The traits that really pulled me in to the 'more-than-friends' zone of interest were the following:

maturity

boyish charm

sensitivity

confidence

charisma

More on this post later.

Chocolate=Love. / Chocolate=Amor.

2009-11-13T21:04:00.000-08:00

So.
Everyone knows how food is about romance. Right? Thought I was the only one thinking about it. I am, kind of a foodie, here. I think it's because I'm a romantic at heart. I love aromatherapy candles, lying on the beach and hearing the waves crash, I love Spain, I love nostalgia, hearing the voice of an old friend, I love food, and, of course, I love chocolate. And, I love love. Who doesn't love love?

Food, after all, activates a pleasure center in your brain when you eat. Not just about survival, but about pleasure. Like a perfectly thick, juicy, slow-cooked steak. Or freshly prepared noodles made from scratch right when you ordered it. Or, the light, sweet, chocolate buttercream frosting that tops a chocolate-chocolate cupcake from a bakery near my place (www.yummycupcakes.com). I had started on the side, chewing slowly, tasting every tinge of sweetness it had to offer, closed my eyes. Piece. Of. Heaven. Love, baby!

Well, if you're into chocolate the way I am, it's damn near close.

There are a multitude of analogies to be used when it comes to food. Now I'll suspect that anyone with a sweet tooth may be a fellow romantic. Hmm. I have been thinking about love and romance lately. Why, exactly ?

I think it's because of the approaching holidays. That pervasive holiday atmosphere of love and kindness, enjoyment of life, of everyone being a little nicer to each other, the warmth you feel with the people around you shines in comparison to the cold weather that envelops you.

COTW[crush-of-the-week]

Chocolate buttercream frosting on one of the Yummy cupcakes. I am now hooked on this bakery like never before.

Guys that let women sit back and relax while they drive. (In L.A., this is a big deal.) Ah, now to find one that is my type...

Guys that order dessert. (See fourth paragraph above.)

I just remembered that only one guy has ever called me "baby." Not in the Dirty-Dancing-Jennifer-Grey's-Baby way, but in the '90s way. Only it wasn't in the '90s. He probably doesn't even remember it. But I found that I kind of liked it. But just the one time. Never again. Things are only cool in their fusion of spontaneity, rarity.

Otherwise, I hate it when guys call girls, "baby." Ugh.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chocolate=Amor.

Haber.
Todo el mundo sabe cómo la comida es el romance. ¿Verdad? Pensé que era el único que pensar en ello. Yo soy, una especie de Foodie, aquí. Creo que es porque soy un romántico de corazón. Me encanta las velas de aromaterapia, tumbado en la playa y escuchar las olas romper, me encanta España, me gusta la nostalgia, escuchar la voz de un viejo amigo, me encanta la comida, y, por supuesto, me encanta el chocolate. Y, me encanta el amor. ¿Quién no ama el amor?

Alimentos, después de todo, se activa un centro de placer en el cerebro cuando se come. No sólo acerca de la supervivencia, sino de placer. Al igual que un filete cocinado perfectamente gruesa, jugosa, de lento. O recién fideos preparados realizados desde cero cuando se lo ordenaron. O bien, la luz, dulce, crema de mantequilla de chocolate glaseado que encabeza un chocolate-pastelito de chocolate de una panadería cerca de mi casa (www.yummycupcakes.com). Yo había comenzado en el lateral, masticando lentamente, saboreando cada toque de dulzura que tenía que ofrecer, cerré los ojos. Pieza. De. Cielo. El amor, baby!

Bueno, si usted está en el chocolate así como soy, está cerca malditos.

Hay una multitud de analogías que se utilizará cuando se trata de alimentos. Ahora voy a pensar que cualquier persona con un diente dulce puede ser un romántico compañeros. Hmm. He estado pensando sobre el amor y el romance recientemente. ¿Por qué, exactamente?

Creo que es debido a las vacaciones se acerca. Esa atmósfera de vacaciones omnipresente de amor y bondad, el disfrute de la vida, de que todos son un poco más agradable a los demás, el calor se siente con la gente a tu alrededor brilla en comparación con el frío que te envuelve.

COTW [crush-de-la-semana]

De mantequilla de chocolate helar en uno de los bizcochos Yummy. Ahora estoy enganchado a esta panadería, como nunca antes.

Chicos que permiten a las mujeres sentarse y relajarse mientras la unidad. (En Los Angeles, esta es una gran cosa.) ¡Ah, ahora para encontrar uno que es mi tipo ...

Chicos para que el postre. (Véase el párrafo cuarto anterior).

Acabo de recordar que sólo un hombre ha llamado mi "bebé". No en el dirty-dancing-Jennifer-Grey's forma Baby, pero en los años 90 forma. Sólo que no era en los años 90. Probablemente ni siquiera recuerdo. Pero descubrí que me gustaba ella. Pero sólo el tiempo. Nunca más. Las cosas son sólo fresco en su fusión de la espontaneidad, la rareza.

De lo contrario, odio cuando chicos llamada niñas, "bebé". Uf.

Oh. Em. Gee. Buying lingerie. And, Cologne I'd like to make out with.

2009-11-11T16:05:00.000-08:00

I'm incredibly sensitive when it comes to smell. Apparently. I've been sensitive this whole time and never really thought about it.

Growing up in suburban Philadelphia, I never really got into make-up the way other girls did - I mean clothes and shoes, sure, but make-up wasn't my thing. I did, however, have to buy perfume that I wanted. Tommy Girl, BCBGirls, Acqua di Gio - these are what I splurged on.

Went to pick up some stuff for my apartment and a warm hoodie. Ended up buying lingerie. Who buys lingerie? Nobody needs to buy lingerie, it's not a necessity. It is, kind of, well, not kind of - it is - an indulgence. Like dessert. Like super-sizing it. Comparable to getting premium gas, or French tips on your manicure. Something a little extra.

I really need to save money. Did some damage by saying to hell with it, and buying plane tickets to Philly for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Come on, bringing lunches from home! Wooh!

Gonna have to return the $32 shower head I brought from Target. Saw it, thought of an Amazon rainforest, and dropped it into my cart. Hmm.

COTW[crush-of-the-week]

Guys that wear Ralph Lauren Romance. Lovely.

Guys wearing Dolce & Gabbana's Light Blue.

Guys that use breath mints. Every man should keep mints handy. Seriously. Women, too. What a turn off - when I think halitosis, I think bacteria that produces halitosis, and my mind goes from man to bacteria.

