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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stinging Monday.

It is now Tuesday and I've concluded that there's nothing avoidable like the sting of a Monday. I like my job, my co-workers, my office, my three-mile drive to work, and my boss. Monday still effin' sucks. It's more the dread of the work week, and Monday is only the beginning. And work isn't bad, it's going well and yada yada yada. It's just Mondays. Incredibly sluggish and long and depressing and tiring.
Enter Monday night salsa classes. No, wait. Enter Rodrigo, the incredibly attractive salsa instructor.
Hello, Mondays. We meet again.

It's become essential that the priorities of planning activities and appointments arrive at the forefront within the midst of the daily hustle-and-bustle. Something to look forward to that helps you get through the rest of the day, the week, the year. Whatever it is, is much more monumental than you realize.

More on this post later. Gotta grab a bite before we check out this other salsa class.

You mean NORTH ? Protein Berry, and Tabasco! Claro!

"Where do you live?"
"Right above Sunset Blvd."
Really, above? So, does that mean you're, literally in a space that sits physically over the four lanes of traffic? Hmm, interesting. Or you mean you're under Hollywood Blvd.? Because, let's face it, if you're above one thing then you could also be under something else (this is a G rated statement).
Was everyone absent on that same day in third grade? Cardinal directions? Or in kindergarten with the Left and Right designations? North, South, East, West. No, you're not above Wilshire. I think you mean North. Let it catch on like wildfire like it was supposed to twenty-some years ago.

It's four o'clock in the afternoon. The wave of fatigue has enveloped me at this particular Monday moment. I dream of a smoothie. It is packed with strawberries and bananas and soymilk. I go downstairs only to remember that the cafe downstairs is closed by now. I walk back upstairs. Protein Berry has my name all over it right now. Three more hours until the opportunity presents itself. Woman cannot live on dark chocolate alone.

August 13, 2008
It's Wednesday. Turns out, I like going to work earlier. Less traffic, more parking available, and an earlier day. Still not a morning person.

Note to self: Do not toss empty containers of sesame salad dressing in the wastebasket under my desk. Pungent sweet-n-salty aroma will persist throughout the day.

Thursday, August 14, 2008
Breakfast sandwich: egg-cheese-bacon number on wheat toast. In the kitchen: ketchup? no. tabasco? no. NO Tabasco?!!

VENGA!

I begrudgingly finish my bland breakfast sandwich, but I dream of other condiments. Of the spicy, the tangy, the glorious. Mental note: Must bring personal spicy condiments to work.
At least tomorrow's Friday.

WOOOOOOOH!!! Yeah!!