In which, for possibly the first time in my life, I sound like an optimist

When I sat down to write this post at about 4:15, it occurred to me that in Boston, the sun would have set by now. I, on the other hand, had just gotten back from a two-hour walk on the beach and the sun was still shining brightly through my picture window.

Today was lovely, because it was the first day I've had in what seems like ever that was just for me. No errands to run, to planes to catch, no gifts to get, no parties to plan for. Well, that's not entirely true - I did go to three supermarkets this morning in search of ingredients for tomorrow night's New Years shindig. But at 10 AM, on a Sunday morning when many people are already out of town, it was mostly enjoyable. I say mostly, because none of the three supermarkets carried one ingredient that seems integral to the dish: rice wine vinegar. There was red wine vinegar, white wine vinegar, brown rice vinegar, and about 40 other versions that aren't what I need. I finally came across a regular rice vinegar and asked two people at the store if that was the same thing; neither of them knew. So I came home and Googled it and still couldn't get a straight answer, but the overall conclusion seems to be that, yes, they are equivalent, and how is it that I can live in California within a one-mile radius of three gourmet supermarkets and none can carry this not-exactly-exotic product that my mom buys every week at Shaws? Yeah, I dunno.

Anyway. After my grocery store tour I met my friend Miya for lunch and then we walked for nearly two hours along the beach from Santa Monica to Venice and back. It was so nice to just catch up, and nice to know that when it over, I didn't have to be anywhere else. Nice to not have the nagging feeling I should be at the gym or - since my cell battery conveniently died - returning phone calls from loser dates or long-distance friends. More than nice to be alongside the beach, taking it all in, reminding me just how much I absolutely love it here.

The last few months have been insane. In fact, my last real solid memory of My Life in Los Angeles was my birthday back in June. I have no idea where the rest of the summer went. Fall was all about travel and work and more travel. I have a work trip coming up at the end of January, but until then, I am so looking forward to just having more time for me, a few more Sundays without structure where I can actually spend time with my friends rather than feeling guilty for not doing so. Where I can feel rested and at peace and even energized, as I did today. I can't remember the last time I have felt anything but exhausted.

And even though I hate that time seems to pass so quickly these days, I'm really looking forward to the year ahead. For some reason, I can't stop thinking of it as "200GR8!"

You take the good, you take the bad

I drove into work this morning expecting a quiet, uneventful day, and was greeted at the door with news that this had happened. Fortunately, no one from our store or any bystanders were hurt, but our front window had not been so lucky. Covered in plywood today, it made a compelling backdrop to the unlikely crime scene, and I spent the day fielding reporters and camera crews, and checking for updates on all the local news stations. This kind of stuff just doesn't happen in Pasadena, not that I advocate it happening at all.

My trip home was, well, it was my trip home. It was great to see my mom, great to see my dad, great to see my friends. It was not great to see how old and frail my Grandmother suddenly looked, as if she had aged about 20 years since I saw her last Christmas. It was not great to shiver for four days in a row, plodding through dirty snow drifts and dodging slushy puddles with every step. It was not great to feel like I am literally the last person from my high school to get married or get pregnant, even though no one made me feel that way but myself.

It was great that my mom finally got the Internet hooked up, and when I wasn't online or playing Mah Jong Quest, I was eating her homemade salads and cookies and sandwiches sealed with a kiss. It was not great that no matter how frequently we see each other, we both end up crying when I leave.

It was not great to find out that my dad's best friend had died on Friday, somewhere in the middle of his third bout with lung cancer. I haven't seen Dick since I was in high school, if not earlier, and I never knew him that well, but he is one of those people you never forget, if only because when you were eight years old, they absolutely terrified you.

The way I remember him, Dick was a chain-smoking, Harley-riding, F-bomb-dropping kind of guy with big hair and wardrobe that could have passed him off as a member of Lynyrd Skynyrd or ZZ Top. Every summer, he and his wife would throw these raucous pool parties at their house, a dwelling much larger and nicer than that of either of my parents, and I would swim and play and try to avoid getting teased under the echo of his booming voice.

Like its owner, the house was dark, but comfortable. Mahogany wood paneling, burnt-caramel leather couches, and deep plaids and patterned throws made up the cavernous sitting room where we would either tread through to the backyard or spend evenings in front of the fire. It was the perfect setting for that one October night I joined my father in dog-sitting for Dick's three Newfoundlands. (Yes, three. Newfoundlands. The man lived big.)