I cannot stress the sense of smell enough, here - women are sensitive to smell. Ralph Lauren's Romance for men - honestly, I smell the cologne and want to make out with it.

Working an Awards Show. And, Working It.

2009-11-06T08:24:00.000-08:00

I volunteered as a talent escort at an awards show.

No - not an escort. A talent escort.

After debating on a frumpy dress with pockets and a fitted dress which ran short and snug, I went with the fitted and short. It didn't feel this short in the store - have I been putting on the pounds? Hmmm. Thank goodness for pashminas. and large cloth napkins. I should really get leggings to go with this. And hit the gym a bit more.

Got the pictures back - honestly, it didn't look that short. Maybe it was the getting dressed at the office and leaving directly from work - felt a tinge of skankety-skank-skank.

Highlights:

Dev Patel and Freida Pinto are adorable. Dev Patel - tall and thin and you just want to hug him! And then give him a double-double.

Ben Stiller - exactly how he seems in person.

I wonder if Benicio del Toro hangs out in seedy bars. He just looks like he fits the part, ya know ? LIke I'd feel safe with him walking down any dark alley.

Like A Car Accident. And, My Horoscope.

2009-11-03T21:42:00.000-08:00

The Hills - its so nauseating - like a bad car accident you just can't help but keep watching. And then feel guilty that you'd stoop to such low-rent, glossy distractions. And why the fuck does everybody have to be blonde ?

I've Got Bed Bugs.
I slept on my futon last night. Maybe that explains the knot in my shoulder that won't leave me alone. Last night when I got home I noticed bugs on my bed. I remove the sheets and the mattress pad and stick them in the hamper, after a good spraying down of my entire bedroom. Apparently bed bugs are real - who knew? They do bite - and thus are attracted by human blood. (My brain just flashed to vampires for a second.) For some reason they were only in my bedroom, on the blankets - maybe it's the cotton ? Anyhew, I use my portable fabric steamer and steam the shit out of my mattress and any remaining bugs.

I anticipate one more day of knots.

My Horoscope for Today
A lot of weird things have been happening lately. I had a car accident. While my car was parked. The bed bugs thing. The Latin lover decision. Their juxtaposition screams protagonist-in-time-of-upheaval.

"Indecision may not be your usual state of being, but you can definitely make it look good on you. Spin it as an impulsive, exciting mindset in which anything goes - the odder and newer, the better. Those around you will doubtlessly find it noteworthy and even thrilling when you start to diverge from your preset itinerary. And if they go along for the ride, well, they might be surprised by what you have to say."

The Daily Flirt Scope: "Haven't you done enough amazing things lately? Relax already! Today is a good day to leave the world of doing to others, and instead, engage in some laid-back, introspective daydreaming. "

http://horoscopes.astrology.com/dailylongtaurus.html

Ugly Betty. And, the Search for a Latin Lover. / Betty La Fea. Y, La Búsqueda para un Amante Latino.

2009-11-02T22:41:00.000-08:00

Betty Gets More Action Than Me.
Caught an episode of Ugly Betty the other evening. Every time I manage to catch it it brings me back to reality. The fact that I feel like Ugly Betty. Not Amanda, Wilhelmina, or Hilda. Betty. 100%.

It's a curious thing.

Must be something that stemmed from middle school and back in high school. Something inside of you that you feel like you can't escape, make over, or outgrow. That's just it. Once a nerd, always a nerd. With big braces, big glasses, and big waist.

But even Betty gets more action than I do! Four boyfriends in four television seasons ? There's Walter, that accountant, Gio the sandwich guy, and Matt her new boss, and...I know I must be forgetting one more guy. So - more than one guy for every television season. The girl gets around.

The Search for a Latin Lover begins.
I have decided.
Next, in my love life, I want a hot Latin lover. I have not dated one before. I do love salsa dancing. Food. Tapas. Spain. Perhaps I should set my sights on a hot Spaniard instead ? Nah, too picky. Apparently, I'm too picky, Mr. Matchmaker-Assistant-at-the-Peacock says. And he wouldn't take me on as a client! (Who's being picky now?) Hey - I'm open-minded. I like to eat, hike, travel.

Maybe its time to hit the salsa clubs again.
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Betty tiene más acción que yo.
Atrapado un episodio de Betty La Fea, la otra noche. Cada vez que me lo vi que me trae de vuelta a la realidad. El hecho de que me siento como Ugly Betty. No Amanda, Guillermina, o Hilda. Betty. 100%.

Es una cosa curiosa.

Debe ser algo que se deriva de la escuela media y en la secundaria. Algo dentro de ti que te sientes como que no puede escapar, hacer más, o superar. Esa es la cosa. Una vez que un nerd, siempre es un nerd. Con aparatos grandes, grandes gafas, y la cintura grande.

Pero incluso Betty la acción se vuelve más que yo! Cuatro novios en cuatro estaciones de televisión? Walter, que el contable, Gio el tipo sándwich, Matt y su nuevo jefe, y ... sé que debo estar olvidando una vez más chico. Por lo tanto - más de un tipo para cada estación de televisión!

La búsqueda de un amante latino comienza.
He decidido.
A continuación, en mi vida, el amor, quiero un amante latino caliente. No he de fecha anterior. Hago bailar salsa amor. Comida. Tapas. España. Tal vez debería fijar mi mirada en caliente en lugar de un español? No, demasiado exigente. Aparentemente, yo soy demasiado exigente, el Sr. Matchmaker-Asistente-en-el-Peacock, dice. Y no me tomaría como un cliente! (¿Quién está siendo exigente ahora?) Hey - Soy de mente abierta. Me gusta comer, ir de excursión, de viaje.

Quizá su momento de golpear a los clubes de salsa de nuevo.

Back to reality. And, this month's credit card bills.

2009-10-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

Back to work. Two weeks ago I was on vacation with my mom in Spain. Funny how that seems so long ago, like a dream. Is my need for a vacation that bad ? I guess so.

I'm back at work, and it's like I never left. Isn't that always how it is ? Hmm. the emails have stacked up and the mail's in a pile and so are the bills and laundry. Yup, definitely back to reality.

