Counting Down, Talk is Cheap. Mini COTW note.

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.

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

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.

It's All Happening, and Focus, Baby!

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."

Get By.

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.'

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]

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

Chocolate=Love. / Chocolate=Amor.

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.

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.

Vegas is a strange, strange place.

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.

Opportunity Available: New Crush Wanted.

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.

So we are. Officially, at least, we guess so.

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.

Back to reality. And, did I really pay that much for jeans?

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.

We're dating...right ?

So we're a few dates in. You're cute. I'm cute. Things have been going pretty smoothly.

Do guys not offer their jackets anymore? It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't so damn windy out. Stupid Santa Ana winds. I'm in a sleeveless dress and starting to rub my arms. Repeatedly. I'm rooting for you, really, I am. Every time I start rubbing my arms in the chilly air I'm rooting for you to offer your jacket. Venga, guapo - work with me, here.

Makes me wonder if we're wandering into the friend zone.

But I do love the doors-getting-opened-for-me-and-the-wait-for-me-to-walk-through thing...

COTW crush-of-the-week

Guys in button-down shirts where the top button on the collar is in a contrasting color than the rest of the buttons on the shirt. I kind of want to make out with the shirt.

Guys in dress shoes. The kind that make low tapping sounds on marble floors.

Don't forget to relax. Today: No coffee, no work.

What a relaxing weekend. Relaxation. Remember what that feels like? Feels weird, vaguely familiar. Got some shopping done and spent way too much money over clothes and food. AND the ArcLight. Hey - I know, this economy, yada yada yada, but I haven't gone there in a good long while. Really. Besides, I earn points there.

COTW crush-of-the-week

Guys in the sweater over the shirt-and-tie combo. Professional, preppy, nice. It could be a cardigan sweater, even. Anything where the shirt and tie pops out over the sweater a bit.

Guys that open my door. Where is the modern gentleman these days? Seems courtesy and chivalry have fallen through the cracks. So when it does happen, it's incredibly refreshing. Like a Pellegrino with lime. Or Ciudad's minty fresh lime cooler.

Guys in the fitted-black-leather-jacket-over-white-crewneck-tee-and-jeans combo. Saw 17 Again and Zac Efron rocks it. Montage went on maybe a moment too long - but I must say I love that ensemble.

Thanks, Augustine. If that's your real name.

COTW
Cute kid. Driving the courtesy shuttle van at my car dealership when I took it in for service.
"What's your name?" He mumbles something.
"What was that?"
"Augustine," he says.
I bet he just made that up, I mused.
"Thanks for driving me, outside of the five-mile radius and all." (Thanks, dealership.)
"Sure. Yeah, they can be really strict about it, but it's not that busy right now."
Dark hair, dark eyes. Nice teeth.I wonder if this is what a cougar feels like.

Guys with names like Augustine.

COTW - the hipster invasion.

COTW
Spotted: dark-haired hipster working at the trader joe's
toluca lake. Got that whole indie rocker thing down yet STILL looking
clean-cut. Donning a black-and-white checkered scarf that went cool
instead of country. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it; you are
hot. What kind of moisturizer do you use? Nice to see a man who takes
care of himself.

Guys in checkered scarves.

Alternatively, dressin' it up...

Guys in matching folded ascot and tie (or oxford). Fine accessory, monumental effects.

Wow. That is really not a flattering picture at ALL. I don't understand why people are so obsessed with this kid, anyway.

Estoy enamorada...con una ciudad

Jueves.

Ooh, baby. The chemistry is undeniable - some old flames never die. What's keeping me going this morning and wouldn't be surprised if it kept me running through the end of Thursday's daily grind - is the anticipation of Woody Allen's new flick, Vicky Cristina Barcelona. What's the attraction, you say? Woody Allen's neurotic character-driven dialogue? No. Javier Bardem? No. ScarJo or Penelope Cruz fan? Not quite. La ciudad de Barcelona, hombre.

And, if the film highlights those highly trafficked areas of barça as the reviews have been claiming, I'll be riding a wave of nostalgia. Time can pass by, but that one neighborhood, that one street, will stay forever imprinted on my brain. The old dormant feelings start coming back.

If you have not lived abroad and completely fallen in love with a city, well, you wouldn't understand.

No hay palabras.

COTW

Sharp ties and button-down shirts under sweater vests. I must be on the preppie phase of the cycle.

Kettle corn from Popcornopolis at Citywalk. Crispy, sweet, and salty. Perfect. The pizza place was gross, but the soft pretzel was absolutely golden. Hits, 2, misses, 1.

Today. New pimple, apartment hunting, and Stop Interrupting!

Aren't we supposed to stop breaking out after high school?
I have a new pimple on the side of my mouth. The down side to this spot is that it hurts whenever it gets wiped with a napkin, or touches the side of a glass while sipping. Who knew the side of your mouth gets touched that often?
* * * * *
Okay, there's one thing in Hollywood that I like. Ah, live music. Sad when it takes you ages to remember the last time you had fun. Oh, working stiffs. Hollywood, 1. Not Hollywood, 100.