It was Saturday night, in the late 80's and I was curled up on the comfy recliner watching a special Halloween episode of The Facts of Life on the big-screen TV. I have never been good with ghost stories or horror movies, or, as it turned out, low-budget dream sequences in which George Clooney is found dead, or undead, hanging by a hook in the coat closet. It was horribly cheap production, by that point, but my still-childlike brain went to bed that night nothing short of horrified.

I was staying in a guest room, or the older daughter's room, perhaps, but in the midst of midnight, the whole house seemed haunted to me. I imagined ghosts sailing through the dark corridors and slipping under the door to my room, feared every mysterious shadow like it might come alive right in front of me, jumped at every unfamiliar New England house noise until I finally - around 2 AM - ran down the hall to the safety of my Dad's room.

I'm pretty sure that was the last time I ever set foot in that house. Dick and his wife divorced some time later, their kids went off to college, and my dad got remarried and stopped attending raucous pool parties (or at least stopped inviting me as his date). New responsibilities, new mortgages, and middle age took precedence over backyard parties and Bike Week. I would still see Dick here and there through my father, but, to my adult ears, his booming voice seemed much more gentle, his teasing more benign. The last time I saw him, though, he still swore a lot.

It's funny how we can hold onto memories from nearly 20 years ago and be surprised when something has changed. You mean Dick sold those caramel couches? He hasn't had a beard in years? How do my high school friends have kids when I still picture them, picture all of us, as such? For someone whose entire life is documented in photo albums, I find it hard to see past the snapshot, even when it is clearly yellowing with age.

Happy birthdays, happy holidays, and lots of (link) love

Hmm, I thought it was us Geminis that were supposed to be the writers, but in browsing through my blogroll, I've realized a bunch of my blog buddies have birthdays this week. Shouts out to Keith (today!), KB on the 30th, and Jill on the 31st! And since she didn't give away the date on her blog, I won't betray her here, but my girl Abby will be celebrating soon as well.

I had meant to write a post on December 1st, as that was the three-year anniversary of this blog. Last year I wrote that I hoped this would be the year to put some faces to names and actually meet many of the people that comment here, and I am thrilled to say I did! In fact, many of them have come to be good friends and I can't imagine my life in LA without them. I also said I'd hoped to improve my writing, which I think I did, although it has fallen off the wagon a bit as I've struggled for topics and inspiration these last few months. I guess if I have a goal for this year, it's - to put it frankly - either shit or get off the pot already. Meaning, I need to figure out how to make some money off this thing or at least parlay it into another, possibly professional, writing opportunity. I don't want to blog for a living, but if you should make a living doing what you love, I need to find a way to get recognized for work I am already doing.

There is something happening in March or April that will likely direct a lot of traffic this way. By that time, I hope to have an idea of how to make the most of it, and also have gotten my writing back up to par so I'm proud again of what's on here. Lately I've noticed some new readers on Sitemeter, and I'm always happier to see them searching through the archives than reading my more recent updates.

This has been a crazy week for me, but a good one. Monday and Wednesday were the only days I was able to hit the gym to hopefully stave off any holiday pounds that want to tag along for my trip back to Boston. Tuesday, I met Tracy and my newly engaged friend Laura (!!!) out for dinner and drinks. Laura got engaged on her six-month anniversary, and if that's not encouragement for my swiftly shriveling ovaries, I don't know what is. Last night I went out with work friends. Tonight I am breaking my 2007 dating embargo and going out with a guy I met at last Friday's party (not Vince Vaughn). And tomorrow I will run around town like a crazy person in preparation for my flight home tomorrow night, another red eye that will (hopefully) land me in Boston first thing on Sunday morning.

Sunday I have plans to see my friend Hilary. Monday I have plans to see my high school friends Heather, Andra, and Cheryl. Tuesday is the annual MacBlogger Family Christmas. Wednesday night I fly back here. Thursday I am back to work. And then it will be 2008 and I'm not quite ready to go there yet.

Happy birthdays, happy holidays, and lots of love!

One more reason to get Lasik

This particular week in December is seeming to prove a busy one for me. Last year I made mention that with so much going on, I was somewhere between forgetting my focus and losing my mind. Last night, I was reminded that this is less a prep week for Christmas and more like practice for Crazytown.