Facing the Bills
It's been getting a little out of control, I admit. I need to cut back on spending or else.
10/25/09 $10 LACMA tickets
10/22/09 $105.76 Cable bill
10/20/09 $47.10 Books from Amazon
10/19/09 $248.53 Dinner at The Bazaar at the SLS Beverly Hills. (Granted, I was paying for four people, who gave me the cash.)
10/17/09 $115 Color, cut, and tip at Lauren's Salon (beauty costs money!)
10/17/09 $79.02 Cosmetics from Dermalogica salon (see note above)
10/13/09 $279.57 Dress and belt from BCBG
10/13/09 $452.18 Major service for my car. (Didn't I just take it in for service?!)
10/11/09 $42.90 for gas
10/7/09 $45.57 A pair of boots from Zara

Maybe next year I should take two weeks off. Or a year.

I dare to dream.

Breakfast with a side of COTW!

2009-10-17T11:57:00.001-07:00

I order the LaFonda omelette at Jinky';s in SaMo - comes with diced
beef, hearty chunks of meat and avocado with red onions, ranchero
sauce, cheddar cheese, and tomato. Not for the faint of heart- I add
chipotle tapatio sauce to it.
The cafe is busy with saturday morning patrons in this beach town.
I grab a seat alone at the bar; I had wandered in, starved after my
free mini spa facial treatment in the neighborhood. I wonder if I
look slightly mysterious - girl sitting alone in a busy diner. Or
pretentious while clicking away on my Blackberry. Probably
pretentious.

COTW
The guy taking my order is wearing jeans and a yellow t-shirt. He has
dark, short, spiky hair (akin to the crest of a wave) and a light
olive complexion. I decide that he is cute and wonder what ethnicity
he is. Something South American, I think.

The other server checking on me is wearing a white t-shirt and a red
belt with rivets in it. Grommets, rivets, whatever they're called. I
wonder why anyone would buy a red belt, and then I remember that I
have one myself. He has a little something picante about him also.

I realize that the crushing has finally returned. Sigh. I feel
relieved - things may be going back to normal in a few more ways than
I thought. Aren't you glad?

There's something about beauty. /Hay algo sobre belleza.

2009-10-11T09:11:00.001-07:00

When beauty surrounds you, you feel beautiful. It is a subtle process, a smooth and careful seduction you do not notice the actions of until you realize that you have been fully enchanted.

Being surrounded by beautiful gardens, parks with ponds filled with paddle-boating locals, people that greet each other with a double-kiss, a square meant for the people of a city to sit and enjoy, grand fountains offering harmonious spaces of peace within a bustling metropolis, a fine array of rose bushes to pair with good conversation with your dear loved ones.

Moments feel richer, more precious yet not rushed, dripping with a sophisticated focus on enjoying life.

I don't feel drunk, but firmly held onto by that moment of warmth before getting a little tipsy on spirits.

Remind me to travel more.
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Sent using Blackberry

HAY ALGO SOBRE BELLEZA.

Cuando la belleza te rodea, te sientes bella. Es un proceso sutil, una seducción y buen cuidado de que no se dan cuenta de las acciones hasta que te das cuenta de que ha sido totalmente encantado.

Estar rodeado de hermosos jardines, los parques con estanques llenos de remo-canotaje locales, las personas que se saludan con un beso doble, una plaza destinada a la población de una ciudad para sentarse y disfrutar, grandes fuentes que ofrece espacios armonioso de paz dentro de un metrópoli llena de vida, una buena selección de los rosales de par con una buena conversación con sus seres queridos queridos.

Momentos se siente más rica, más preciosa aún no se precipitó, goteo con un enfoque sofisticado en disfrutar de la vida.

No me siento borracho, pero mantendrá firme en ese momento de calor antes de conseguir un poco borracho sobre las bebidas espirituosas.

Me recuerdan a viajar más.

Those crazy kids.

2009-10-09T17:55:00.001-07:00

I'm at this club in Barcelona and its 2:50am, so just getting hot. There's a guy that I know for sure has gotten in with sneakers, and some of these girls look barely 19, or even younger. The PYTs (girls and guys) are up and about, dancing around, shaking what their mommas gave them. I'm not over there - that's me in the corner, having spotted a pod chair with pillows, I am sitting down. Ooh baby, to sit down. those PYTs can keep dancing. I'm just gonna sit right here. Then there are these dudes that look to be in their late 30s. Yep.

I'm trying to remember the last time I was up this late and then I stop when I realize its because it must be at least 6 months to a year.

I've had half of a rum and coke and I feel like I'm done with alcohol for the night (or the year). Why do vacations have to go by so quickly? Can us Americans catch on to Europe's example 3 or 4 weeks of national holidays? Can that be put into reality? Hmm.

I mean, aren't we in an economic depression ?

Am relieved to find that these crazy kids are listening to the same things circa 2003. They will not be achy tomorrow morning from their night of clubbing. Its different when you have bills to pay. (I'm the one in the plaid dress on the right, looking for a place to sit down.)

I feel kinda old. Time to go home now.

[Photos: www.delisgroup.com]

Pounding the pavement. And, Stuff I Can Fit In My Purse.

2009-10-08T16:53:00.001-07:00

Nope, I'm not out on the streets, looking for work.
I'm out on vacation with my mother, walking around the whole city of Madrid and then Barcelona. She is the one wearing socks. With sandals.

She found that she doesn't like taking the metro in Spain thus far. She's not a big fan of steps that lead you deep and far from city streets -seems more of a marathon to her. So after our self and guidebook led tours of Madrid, we opted for the double decker tour buses for the Barcelona leg of the trip. Also - its considerably easier, now that I didn't have to plan so intricately in a city I already knew.

I don't remember the last time I went walking this much. I live in LA, so I'm supposed to be living a sedentary lifestyle in my car, driving.

Stuff I Can Fit Into My Purse
While traveling like a tourist I fit in my leather hobo:
-one travel sized umbrella
-my wallet
-one bottle of water
-one digital camera
-one tin of mints
-one coin purse
-one souvenir belt that my mom bought for 2 euros
-one city map
-one map of the closest grocery stores to our hotel
-one cell phone
-a few pages ripped out of a guidebook
-one pair of earbud headphones
-one bottle of hand sanitizer

How nice it is, to not have to work today. A day off. Forgot what that feels like.

Es como un perfecto cafe con leche, o una bebida que bebes cuando estas en placa reial. Descubriendo algo que te encanta para el primer tiempo. Hace buen tiempo, la ciudad es hermosa, asi, sientes hermosa tambien. Es una cosa para decirle a alguien, es una otra para tu estar alli.

------------------------

Sent using Blackberry

That's a big bump.

