Latest.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.