Last night, I was so out of it (but completely sober, mind you), I went to bed with my contacts in. I don't mean that I drifted off on my couch still wearing them. I mean, I got ready for bed - brushed my teeth, changed into pajamas, turned out the lights, and crawled under the covers fully ready to embark on seven hours of slumber - without performing the one ritual I have been conducting since I got contact lenses nearly 20 years ago.

When my alarm went off this morning, I did notice that the "snooze" and the "disable" buttons looked unusually furry; after a brief worry, though (Glaucoma?), I hit "snooze" and went back to sleep. I eventually got up to shower and figured I had just been extra groggy.

It wasn't until I was almost done with my shower when I realized my mistake. With corrected vision, my normally-nearsighted eyes couldn't read the alarm functions half-an-inch from my face, but the shampoo bottles at the other end of the tub sat clearly, unnaturally, in focus.

Oddly, both of these topics have something to do with dodgeball

Not too much to report from this weekend, other than that I went to a party on Friday night and Vince Vaughn was there. Not like a party in a bar, where Vince just happened to be drinking as well, but a house party, in which he was an invited guest and stayed the whole night. Well, almost the whole night. When we left at 3:30 AM I think he had been gone for like an hour. But it was still very exciting. There was also a guy there from the most recent season of Entourage, who I talked to for a good long while and never once let on that I knew he was an actor. Because I'm cool like that. Or maybe because Vince had already broken my heart by not wanting to be my best friend. Whatever. I'll stop name-dropping now.

A few of you have asked about Mr. Nice Guy. I talked to him last Monday and tried to let him down gently. The problem, however, with letting people down gently, is that sometimes they just don't get it, and you then have to spell it out for them, and after you've been talking in circles for half an hour, it starts to sound less gentle and more "please just let it go already." I'm done with dating for 2007. It's just too exhausting.

Unless Vince reconsiders. And then maybe I'll make an exception.

I think this is what they call a "vacation hangover"

It's funny - a week ago tonight I was totally stressing about leaving for Cabo, being in Cabo, getting everything finished in time for Cabo, and now I keep wishing it was exactly a week ago, back when I had the entire trip to look forward to.

The truth was, and it shames me to admit this even now, I wasn't really looking forward to it. Sure, five days in Mexico sounds great, but not when you are the only single person among 20 pairs of couples. Have you ever been the only single person at a wedding? Where, for a few excruciating hours, you are forced to make banal conversation with extended family, smile through the slow dances, and be ready to slip out the back should anyone mention the dreaded words "bouquet toss?" I was imagining five days of that.

Sure, it was my best friend getting married, but this wasn't exactly a girlfriend getaway. And my other best friend was there too - with her fiance; while they certainly would have tolerated it, I didn't want to impose my third wheel status on their otherwise-romantic weekend.

My saving grace was Maria's friend Erika, who, conveniently for me, left her husband and kids at home. Erika and I shared a hotel room, which helped cut down significantly on costs, but more importantly, gave me someone to eat breakfast with, order "two-for-one" drinks with, and generally, just keep company with, without feeling like a pathetic tag-a-long. It was like having a date for the wedding after all; better than that, I really, really liked her.

And, as it turned out, I really liked everyone else as well. Banal conversation was kept to minimum as I saw how fun the families were. Everyone there, it seemed, brought their "A" game, riding high on the natural jubilance set forth by the occasion. The weather was gorgeous, the Sheraton was top-notch, and, oh yeah, our closest friends were getting married. I was relieved early on to find that I was truly having fun, not just making nice to cover for my loneliness. It didn't hurt that the best man was single, too. How, exactly, had that information escaped me?

Aside from the company, the highlights of the trip were as follows:

- Lounging poolside, gazing at the ocean, having drinks hand-delivered by the hotel's plentiful wait staff. This activity took place every day.

- The rehearsal dinner at Panchos, a fun, authentic Mexican restaurant and tequila bar. I don't even like tequila but I think it ought to be an option at any formal dinner.

- Cabo Wabo. Because I love anything having to do with Van Halen.

- The ceremony itself took place in this old mission church in downtown Cabo San Lucas. Built in 1730, it was charmingly rustic, and, even though I am in no way religious, made me feel like I was part of something sacred. I cried as she walked down the aisle. And I don't mean I teared up. I mean, my throat closed and the tears fell and I could feel that my entire face was burning up and probably very ugly, but I couldn't help it. At least I wasn't as bad as the Groom's father, who didn't STOP crying throughout the entire ceremony, and every time I caught a glimpse of him I had to look away because he made the throat-lump return and I still had photos to pose for, thank you.