2009-10-05T16:45:00.000-07:00

While walking down a street in the neighborhood of plaza de espana, my mom keeps looking at my face, not talking. We stop to cross the narrow street. I can feel her eyes on me although I'm not looking at her, I know that she's scrutinizing my complexion, spotting the pimple.

"That's a big bump," she remarks.

I pause a moment, trying to veil my irritation. Patience with my parents, or with anyone in my family, does not come easy.

"I know," I say.

We keep walking down the hill in these quiet back streets and eventually make our way to the metro station. I realize that we have taken the longer route from our hotel by accident, but I do not let on that I know this.

We had a squabble of annoyance on day two of our trip, giving it a dose of reality.

I believe I prefer arguing with my mother while navigating the metro stations in Madrid on self-declared holidays. Much more exciting while walking through the beautiful capital than while on the phone from opposite coasts of the US, whilst we engage in our respective toils of work and errands.

------------------------

Sent using Blackberry

Jesse Spano

2009-10-03T14:58:00.000-07:00

Remember that one Saved By The Bell episode where Jesse OD'd on pills and overslept ? She missed the music video shoot at The Max, so Screech had to fill in for her. Well, I feel like that...so excited! (If you recall, she admitted to Zach that she was scared.)

Why is it that once you become a working stiff, you don't get excited about many things anymore? Especially on a day-to-day basis. Is it because there are few surprises?

Anyway, I'm excited, just like Jesse. Without the drugs.

Note to self: travel more. To places you can get excited about.

No hot madrileno sat next to me. Ah well. Ill just meet them there...

Going on vacation

2009-10-03T14:37:00.000-07:00

I am now en route to Madrid. What am I doing? Secretly hoping that a hot guy will sit next to me, of course. Ooh, baby. First vacation in - well, ever. Not counting family trips..

No Spain, No Gain.

2009-09-19T17:30:00.000-07:00

I'm fighting off sleep.

About That Sleep Study
In conclusion, I do not have sleep apnea. So - my fatigue has no causal relationship to the quality of the sleep I'm getting. Yep. I'm surprised, too.

Stuff That Happened Recently
Not a whole lot of new things to report. Well, my car battery died. I now have cable and internet in the new digs. Oh yeah, my car got keyed. And, I gained two pounds apparently. As of today, I have a refrigerator. ;)
What else...I'm tired as hell...wait, that's not new.

Maybe if there were more things to look forward to, I'd send subconscious signals to my body to wake up and do those things. Break up the humdrum-dee-dum of work and sleep and work. Like a vacation. Good thing I've made plans to hop a plane to Barcelona. Or did I dream that...?

$22 Vacation
So, twenty-two dollars and one pedicure and half hour of spa chair massaging later, I was relieved. O. M. G. Never underestimate the power of a pedicure.
I checked the bottom of the OPI nail polish that I had picked out. The color I picked was, "No Spain, No Gain."

Seriously. That's what it said.

Like a Drug. And, the Sleep Study Exists!

2009-09-09T07:18:00.000-07:00

I love sleeping. I love my bed. I love lying on my bed and looking forward to the sleep I am about to enjoy.
Sleep must be my addiction. Not cigarettes or alcohol, but sleep.

This week is the first week that everyone at work will not be leaving early on Friday, due to the end of summer and a return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Who knew that September would continue to be a downer after your school days were long gone ?

The sleep study exists!
Took forever to fall asleep at the lab. It's all very strange. Such a monumental amount of trust involved in sleeping in a strange place.

I arrive at the lab at 9:30pm sharp. The office has been near my old apartment this whole time. What was kind of creepy was the fact that I was going to go to sleep in a strange place, literally no one there except myself and the guy administering the sleep study. Like I said, monumental trust.
Anyhow, I get there and answer a bazillion questions regarding my health. Then, I get wired up all over my head, and on my arms and legs. The wires are used to detect movement as well as my heart rate, and even if my eyes are open or closed.

Couldn't help but wish the guy administering the lab study was cuter. Doesn't life seem a little bit nicer when you're surrounded by attractive people ? Comforting, almost. Superficial, definitely. I suppose I would have felt a tiny bit more comfortable considering it was a sterile office/lab environment and not the Westin.

I still have blobs of glue stuck on my scalp from where the wires were connected to my head. Even after I washed my hair, I still feel slightly self-conscious. Ah well. No one cares.

Am very curious about my results. It would be an anxious week if I wasn't so drained.

Can't wait to go to bed.

Love to Hate ? Melting. And People Want To Study Me.

2009-09-02T06:02:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about what it would be like to no longer be a 'transplant.' Nomad. Wanderlust is always at the back of my brain.

Makes me wonder, do I love to hate L.A ? Hmm. But doesn't everyone hate LA ?

I think 99% of the people posting ads up on craigslist need to go back to school. Or high school English, at least. You know, the kids that got left behind. They kill the "they're, their, there" efforts of schoolteachers. What happened to this generation? Venga, gente! Spell check much?

Stay in school, kids. So people won't question if you know English when you're an adult.

This Mission, IF You Choose To Accept It.
It's a ridiculous thought, but occurred to me that joining the work force after college brings you into another world that people don't talk about. Well - the dark side is what people don't tell you about. Someone offers you a mission to begin an era known as "working stiff." This is what you are to do (but no one talks about it):

1. Trust No One. Not a single person.
2. Form Allies.
3. Stand Your Ground.
4. Brace for Attack.
5. Play the Game. Or Die.

Melting
So. Hot. The hot apartments on my side of the hill are getting stuffy, and boy, does the summer bring the blood to a boil.

At least I don't have to attempt to blast 'Beat It' from my room to repel the hacking, yakking, cigarette-smoking old dudes. Didn't work anyway.

Patience is wearing a bit thinner these days, or is it just me? Everyone blasting their air conditioning from their homes and their cars and kicking up the temps higher outside can't be much help.
There a couple arguing in Armenian in the apartment next door last week. Screaming at the top of their lungs in Armenian so I have no idea what the argument was about. Neighbors started to look out their windows. Another onlooker walked over to see what the fuss was - or maybe it was to make sure they didn't end up killing each other ?

Thank God I've moved to an apartment with central air. And Casita Taco next door. (Now, to finish unpacking the boxes before Christmas...)

