Casualties of the birthday diet

When I got on the treadmill tonight, my stomach sank realizing it would likely be the last time I'd be typing "31" into the age prompt. Then I ran for an hour - hard - and thought, Fuck it. I still got it.

I don't actually turn 32 until Monday, but tomorrow night I have plans after work to see the Sex and the City movie (why, yes, I am a total cliche, thank you); Saturday I will be preparing for my party all day; and Sunday, well, I'll likely be recovering.

Clearly, I have a lot on the brain. Do you know that for weeks, I've been mistakenly telling people that my birthday falls on Tuesday this year? Not Monday, Tuesday. Only today did I realize my mistake. Oops. If you are thinking of getting me a gift, you know what I could use? A better calendar.

Random Weekend Goodness

Happy Memorial Day weekend, everybody!

I was a bit worried about this weekend. Most of my friends were out of town, and while I always crave quiet time, I was pretty sure that by Sunday, I'd be tired of the voices in my head and ready - in fact, eager - to go back to work to talk to someone, anyone who might talk back. But how wrong I was! It's 8:30 on Monday night and I still feel like I could use another day off.

What did I do? Well, for starters, a lot of shopping.

The first thing on my list was a new iPod, as I've been using the same iPod for nearly four years now. I purchased the (now seemingly) giant 20G back in the summer of 2004; since I really only use it for working out, it's held up fine, and I never even really noticed that it was outdated until about 6 months ago when I went to buy a new clip/armband for the gym, and discovered they don't even make skins for the original version anymore. Then I got really self-conscious that I was carrying around some archaic version of like, a Sony Walkman, and figured I could cough up the buck fifty to get a nano and live in the 21st century.

And, OMG, it's so teeny.

And light. And thin. And sexy. Looking at the old one, I can't help but feel like I've been carrying around the personal stereo version of the Nokia brick phone, circa 1998. I had one of those, too. In 2001. Calling Zach Morris... Let's just say I don't spend too much money or attention on technology.

What I do seem to spend money on are clothes. I picked up a few new dresses this weekend. Both in black and white.

You know, to go with the 12 black and white dresses I already had in my closet.

But I swear - they are all different!

As I was cleaning out my closet to photograph those (why, yes, I was doing a photoshoot in my closet. For my blog.), I realized that I also own six pairs of gray pants.

Again, they are all different.

Lest you think I own a very boring and blah wardrobe, I'd also like to point out that I own four sweaters in almost the exact same shade of bright orange.

Yeah. I don't know.

When I wasn't shopping, I was exercising, and just preparing - mentally and practically - for the next month. Because, while I may have worried about not having plans this weekend, it turns out that it is the last weekend I don't have anything planned for a while. Next weekend is my birthday celebration which entails at least one full day of planning and one full day of recovery; the weekend after that I am going to Vegas for a friend's bachelorette party; the following weekend I have a work event; the weekend after that I have a friend in town and then am leaving for New York for another work event; and the weekend after that is my friend's wedding. The weekend after that, I believe, is July 4th, and while I don't have anything planned yet, I can't get over the fact that it's not even the end of May and June is practically already gone.

And, finally, speaking of birthdays, tomorrow (Tuesday) is my dear friend Nicole's, so please stop by and say hello. She has brought so many good things into my life, I am thankful and thrilled to celebrate hers.

Off with her pants!

(That's a racy title! I suspect you all will be disappointed with what this post is really about. Sorry for the build-up. I didn't mean to oversell.)

I finally caved and bought my first pair of leggings today. (Well, my first pair since 1988. And my first pair since they came back in style, which embarrassingly, was two years ago already.)

I guess have been kind of wanting a pair for a while, but just couldn't bring myself to buy them. But I wore a short skirt to work today, unwittingly overlooking the fact that it was in the 60's and rainy, and, needless to say, I was freezing. So I headed to American Apparel at lunch, pushed my way passed the glaring shiny lame spandex, and picked up a pair in a basic black cotton/lycra blend that I could shimmy up under the skirt and wear, at least around the office, like it was an intended part of my outfit.

And, um, I fell in love with them. I didn't want to take them off. They are comfortable, completely flattering, and I can see why Lindsay Lohan wears them every day. I wore them for less than five hours and I am completely converted. I want to go back to the store and pick up four more pairs in different styles, begin wearing one every day of the week.