- Platform dancing. Palapa dancing. Hand-dancing. The Worm.

I knew I would have fun once I got there. Or at least I knew I could fake it. I just build things up in my head so much, dreading the worst, never dare hoping for the best. Truthfully, it's kind of exhausting. Is it possible to take a vacation from myself? Oh, wait, I think I just did.

No man needs a vacation so much as the person who just had one

I knew that all I needed was to get there, and I'd be happy. I was right.

Cabo was an amazing trip. The wedding was beautiful, the bride was beautiful, the weather was beautiful. The people were fun and it turned out I had plenty of time to lay in the sun. I can't remember the last time I took such a great vacation, and I was only there for five days!

I would love to give a recap and go into detail about some of the more fun, famous, and really unique aspects of the trip, but my brain is completely useless, having spent the last few days tortured by tequila. No, actually, I kept the margaritas to two a day, max, making sure to fill up on equal parts Dos Equis and daiquiris for good measure. Though I don't know that that has made for good measurements. Can I wear sweatpants to work tomorrow?

A selection of photos are here. Enjoy!

To be wild again, no one's child again

So! I'm going to Cabo tomorrow!

After five years of dating and a two year engagement, one of my best friends, Maria, is about to get married!

I considered posting part of my speech on here, to give you all some background as to my friendship with Maria, but then I got scared that if it really sucked, you'd all feel bad for me. Like, you wouldn't really be able to tell me it sucked because you're all too nice, and, anyway, I won't be checking email before the wedding. THEN you'd just imagine me totally bombing at the reception and that would be awkward for both of us, Internet. Don't worry - I'll be hearing crickets anyway. Half of Maria's family isn't so bueno at the old habla Ingles, so my speech could totally kick ass and half the room still won't be able to understand it.

Not that I'm stressing about it. At all. I'm more stressed at having yet another flight to catch, and remembering everything I need for the ceremony, the rehearsal, and five days in Mexico. Stressing that I forgot to take cash out today, that I still haven't called AT&T to find out if I get International service, and whether my body will decide to retain water the day of the ceremony or the day after when I plan to wear nothing but a bikini from sunrise to sundown.

I'm also stressing about what to do with my two dozen long stemmed roses. I was thinking I should pluck the petals tonight, save them for a potpourri, but the bouquets are still so gorgeous, I hate to ruin them now. If I leave them, though, they'll be a big old mess on Sunday, and I don't feel like walking into an apartment that smells like rotting roses, reminding me even more so that I need to let this guy - this sweet, good looking, athletic, seemingly cool but clueless guy - go.

Thank GOD I have a vacation scheduled for tomorrow. I need to chill the f*<& out.

Thanks everyone who commented on my last post. I want to clarify that it's not that I don't like this guy because he's too nice. I'm not one of those girls that likes bad boys, that gets off on the chase or the challenge; in fact, I really only date nice boys and, at 31, I don't bother playing games or following The Rules. But there are certain unwritten rules when it comes to dating, and this guy is too available. He calls me every day. Wants to see me twice a week, and offers to change his plans when I tell him I'm busy. We've spent a cumulative total of about 6 hours together, but his actions speak more to a three-month relationship than someone I'm just trying to get to know. There's just something off about it, and I don't have the time or energy to figure it out.

Honestly, how do people date? I don't have enough time to see my friends - people I actually like and care about - let alone meet crazy people all over town. No wonder I'm single. I would rather go to the gym any night of the week than risk meeting yet another person that, at the end of the day, just stresses me out.

When Maria met Andrew, they just knew, we all knew. Maria, even more so than me, is a no-frills, no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is kind of gal. But when she met Andrew, I watched as her heart melted and her eyes went googly and she developed a kind of semi-permanent lopsided grin I had never, ever seen before. It's my barometer for relationships, in a way. And until I can have that, I'd rather just be single.

It's not like I've had a bad time of it, thus far.

Available: The perfect man who is, unfortunately, just too available

On our first date, when he told me he was a school teacher - for underprivileged, inner city kids - I suspected he was too nice for me.

On our second date, when he brought me a mix CD and rubbed my feet before we left the house, I knew he was too nice for me.

And tonight, after I had pushed back our date a few hours because I was miserably, nauseatingly hungover, and he showed up on my doorstep with two dozen pink roses and another mix CD, I decided that I must need a lobotomy or a heart transplant because no matter how much I want to, I just can't bring myself to like him.

Nice.