The Sleep Study
So with all this chronic fatigue and the stamina of an 80 year old woman, I've had the second doctor's opinion. And then decided to drop my usual suspects and find a new doc altogether. UCLA is quite amazing. [America's Best Hospitals: the 2009-10 Honor Roll]
And thank goodness I have insurance this year. Who knew ? There are doctors out there that are thorough, and actually listen ? No one tells you how much digging it takes to find a doctor that is knowledgeable and conscientious and trustworthy.

The conclusion was stress, or, one of those phases of twentysomethings that have been known to pass. It's been over four months so we will see. But for now, I really do like to be in bed by 10 or 11pm. I fade fast. I'm awake, friends, and can hang out, but for a limited time only...

The other doctors that I have decided not to see anymore did leave on one last referral - that I go in to a lab for a sleep study - to rule out the possibility that it is a sleeping disorder of kind, i.e. sleep apnea; basically trying to rule out if it is the quality of the sleep that I'm getting which is making me so tired.

So I'm going in to a lab for a sleep study next week - this is where doctors have all these wires hooked up to you and they check their various monitors while you sleep there for the night. I know - it really does exist!

No - I'm not getting paid. But if the opportunity presented itself, I suppose I would do it full-time. Wouldn't you ?

The City of Los Angeles is Closed Today. Or Just Tired.

2009-08-18T23:18:00.000-07:00

First with the courthouses and post offices. It's only a matter of time. The City of Los Angeles will be closed today due to massive debts and frivolous city spending. My goodness. Dropping incomes and rising costs of living. What's the sales tax now ? Those 1 bedrooms will soon have two residents, the doubles will be triples, and the triples will turn into quads. Great - like freshman year. Except I'm a grown ass woman.

Getting Out
Went hiking into the beautiful enclave of mountains and clean air a good ways away from L.A. Refreshing, in every way. If I had known I'd be sore for days afterwards I would have paid more attention to stretching before and after the adventure.
Why does it feel so good to get out of L.A. ?

talk
Friend: We might have an opening coming up in our department if you're interested.
Me: Oh. Will it be fun and exciting?
Friend: No. (pause) But...they will pay you. Money.
Me: Oh.

LOTW lines-of-the-week

Uh..I think I'm done talking to you. (CLICK.)

I don't respond well to excessive phone callers.

My computer is taking forever. My clothes are going out of style.

Tomorrow's Friday? All week it just felt - so - far - away.

Why is your computer so slow? I don't know. Maybe it's tired. Just like me.

Daily Grind
My computer is slowing down at work again today. I keep emptying out files but keep getting the same agonizing pace. Es una tortura. (como Shakira dice) My carpal tunnel and tendonitis brace is getting annoying so today I have replace it with one of my tennis wristbands. So now I think I look sporty as opposed to crippled. Athletic and hip vs. old and decrepit. Oh, social stigmas.

I don't believe God created me in order to work and nothing else. There's supposed to be some fun had along the way. But today, I'm too tired to have any.

So I crawl into bed and wait for sleep. Or death.

Vegas is a strange, strange place.

2009-08-17T08:34:00.000-07:00

After finally taking a couple of much needed days off from work, I decided to take a quick trip out of town - to Las Vegas. Sure, I've lived in LA for four years; but this was my first visit to Sin City. I derived some conclusions:

First, Vegas is hott. With two T's. We are in the desert, you know. (Why did I not pack a pair of shorts?)

Second, Vegas is dusty. We are in the desert, people.

Third, Vegas smells like stale cigarette smoke. At least - every casino floor, and thus the majority of every hotel's ground floor reeks of the stuff.

Fourth, Vegas is expensive. Hotel stays are attractively low in price but what puts you in the red may be the food, show tickets, and gambling.

Fifth, other than gambling and shows, there isn't much else I'm interested in. I've concluded that Vegas isn't meant for me as a vacation spot. Two days and that's really plenty of time there. Any longer and the buffets would be enough to blow 10 pounds onto my frame.

Sixth, frankly, if anyone ever speaks frankly anymore (or says the word "frankly), there's something in the air that didn't sit well with me. Could it be the droves of drunk college students and twentysomethings (and fiftysomethings) stumbling around the Strip, carrying their open containers of alcohol and smoking a cig ?
That Vegas crowd - my goodness. If Cancun and Disneyland had a baby...
The same Strip which is covered with strollers being pushed by parents on a family vacation is the same one which is littered with Hispanic men (and women) slapping their calling cards at passersby while donning neon colored tee shirts promoting the services of legit call girls. And the young dressed-up couples walk past them, as do the elderly couples.
Hustling. That's the word that came to mind to see people working outside on the sidwalk in the scorching 110 degree desert to make a living.
Its as if The Strip is this odd concoction from a nouveau riche trailer park brain - grand, lavish, gaudy hotels each ornately themed with its own regalia, but circulating these monoliths are intoxicated vacationers and sex-pushing hustlers. Each replete with its own football field lengths of casino floor which are inevitable with every entry and exit from the hotel.

So, sixth, the air reeked of desperation. And that didn't sit so well.

Nevertheless, I did find some positives in the midst of the gluttony and bacchanalia:

COTW

Capriotti's. A best kept secret is this hole-in-the-wall sandwich joint. I ordered the club sandwich, which ended up being a massive MEAT SANDWICH which kept me full for eight hours. I know. The club sandwich consisted of turkey and cranberry sauce plus mayo and lettuce and also ham on a signature double-decker. The turkey is roasted, though, not your regular ol' cold cuts. Result ? Delicious in a comforting way - comfortlicious, if you will.

Herr's potato chips. I know I'm putting two food items down as my COTW for this posting - but worth all the noteworthiness. Ketchup chips. Salt and vinegar chips. Both are the best I've ever had anywhere - Herr's is a Pennsylvania-based company so I was surprised to see Capriotti's carrying them in Vegas.

Time to start planning the next vacation.

In the desert. And, Shut Up And Listen.

2009-07-23T16:50:00.000-07:00

Hello, Heat Wave.

At work, I sit in a corner cubicle. I am drinking Gatorade and naively hoping it doesn't stain my tongue blue but I know the damage has already been done.

Cleaning out my closet. It's hot and I'm convinced that every bit of extra material or source of clutter adds an extra layer of heat in my room. It's also time to clean out my closet of everything I'd be embarrassed to be wearing in a car accident.

The winds of change are upon us. The bright and hot July sun of Southern California may have blindsided you in forgetting that they come around this town. Why is it always the cool ones that leave LA ? It's never that annoying old bag that looks like E.T.