I can totally see how we all got sucked into this trend in the 80's - we found one great pair that really did make our legs look thin; the next thing we knew, though, we were buying similar pairs in colors that were maybe not as flattering - white lace and hot fuscia pink, let's say, just for fun, not reminiscent of anything in my closet - and then it was two years later and we were still wearing that first pair of flattering black only now the butt has stretched and sagged and the kneecaps slouched in the back and then someone else came up with the idea of patterns and the next thing you know I am attending family gatherings like this:

So, yeah. Maybe I'll just stick to the one pair for now. I obviously can't trust my own judgment.

Full of hot air

I just returned from a quick jaunt to San Diego where I visited my friend Laura for the weekend. It was a blast - of hot air. No really. I always say, the hotter the better, but it was in the high 90's yesterday and all humidity - it was like being back in New York in the middle of July. Well, okay, it was much better than that, but trust me, it was hot.

We went to the beach - it was too hot to sit there. We had drinks at an outdoor bar - it was too hot for anything but crushed ice. Finally, the temperature cooled a bit by dinner and we enjoyed a leisurely evening downtown enjoying the more moderate summer breeze. Today we got up, ate breakfast, and spent the day by her parent's pool, which, located on top of a hill and in the direct current of ocean air, was absolute heaven.

A few weeks ago, a bunch of us interviewed Nicole on her blog. In response, she turned the tables and sent us our own list of questions to answer. Mine are below.

1. What is your most disgusting habit?
I judge others too often, too quickly.

2. What is your most embarrassing public bathroom experience?
All of them. I have a very shy bladder.

3. Whose heart did you break the worst?

I have no idea and think it would be presumptuous to guess. They're all married by now anyway and probably thankful I did them the favor.

4. What were the circumstances of your first real kiss?

You can read the long version here. The short version? Picture it: Summer camp, 1989. 13 years old. Chris and I conveniently miss the bus up from the waterfront after the coed barbecue, and have to walk up the long winding hill by ourselves. We hold hands. At the top of the hill I can tell he's getting nervous, so I think we sit down for a while and just talk. The next thing I knew... Then we both went back and blabbed it to all of our friends.

5. Do you feel strongly about the election this year?

Not really. I know who I want to win but I can't muster up the energy to tell you why.

6a. Is there a moment in your life you would like to take back or do over?
Absolutely. A lot of them.
6b. What about it would you change?
I wouldn't have boozed so much beforehand.

7. Is there anyone in your past you wish you could say something to?
See 6a.

8. What blogs do you read regularly and why?

See my sidebar. These are good writers, good friends, and in some cases, both.

9. What television show do you watch and not admit to your friends?

Nothing - my television preferences are nothing to hide. I have a harder time admitting I still don't have TiVo.

10.What celebs are on your list?
I'm single. I don't need a list. Everyone is fair game.

12. Have you ever internet stalked?
The question is, can I ever NOT internet stalk?

13. If you are a blogger, what do you think is the best post you have ever written?

That's tough to answer. These were some of my favorites to write and/or go back and read:

- Rosy Vision of Youth
- Boys who Ride Buses
- Low point
- A picture worth exactly 371 words
- Please don't trip on all the metaphors

- Next stop: Boca

- You could say Seattle's not on my short list
- A Valentine Story
- Sunflowers and Moonbeams

The big reveal

I haven't wanted to blog about it, but I guess I need to mention at some point that Albert and I broke up last week. I haven't wanted to blog about it not because I am upset - on the contrary, I am good - but because I think breakups are private and, really, there isn't much to say. It was mutual, something we had talked about before; I think the relationship just ran its natural course.

Of course I'm disappointed that what was great in the beginning didn't turn out to be enough in the end. And it's hard to get used to not talking to someone you were in contact with every day - especially when that person is genuinely warm and witty and fun to talk to. But ultimately, the relationship was really good for me. It was probably the most normal, adult relationship I've had in years. Like, a lot of years. And truthfully, I learned more about myself during the three months I dated him than I think over the last 31 years combined. (Almost 32, by the way...)

A few days ago, I signed back up for Match. I suppose maybe I could use a distraction and wanted to throw myself back in the game, but more than that, I feel energized. I feel, for the first time, like I actually have something to offer someone, that I am not weighed down by the baggage of my past, much of which I never even knew was there to begin with.