So I've joined the apartment-hunting club. Or the, I need-to-look-at-places-because-I'll be-homeless-in-five-minutes club.

I killed a roach last night.
It felt like a sign. Maybe it's God saying, "Yeah, you know what? You really should move. It's time - get on the stick!"
It's the whole poverty stricken stigma of finding a bug in your apartment. I wonder how many roaches the one that I've seen is representative of, the ones unseen behind our furniture and walls. I think I've killed at least a handful of spiders in the past year, and I've seen enough cobwebs to deck out the late Aaron Spelling's place in October.

Stop Interrupting!
I hate it when I find myself interrupting someone. Sure, you get bored hearing someone drone on or talk without letting others get a moment edgewise. But it's just so rude. It's the slightest but completely infuriating thing when someone ELSE interrupts YOU. Because when you interrupt someone, this is what you're really saying:
"'I believe what I am saying is more important than what you are saying.' And I can't find another way to see that than: 'I believe that I am more important than you.' And that must end." [Eat, Pray, Love]
So true, Liz Gilbert, so true.

COTW

the Christian Bale-looking guy at my neighborhood gym in Studio City.

tall, dark and handsome guys that came out of hiding at a certain Hotel Cafe show! Seriously, where have you been all this time?

Happy Single's Awareness Day, Everybody

COTW

Guys that can make decent small talk. Hey, starting the convo is half the battle. I shouldn't be the only making the effort at eliminating those awkward pauses.

ROTW

Guys in flip flops. The flip flop is not a shoe that men should be seen in unless they're at the beach.

Adventure Boys
Also: When's Elijah Wood going to reprise his status as one of the Leading Adventure Boys of the silver screen? I mean, he's in a pretty exclusive club with Shia Labeouf, Hayden Christensen, and... ok, maybe more like Adventure Boy Trio. Perhaps these boys are in Phase 2 already. Maybe there should be more eyes on the upcoming recruits: Noah Gray-Cabey, Freddie Highmore, Aaron Yoo...more on this later.

On a completely unrelated note: if Step Up 2's trailers stopped playing that horribly adhesive song maybe I won't keep hearing the lyrics "with the fur, with the fur" in my head.

Signs

There are certain events in life that stand out to me - things that remind me of the fact that I have very little power in this world, but someone up there hasn't forgotten about me. Sure, faith is personal, and I don't know if most people's beliefs in atheism, the supernatural, or modern world religions come into play, but for me, nothing happens in complete futility.

The specifics

Hot water pressure: the hot water pressure problem has been plaguing my roommate and I ever since we moved into our apartment. Nonexistent hot water pressure - resulting in more of a trickle-down effect of water in the shower, which sometimes isn't even that hot. Also, the water takes a couple minutes to warm up - shower, sink, and kitchen.

I killed a spider in my room. It was on my bed.

Our evil neighbors blocked my car in this morning and left a scratch on my bumper.

Our evil neighbors.

There is no heat in our bedrooms.

Any parking ticket issued in the greater Los Angeles area.

Paying for parking anywhere.
Alright, I'm noticing that this is becoming more of a list of cons about L.A., so let me return the focus to more relevant events.

The ongoing strike. This goes hand-in-hand with...

The neverending job search in this industry.

Temping gigs are also super-quiet these days.

There's no love in LA. Anyone else notice the heavy marketing efforts of Singles Awareness Day?

What's a struggling assistant, I mean temp, to think, say, do? It's been a tumultuous ride these past several months. I have gained a level of understanding with other friends that have experienced extended searches for jobs (six months to a year or longer). All of these educated, intelligent, well-spoken adults with plenty of ambition and maturity, yet they're in the job market for months. I think it's a miracle that anyone survives the months of self-deprecation, disappointment, and debt.
So I'm wondering if it's not the time for me. All these things add up and my heightened awareness of these signs are what trouble me of late. There's only so much a struggling assistant can take. Either my west coast experience is ending and I should take heed of another calling, or I should stick, and keep on keepin' on.
Ah, decisions. Don't you love those character-building years of your twenties?

Besides, those $3.50 designer cupcakes won't pay for themselves. (Sidenote: I wonder what the typical assistant salary affords in Los Angeles and how this lifestyle survives, on average. More on this later.)

COTW

Malibu con piña. Ok, anything with Malibu.

That guy at my neighborhood gym who looks kind of like Dane Cook. Except with an earring and tattooed.

People who treat you for stuff without you mentioning the fact that you're unemployed.

On the bright side

Reruns of Seinfeld.

Catching up on season three's eps of Veronica Mars. I'm still hurt, CW.

Finally got around to reading a few books I've been putting off.

Thank God for television, Blockbuster Online, and my roommate's kind offer to use her laptop.

Trader Joe's. Cheese plates and all.

More nights at the salsa club. Hopefully there will be more marketable twentysomething gentlemen there. Whom also love Jason Mraz, dark chocolate, and skiing. To start.