Still dragging my feet.
I'm two Advil deep and completely spent - it's not quite five o'clock yet.
Maybe I should start taking St. John's Wort. It's sitting in my kitchen cabinet. The problem with consuming something like that is the fact that it's called Wort.

Shut Up. And Listen.
It's fun to answer the phone when someone cuts you off to ask you something you've already answered when you said your name. No one listens anymore. Everyone just wants to hear themselves talk and cut you off and make you anal enough to blog about it.

Why is it that people can't stop yakking these days ? There are five old dudes standing outside my apartment window every night, smoking and yammering the night away. This happens about five or six nights a week, guys in their 30s-60s range. They stand on the sidewalk in the front of their apartment building, which is adjacent to mine.

COTW

Scott Michael Foster - so I've been catching up on Greek episodes, starting with the pilot. Entertaining, I must say. Also, I'd rather make out with Cappie than Evan - I'm surprised, too. And Turtle snuggling with Jamie-Lynn Sigler on Entourage? Perhaps the era of the loser has arrived.

Acqua di Gio by Giorgio Armani for men. It was hot on my prom date, and, surprisingly, it's absolutely seductive still. I want to make out with it, it's so goood. Just not when you can smell it a mile away.

People who listen! There is a threat of extinction.

DOTW

Guys in those half-shirt crop tops at the gym. Those are wrong anywhere. My goodness.

Guys in crocs.

So they say. And, Hypotension, I think.

2009-07-16T20:58:00.000-07:00

Writers write. At least, that's what people keep telling me. And the nagging feeling keeps nudging at me.

So I sat in my apartment on a Saturday night. That's when my body finally began waking up. And my brain, so be it. Something about a hot day sucks the motivation and the energy and the brainpower right outta ya.

Life cannot be lived within four walls of one of LA's apartments, lamenting life and watching an Entourage marathon. Plus, cabin fever. After being back in the apartment hunting predicament - Los Angeles, for all its glitz and glamourized reputation, has a disparity of socioeconomic strata, and also, a wide variety of gloomy, apartments available. We're in the SoCal desert, people, get central air already! Omg.

My wrist and my elbow are throbbing because I have tendonitis. Carpal tunnel's precursor. And, my foot has a new scar from a bug that bit me while I was eating lunch during work.

I just remembered something else they say. The worst part of writing, is, writing.
Why is it that people tell you that when you think you're not being productive, you're not learning anything or experiencing any personal growth, you really are, you just don't know it yet ? It's that kind of bullshit that pisses you off when you hear it. I'm just sayin'.

But I'm an American, I think. We are experts at wasting time. Oh yeah, and obesity. Americans are known for being able to add heart disease to any healthy food item. So - back to wasting time. We are the creators of myspace, twitter, youtube, and facebook, after all. And, of course, I'm in Los Angeles. There's traffic and parties and shopping on Melrose and doing laundry and self-deprecation and celeb-spotting at the Grove. All while hating L.A. - that stuff all takes time out of your day.

And why the fuck is it so hot in my apartment when it's 60 degrees outside at night?

Hypotension.
Am I tired because I'm depressed or am I depressed because I'm tired ?

I think I should be diagnosed with low blood pressure. In fact, I am convinced that's what I have. 90 over 60 consistently, sleeping for 8, 10, 12 hours at a time. And still exhausted, all the time. Thanks, WebMD. Now let's see what my doc says after I've one-upped him.

July is Lasagna Month, and Bring On The Mondays.

2009-07-05T19:53:00.000-07:00

I have a new goal of finishing all the food I have in my kitchen before moving at the end of August.
Last night, I made lasagna for the first time. Today I had lasagna for lunch, and then for dinner. Hmm. This could get boring. Lunch, dinner, lunch, dinner.

I have an entire box of lasagna noodles to finish, though, so...July is Lasagna Month, Everybody.
Will keep you posted on what's cooking. And when I find the next digs to call home.

Bring on the Mondays.
I psycho-slept again. Eleven hours last night. If you called me - I was sleeping. Then I still felt tired so went back to bed for what ended up being four more hours - in jeans and make-up and sandals and all. Fifteen hours of sleep. Yes, I've been taking my vitamins and drinking water and exercising. I haven't left my apartment all day save for getting some stuff from my car. Watched Borat. Watched Californication. Heated up some dinner.

Looking forward to work tomorrow, the Monday after a holiday weekend. Been social up until today's episode of narcolepsy.

Paella, you can't have everything, SIACYCGOO, and Let the Time Wasting Stop. Or, at least, make some cutbacks.

2009-06-26T20:03:00.000-07:00

I really do like paella.
Tossing some saffron. Actually, if you must ask, I kicked off a hailstorm of ingredients - sauteed tomatoes, garlic, shrimp, scallops, lemon...but something about having the energy and motivation to cook has me thinking maybe something's just a little bit different. Maybe it's the vitamin B12 pills I've been popping for about three weeks now. Who knew? Last week I was hot in the kitchen.

I don't do what I want.
I usually say that I, pretty much, for the most part, within reason and life's limits, and within fiscally responsible spending habits, do what I want.
It occurred to me that this isn't always the case. I used to want to go to the gym. Now, it's an internal struggle.
As a wise friend once told me what her even wiser mother balked at her:
"you can't have everything."

SIACYCGOO.
I've concluded that there is a woman that works in my office whom I absolutely cannot stand. Let's call her, "Stuck-in-a-Conversation-you-can't-get-out-of." Or, SIACYCGOO for short. Wait - still too long. Ok, just SIAC. Fuckin' nut.

Maybe the problem with today's society isn't obesity in America. I think it's COMMON SENSE and DECENT SOCIAL SKILLS. Communications 101 - I guess SIAC was ATD (absent that day) in class.

How much longer do I have to listen to this senseless barrage of chatter? I know when I talk you're just waiting to talk. When you're talking - well, I learned that I shouldn't bother listening - just look for a way to GET THE HELL OUT OF THE CONVERSATION. (Another example of Doing Things You Don't Want To Do.)

There are too many ways to waste time. Harder to be productive than ever.

Let the Time Wasting Stop. Or, at least, make cutbacks.
COTW: Being productive!
It's so hard to get your shit together and be productive. Why, after moving to la-la land, surrounded by creative types and industryfolk, have things gotten so stagnant and, well, discouraging? This weird haze of forgetting your purpose since costs and the almighty day job popped up.