Of course, that energy has quickly been drained reading the same online profiles that were there six months ago, and new ones that may as well have been, for all the generic content I see. More disheartening than reading these profiles has been responding to them, answering the same questions over and over again - when did I move here, why did I move, Yankees or Red Sox? Telling the same story for three years now has gotten boring, even to me. Dare I say it, Internet? I think I may be entirely over myself.

I'm also kind of dreading the next step, having to decide how much more of my story to share in person. In my essay, I explained that I rarely told suitors about the blog - if the relationship worked, I didn't want to self-consciously self-edit; if it didn't, they didn't need to read why. Despite spilling the beans to Albert on the first date, that thought process still holds true. But now, thanks to my LA Times byline, this blog is much less anonymous - anyone with a search engine and a little patience can find it. Even if I never talked about blogging while dating again, it's only two Google searches away from doing the talking for me.

All cart before the horse, I suppose. Just something to think about now that I'm back in the saddle.

Happy Mother's Day

The day after my essay ran, I received the following email from my mom, with the subject line, "You're terrific":

Hi Lor- If I haven't said this lately (at least I haven't said it yet today) you are terrific, fabulous, talented, and so generous to share your gift of writing with us, your devoted readers. I am so proud to know you, let alone have given birth to you. Enjoy your day and I will call you in the eve (my time). Love, your biggest fan, Mom.

She got the last part right - my mom is most definitely my biggest fan.

It is often said that the period between Thanksgiving and New Years is the loneliest time of year; I can attest that since I have moved to LA, the month between Mother's Day and Father's Day has been the hardest for me. My mom has taken to planning vacations for this week every year - perhaps to take her mind off the fact that I wouldn't be with her to celebrate anyway - and is now half-way through a two-week trip in Aruba. Despite the fact that we're thousands of miles away, I can't help but be reminded how lucky I am to have her unwavering, unconditional support so close to my heart.

Bugging out

Some people believe they have a guardian angel or a good luck fairy. I personally think I have been blessed with a fairy bugmother.

A few years ago, I wrote a long-winded post about my fear of waterbugs, and how they were one of the more significant reasons I fled New York. The only part of that story that bears repeating is in which I woke up one night to the sound of some weird, Victrola-like music playing outside my window. I had never heard the music before, and it seemed like nothing I would ever hear in this era. While I was listening, trying to figure out what it was or where it was coming from, I heard a more alarming sound - the clickety-clack of little roach legs running across my hardwood floors, settling somewhere under my bed.

Instinctively, I jumped up and out, grabbed the Raid from our bathroom, and commenced a 10 minute standoff until eventually I killed the little f#@ker in the corner. It was only as I waited for him to show himself that I realized at some point, the music had stopped. In the dead of night, in the darkness of the witching hour, I couldn't help but think it had been playing a wake-up call for my benefit.

This past Saturday night, I went to wash my face in the bathroom, and a bug swooped down from the ceiling and flew at my head. I couldn't tell what kind of bug, exactly, because I ducked for cover and ran screaming out of the room, but it had a thorax at least the size of a dime and more determination than I had courage.

I returned to the bathroom ready for battle with a bottle of Raid, a thick glossy magazine and a broom. I looked in every crevice, in every nook and corner, and eventually, in every other room of my apartment, but the bug was no where to be found. I went to sleep that night unsettled, but with little other option.

Sunday night, I woke up at 2:30 AM and instinctively knew. I don't know how - maybe I heard its wings flap against my wall, maybe I was highly attuned to the change in energy. But I sat up in bed, turned on the light, and waited, wondering. I even strained my ears for the familiar sound of the Victrola. Other than my racing heart, there was nothing to suggest anything was askew, but minutes later, I caught it fluttering behind my nightstand, inches from where my head had just been resting.

I jumped off the bed, grabbed my armor, but when I came back - can you guess? - the bug was nowhere to be found. I threw things at my night tables and banged my broom behind them, hoping to rouse the louse. I eventually dragged them and my bed more than a foot away from the walls, creating an island fortress from which I sat, ready to attack. I also checked my closet and the bathroom and the kitchen and the living room, but I couldn't shake the thought that it had all but shacked up, and was seconds away from storming my castle.

I sat awake for two hours, until 4:30 AM. Eventually I let myself lie down, or, more accurately, curl up in the center of my bed, and fell asleep with the lights on, gripping the can of Raid with one hand, my broom with another.

