Speculation, Eye Twitching, and Mochi=A Simple Life

Some people speculate about an office crush. Some speculate about having a nicer car, nicer apartment, or winning the lottery. As for me, my routine daydreams revolve around time. And breakfast. I dream about getting up early enough to stop by the local joint before work and sitting down to a full hour of strong coffee, french toast and perusing the paper.
Or a huge plate of chocolate chip pancakes with syrup, fluffy scrambled eggs, and some Tabasco sitting at the ready. Or maybe a heaping Belgian waffle covered in fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Or a goat cheese and spinach scramble. Add a glass of freshly squeezed oj. Sometime between Monday and Friday.
It has yet to happen, I suspect that to be the reason for its lingering stamp on my brain. I dare to dream to have the luxury of time before rush hour.

My eye is twitching. I have had some anxiety of being a bit busier, what with studying for a secondary career, taking on a writing class, and hitting the gym more than once in a blue moon. Didn't see the twitching coming, however.
I have no idea how people manage marriages and raising kids while having a full-time career, nevertheless going to school. It's nuts. It's absolutely nuts. Thank God I can go home and close the door to my room and be alone. Note to self: I really do need to get a 'Do Not Disturb' sign for my room. Make that two. (For work, of course.)

Froyo and the Simple (and Good) LifeI finally got my frozen yogurt after days of a dissatisfied hankering. Some tart original flavor and self-serve topping madness. I was thinking, in that moment, there's something so genuine about it. Enjoying something sweet. The world grew quiet for a moment. Nothing else mattered except for savoring the sweet and crunchy cup of goodness - there's nothing adult or complicated about it. Mochi, sprinkles, strawberries, and oreo cookie crumble, in case you're wondering? Who knew? Mochi over froyo and life is simple again.

LOTW"This is Top Chef, not Top Scallops!" Fabio Viviani, Top Chef contestant (Season 5, Episode 7). Fabio doubles as COTW. Also interesting that though the Italiano resides in the greater L.A. area, pronounces his European roots on all counts. Guess LA really does consist of local transplants who will stop at nothing to defend the fact that they're not from L.A.

I realize I am quite behind in my television watching - apologies for the delay, life has gone a little nuts and has begun to change lanes and run a couple of the red lights (please see paragraph regarding eye twitching above). Many thanks to the total of four readers that manage to skim thru my humble blog.

The No Sweat Yoga. Aging Conversations. Fantasy.

Just walked away from my first ever yoga class.
Conclusion: I am not mature enough for yoga. Can't stop laughing. AND why don't we turn the lights on? My goodness. I don't feel like I did anything - breathing. It was more of a breathing class. Ah well. I have signed up for this nine-week commitment and I will ride it out.
Addendum: I'm more of a high-intensity workout personality. Pounding on a treadmill, pumping iron, rolling out the crunches; in other words, painful sweat sessions.

Aging Conversations
Older Friend: Why don't you girls go out dancing lately? I don't understand - you're young - why are you guys tired all the time?
Me: First of all, we are all busy. Second, I'm trying to accomplish other things in life simultaneously, i.e. studying, saving money. Thirdly, I'm not initiating social outings anymore.
What I remembered later on was: We're young but we work really hard and sometimes we're completely spent.

I am too old to go clubbing. I'm not talking about salsa clubs, but the uber-trendy somewhere-on-Cahuenga-Blvd.-joints . Life is short, time is priceless. I am too old to deal with the bullshit of waiting in a long ass line outside of a barren club.

Fantasy.
I've noticed that people fantasize around here. A LOT. I thought it was interesting that it happens often or maybe I'm just picking up on it. Hypotheticals of a Sugar Mama/Sugar Daddy or If-I-Won-The-Lottery tangents. I wonder. Perhaps if LA wasn't based on such superficial and costly ideals it wouldn't be as rampant in these parts.
Financial power is something we'd all always want more of. Maybe I'm just a bit too realistic to spend time thinking about that. The odds aren't in our favor. And even if those odds happen to transpire in your lifetime, what is it really? Aren't you just alienating friends and family, and getting directed to the bracket of the population with a higher suicide rate?

Respect the Chillaxation.

SO
Been dragging my feet all week along with the rest of the world, emerging from our two weeks of holiday and sweets-laden hibernation. I have taken to guzzling punch bowls of coffee. Some images stay on the brain from the jet-setting trails. Why are we all so drained?
In lieu of the aforementioned - I am a HUGE fan of independence and time spent in solitary reflection. Mental note: shop for a 'Do Not Disturb' sign. Maybe two.

DsOTW

V-neck tee shirts - why do men keep making the same mistakes? No one can pull this off - no one. Stay away from the V-necks.

To the chick donning the skintight long-sleeved black top, white leggings, and camel-colored Uggs on the stairmaster - nothing says you're a moron any louder. Were you absent that day in health class, fashion school, AND common sense?

Bike shorts with a t-shirt tucked in - Just Don't Do It.

Homes, A Lost Blog Entry.

I am attempting to recreate a blog entry which had failed to post (or save, for that matter), while going mobile during the holidays. Can't recall all that I had blogged within that particular moment chillin' at the Philly airport, but here goes..

After finding my departure location in Terminal C, I cruised around in search of the Dunkin' Donuts of my past viaje - a quick stroll across the concourse of Terminal B's food court and gates and, at the very end, a single patron stood between myself and the Dunkin'.


Glorious. It is truly the little things that make the monumental differences in life. Especially after checking two bags and deciding to bring a guitar with me, plus shelling out extra cash for the oh-so-eternally-disintegrating airline industry (in this case, for checking bags). (OACUN, does anyone actually buy those adult onesies from SkyMall magazine?) Then that flight with all the kids and screaming babies...

It's been tough trying to avoid shopportunities knocking - stores are seemingly inches away from having their salespeople beat shoppers with sticks holding up signs denoting drastically deep discounts. One day. It'll be on Youtube.

After escaping the chilly 17 degree F weather in Philly, I must say it is peachy to return to LA's warmer climes.

As a transplant in this crazy town, I always look back with no less than a spark of surprise that I've somehow ended up here; with no urging from anyone I knew, and three thousand miles away from family. This year - hmm. Thoughts on the economy, mistakes made, goals accomplished, personal and spiritual growth as an adult.

Okay - so much thought weighing over the economy. I resolved to do something differently - save more money, brown bag more lunches, cut back on tix to the ArcLight, cook at home. A couple days back in town and I was whipping out bowls of pasta, chicken parmesan and roasted potatoes. I even bought two new cookbooks from the One Dollar Book Store in "beautiful downtown Burbank." Vamos a ver, supongo.

Hmm. Back in LA. Back in town. But there was something irreplaceable - undeniably genuine about spending time in my parents' house - is that it feels like a home, not just a few friends thrown together in an apartment in a post-college haze. (And LA apartments, in my experience, have become a dime-a-dozen, and subsequently a depressing part of the Angeleno landscape.)

Back to work. What a long commute it was this morning.