There are so many ways to waste time. Googling. Facebooking and Twittering. Watching movies and wallflowering at Borders and surfing Hulu. Online shopping. Grazing some jams on iTunes. Running errands. Vacation and airfare searching. Sitting and staring. Being an old dude and standing outside of a certain apartment building, smoking with your fellow old dudes and yammering the night away. (Dang! Don't you bugs ever go inside your own homes? GO home, old dudes. Go and be an old dude inside your own home.)

Friend: Why haven't you joined Twitter yet?
Me: I don't know, I'm on facebook -
Friends: Twitter is where you can reach people you don't necessarily know personally or through a friend.
Me: I don't want to have to set up a new profile and all -
Friend: But Twitter tells you about the Kogi taco truck. And the cupcake truck.
Me: Cupcake truck?
Friend: Cupcake truck.
Me: Ah, cupcake truck...no. No, you know, I just don't need another time wasting website at this point in my life right now.

My Apartment Hunting Checklist.

2009-06-18T21:55:00.000-07:00

I would save soooo much money if I lived in the burbs with my parents. But then I'd be - living in the burbs - with my parents.
As we near the end date of our lease, I dread the looming task of apartment hunting yet again. This would be move number five in four years. And why, in this tinseltown of golden dreams and high hopes, are all the apartments in the land dank and kind of depressing?

Anyhew, here's what I've got on my Checklist to begin with...

Parking: covered, gated, and not tandem.

Neighbors: None under the age of 5 (meaning, not of the wailing-and-crying stock.)

Pets: None in the building, none that can be heard. I am not what you'd call pet-friendly.

Square Footage: 500 SF at least, ideally. And a loft with 30 foot high ceilings. Hey, I still dare to dream.

Inhabitants: Does not come with a roommate. But will probably be priced such that I will wish I had a roommate.

Neighborhood: Downtown/Koreatown/Hollywood. Basically any part of town where I can get to a metro and thus, not drive to work. Maybe then I'll sell my car and only consort with those who live near metro stations or pick me up from my abode.

What I found in my mother's kitchen.

2009-06-12T09:25:00.000-07:00

Or, more like what I didn't find.

After a hearty 12 hours of hibernation, I ventured downstairs to the kitchen - breakfast at noon. I was starved.

Let's see here- a dozen eggs, yes!
Ketchup? Not here.
Bread ? None.
Butter? No. Wait - yes there is some. In a 32 ounce block. When did they switch from Shedd's spread to real butter ? Things sure have changed in this family.
Cheese? Yes. I wonder how old this thing is.
"Sell by - a long ass time ago." I'll pass, thank you.
Bread in the freezer maybe? No. Some frozen waffles though - hmm this may be a back-up.
Maple syrup? Nope. Hmm.
Jelly? Yes! A scanty little portion of sugar free strawberry preserves.
Coffee? Ehh. The instant little coffee mix packs for individual servings. Meaning, not the good kind.
Juice? Negative. How can a family of three survive on such an empty fridge ?

And breakfast - is done. Just - nobody come over unexpectedly - because there is no ketchup, no syrup, and no coffee. But we can make you some scrambled eggs with no ketchup.

Those are not happy eggs.

getting outta town

2009-06-11T10:50:00.000-07:00

Hopping on a flight from LAX to PHL, I wondered if Richard Simmons was cold wearing those shorts.

I couldn't help but secretly wish I was about to board a plane to Paris or Spain or London. This caught me by surprise as I waited at the gate. Didn't see that coming. A few years in LA, and maybe I need to take a real vacation, despite all the obvious reasons not to do so. Or maybe it is, in fact, time for a new adventure - travel to a foreign destination, a completely unknown locale.

All I know is, I'm taking vitamins, gradually getting back to the gym, psycho sleeping for 10 hours at a time, and yet still I am more exhausted than ever. And developing carpal tunnel to boot. And now I am getting a migraine.

Ah, things to think about.

Opportunity Available: New Crush Wanted.

2009-06-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

Applications available by referral only.

New Crush Wanted.

Types: Clean-cut, tall, and handsome. Not afraid to man up. (I know that this last point rules out most guys in the greater Los Angeles area.)

Words: Articulate, polite, smart, witty, clean, made of gentleman stock.

Trademarks: Walks around to my side of the car to get the door before he gets over to his. Offers his jacket when I am fricking freezing, here.

Personal qualities: mature, down-to-earth, and a man of faith.

Smarts: can add numbers, spell correctly, and has an advanced grasp of the English language. Understanding of additional languages, a plus.

Likes: Doughnuts, baking cupcakes, watching movies, days at the beach, getting outta town, hot coffee, brunch, sushi, meat, Spanish tapas, chocolate, pie, cooking, Top Chef, Jason Mraz, Conan O'Brien, BoyzIIMen, and Counting Crows to begin with.

Knows: How to salsa dance, fix a flat tire, change a lightbulb.
Can carry a conversation about: backpacking in Europe, the movie Goonies, or shows like Boy Meets World, The Wonder Years, and 30 Rock. Knows how to have a little fun.

Golden tickets: Knows how to be a good listener. Knows that when a woman is talking about a problem she is not always looking for him to fix it, but sometimes just to shut up and listen.

Bills.

2009-06-08T15:16:00.000-07:00

Recent credit card damages:

MILT & EDIE'S $24.00 - Comforter cleaning for the season.
ZAPPOS.COM $81.95 - zappos.com is my new best friend. I will never shop for shoes in a store ever again!
EXXONMOBIL $42.15 - gas.
EDIBLE ARRANGEMENTS $38.50 - birthday gift.
KABUKI REST HOLLYWOOD $18.98 - dinner.
EDIBLE ARRANGEMENTS $0.13 - that test pending charge from the other purchase.
TARGET $22.72 -necessary evil. If you went to the one at Empire Center you'd know my pain.
MARSHALLS $27.30 - found a belt and a pashmina.
HUGO S, STUDIO CIT $47.33 - brunch with the crush.
SHELL OIL $33.77 - you know.
H&M #138 SUNSET BLVD $88.11 - was still on the jeans-buying circuit.
OFF BROADWAY SHOES $32.67 - I needed black sandals. They were the only thing I could remotely fit my abnormally shaped feet in.
USAIRWAYS $381.20 - roundtrip airfare to visit back East, and thus, GET OUTTA TOWN.
HOUSE OF PIES $10.50 - one pumpkin pie. I was craving pie something fierce that day.
CVS $13.40 - band aids, moth ball refills.
DENNY'S $15.55 - impromptu late night bite with the girls.
BEDBATH & BEYOND $23.82 - earring tree. I'm trying to get organized, here.
PROGRESSIVE $95 - car insurance payment
TRADER JOE'S $18.10 - food.
ALBERTSON'S $7.15 - I was out of cheese. And yogurt.
COFFEE BEAN $3.90 - needed my vanilla latte fix.
LULU'S CAFE $16.20 - those pancakes. And their coffee is one of those strong-and-good ones that make you feel better about life.
FLAIRS $11.66 - alterations to jeans. See above H&M charge.
TRADER JOE'S $10.76 - got hungry again.
NAKWON HOUSE $17.46 - dinner with a friend.
CAFFE VILLAGE $23.12 - catching up with a friend over food.
MILT & EDIE'S $95.40 - dress alterations. (See next item)
BCBG $257.something - bought three dresses and a clutch. What, they were on sale! Did I mention I bought THREE?