Last night, Albert sprayed Raid around the perimeter of my room, my bathroom, my bug-fearing brain. I still slept with the lights on, my bed in the center of the room. But sleep I did, and I'm praying that if there is still something haunting my home, that I can trust my Spidey sense to keep me safe from danger.

An addendum on the toothbrush

First off, I just want to say that I have the most fantastic readers, family, and friends. This little essay has brought me so much joy, I don't really know how to explain how blessed and happy I feel. I forwarded it to friends, who forwarded it to other friends, and people got in touch with me that I haven't spoken to in years, just to extend their congratulations. I'm floored.

Resoundingly, the first question everyone has asked me has had to do with the toothbrush. Yes, the toothbrush really happened. In fact, it was what allowed me to finally finish the story. I had been tossing the idea of "dating while blogging" around in my head for weeks, because I kept self-censoring out of fear of saying the wrong thing, saying too much, etc. And I had felt like this before. But while the topic seemed to have legs, I couldn't think of how the story would end. For the time being, it was like, Dating While Blogging: It's Weird.

Then he gave me the toothbrush. A small gesture, but one I thought was symbolically significant, and the story practically wrote itself the next day. It actually started in my head as an awkward reference to Say Anything: I gave him my blog, he gave me a toothbrush.

It turned out, though, that the toothbrush came to epitomize the exact fear I had been writing about.

A few days after I finished the essay, I let him read it. He got kind of quiet, and didn't have much reaction, other than that, "It's great." I went to bed uncomfortable, like something was off. A few days later, he told me he got freaked out reading about the toothbrush, that he worried I thought it meant more than it did, something akin to moving in together or pre-engagement. I was horrified and embarrassed, although also relieved to find out that was why he'd been so weird. At least it hadn't been my writing!

So we talked about it and I assured him I didn't take it to mean more than it was - an extra in the two-pack he'd bought on sale at Ralph's. But in my head, I thought, this was exactly what I had been afraid of. I had orchestrated a textbook example of the self-fulfilling prophecy.

The difference between where I am in my life now, though, compared to the 30 years before that, is that this time I listened to his concerns and didn't take it to mean, OMG, he hates me he wants to break up he thinks I am needy and awful and I'd better get out of here rightthisverysecond. I never really wrote about it, but that was pretty much what happened with John in New York two years ago. (Scott, in the story.) Only instead of me running away - because where would I go? - I kicked John out of my hotel room in the middle of the night and refused to talk about anything ever again. And people wonder why I am still single.

Admittedly, I probably did take the toothbrush to mean more than it did - that he was making space for me in his life. And by making it the punchline of my essay, I magnified that significance not only to him, but to a potential audience of 750,000 readers. Yeah, no pressure there.

So therein lies the irony and the exact point behind the article. Do I self-censor, to ensure that he is, and by proxy, I am, comfortable? Or do I throw comfort on its ass and honor the story that wants to come out? Writing about him, about guys in general, makes me uncomfortable, insecure. But when you have a blog that is solely about your life, how do you NOT write about someone who is a part of it?

I'm still trying to figure out the answer.

When a personal blog gets personal -- or becomes the subject of an essay in the LA Times

Wow. When I wrote that last post, I had no idea my essay would be published so soon! Like, um, today!

Here it is, in the Calendar section of the Los Angeles Times:

The first time I blogged about a boyfriend, he broke up with me a week later. David didn't know about the blog, so it wasn't something he'd read; rather, I had jinxed my relationship status by announcing it. Or so I told myself, and the few readers who received my sheepish, embarrassed explanation. Perhaps, had I considered why it took five months to write about him, I might have realized that the relationship, not my acknowledgment of it, was the problem.

Click to keep reading.

Some things you should know:

1. All names have been changed. Regular readers of this blog maybe have figured that out or might be a bit confused.

2. Word requirements for this section are 600-650 words. My first draft came in close to 900, and I managed to edit it down to 649 before submitting. I cut out a lot of fun, frivolous fodder, toned down my allegiance to alliteration, and generally, I realized that the old saying is true: when it doubt, cut it out. Makes for a tighter read. They cut another 30 words or so, but otherwise, it's nearly identical to the essay I sent in, and I am very happy with it.

Thank you everyone for your wonderful comments and support and for being such fabulous readers. Many of you are fabulous writers yourselves, and you inspire me every day. I hope to submit a few more column ideas over the coming weeks and months, and, while I have no desire to quit my day job, I'm more than a little bit hooked on this feeling.