No wonder I'm on a tight budget...I keep spending as if I don't know that...

Bitch, please.

2009-06-02T21:59:00.000-07:00

"Hey, you know, when you talk to the bagel guy, you should ask them to switch to a different kind of cream cheese, and..."

Not the best thing for someone to open with when they walk to your cubicle on a grey Monday morning. Best to cut 'em off.

"I don't talk to the bagel guy."
"Oh, you don't?"
"No, they just deliver."
"Oh, well, if you can-"
"If you want to change the cream cheese flavors, then feel free to go ahead and call them."
"Oh ok. Well why don't you just give me the number -"
"I'll email you."
"Well you can write it down for me on a post-it and I'll call them."

So I stop whatever the fuck I'm doing and write down the phone number to the bagel place because you're complaining about the cream cheese flavors of the bagels you're getting for free ?!

Bitch, please.

So we are. Officially, at least, we guess so.

2009-05-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

Good enough. Having the DTR talk is frickin nerve wrecking. Ah, nerves.

I miss Dunkin' Donuts. And chicken fingers. And buffalo wings with blue cheese. And cheese steaks with onions and hot peppers and mushrooms. It's a wonder I wasn't twice my size while growing up. It's high time I saw the folks and the bro. Los Angeles truly is la-la land. People are weird here. You know what I mean. Time to get out of town.

Fiscal Responsibility
So I bought my fourth pair of jeans within a month span. I've got to stop. These are not times to be fiscally irresponsible. The last pair of jeans were - well, I had a gift card. And they were 30% off. Ahh. Working-middle-class-upbringing-guilt-in-times-of-economic-crisis. But then I had three pairs of jeans altered. Why can't petite sizes be all around? Not all of us are 5'7". Venga, hombre!

COTW

Guys who are attentive. As in, not wrapped up in the chic flakiness of LA which has permeated through the air with the smog into everyone's lungs. If you do what you say you were going to do, it's refreshing (sadly). So, in conclusion, don't be sorry, just do what you say you're going to do.

Tasting menus. Unnecessary, but a nice touch.

Being able to conclude that we are, in fact, officially dating. I mean, we guess so.

The blur. Ask me out again. I dare ya.

2009-05-21T22:37:00.000-07:00

Somebody get me a pina colada. In a coconut cup.

I hope those tight-but-stretchy-jeans I just bought still fit. Have replaced workouts with fatigue. And noshing on dark chocolate M&M's at the office. We'll see what round two of my blood test results say next week.

Hurry up and ask me out again. Seriously.
I have no patience when it comes to dating. I don't like waiting around. Let's get things moving along, here.

Maybe it's how God is teaching me patience. Why does dating have to take so much finesse ? And advice asking and friends' experiences and different input from every freaking body ?

Dog-owner friend says: yeah, that's so cute, you should definitely go out with him!
RN friend says: Honestly, I don't know why you're wasting your time with this guy.
Co-worker says: Who was that guy? You should go out with him, I think he likes you.
Other co-worker: He's awfully cute. You should give him a nudge.

People really like giving dating advice, regardless of personal status.

I'm young and...tired.

2009-05-19T20:27:00.000-07:00

I like naps. Okay so - the doc took another blood sample today. After my blood results from the last two vials came back completely healthy - healthy white blood cells, normal iron count, healthy thyroid results. This time around they are checking for mono and...something else I can't remember. I basically feel like I have the stamina of a grandma. Slept a solid 8 hours last night, woke up exhausted, and then slept for another six hours. Got up to go to the doctor's office - which was struggle itself - because I wanted to go back to bed and sleep more.

My last appointment, my doctor may have mentioned something along the lines of, "You are in your twenties and you're young, but the mileage that your body does on a daily basis at work may be much more than that." Does she know that I'm a HWA ? I don't remember putting that on my insurance card. But that kind of got me thinking - I don't think I'm doing much more work than anyone else my age - in terms of personal and professional stress, workload, etc. I mean, right ?

So I picked up some vitamins along with some Band-Aids on the way home. I picked up Band-Aids because I am running low on them, not because they happen to be in neon colors.

OACUN

When are we going out again?

And, I wonder when I get my tax refund...

Back to reality. And, did I really pay that much for jeans?

2009-05-18T08:12:00.001-07:00

Monday is back again. How come Monday sneaks up on you, leaving the weekend behind as nothing but a distant and faded memory?
Got my blood results back. Completely healthy. Well then, why am I tired all the time? You can't just be giving me B12 shots every week. I don't have that kind of time!

Did I really pay that much for jeans?
As you may know, HWAs (Hollywood Assistants) don't make a ton of moolah. Okay here's what I'm really trying to say: Why did no one stop me when I paid $60 for a pair of jeans? And then $50 on my second pair ? And then I may have dropped them off today at the cleaners to get them altered for another $25?! Ay que, venga! In this economy. Plus the 9.25% CA sales tax.

I think I always bought jeans on sale. $10, $20, in PA (with no sales tax on clothes - yeah, I know). Paying full price is not so fun. Who could've foreseen that three pairs of jeans would spring holes at the same frickin time ?

Los Angeles truly is la-la land. $200 for a pair of Rock & Republics? We're not in Kansas anymore. (Or the suburbs of Philly.)

I may have a stupid belt that I got for $30.
It is kind of cute, though.

Ah, the waste. Nobody tell my Mom, please.

COTW

Label jeans at $20 or less. Where have those days gone ?

Lunching at less than ten bucks. You are sensible, Koreatown. So are you, Porto's - but you've GOT to do something about that parking lot.