Just another day in LA and all that jazz

Because of the ongoing wildfires, our office was closed yesterday and we were all instructed to work from home. While normally I would be thrilled at a free day off (snow day! fire day?) I wasn't thrilled about the heat level in my apartment. I did some basic work and email until around 1:30, when I just couldn't take it anymore. I jumped in the shower, then headed to the gym where I figured, at least, there'd be air conditioning.

(Yes, I showered before the gym. I couldn't fathom breaking a new sweat without rinsing off the old one.)

I actually had a great workout - a running/walking combo that has my knee buckling in pain today but yesterday had me feeling strong and fab about my fitness. Walking out the door, I was engrossed in my iPhone, but looked up at the voice of a pretty blond woman.

"Are you Sandra?" she asked me. "No, sorry" I answered, distracted, tossing out a quick smile of apology. Then I realized that the pretty blond woman was Renee Zellweger. "Uh, why?" I asked, suddenly helpful and desperate to continue the conversation. She answered back something about someone meeting her there about her car, but I couldn't pay attention. She was so adorable, and skinny, and damn you Bridget Jones, how dare you score Daniel Cleaver and Mark Darcy and lose all that weight, to boot?! I quickly scanned the room for Bradley Cooper.

I said "sorry" again and ran down the stairs to post something on Facebook. (Because if it's not socially networked, did it really happen?) By the time I got home, I had a number of responses, including one from Randi, who commented that Renee had just been in a car accident that day. She jokingly suggested that "Maybe *Sandra* hit her car???!!" I hadn't posted the "car" part of the story, so Randi had no idea. But how funny that our conversation clearly had something to do with it.

Well, funny for me anyway. I can't imagine Renee finds much humor in her fender-bender.

It did lift my spirits, though. These fires have put a strain on the city, and I'm not referring to our resources. They're depressing, and scary - not in a My-Life-is-in-Danger kind of way, but just as a constant reminder that life is so fragile and unpredictable. You can't go outside without wondering how many homes are at stake, without wondering why, with earthquakes and wildfires and smog and such, we're all really living here.

And I'll be honest. While not exactly entertaining the "Why am I living here" thoughts myself, I have become less enamored and more disenchanted with this city over time. It's not LA's fault - I'm just drained. I've had more than enough of living single amidst a world full of couples; enough of wondering why, and "working on myself." I'm so genuinely over "putting myself out there" to meet new friends, attract new dates, all to have them move away or move on just when I start to get comfortable. The earnest optimism I felt for four years is gone; in its place are defeat and exhaustion. Bitter, resentful, blah blah blah... basically I'm back to being a New Yorker.

No, actually, thankfully, I'm not.

Since I was high on life after my celebrity encounter, I made plans to meet Miya for drinks at the rooftop bar of Venice's Erwin hotel. The bar opened fairly recently, and, perched on a six-story pier overlooking the Pacific, offers panoramic views of the city and the ocean. Amazing, breathtaking, life-affirming views of the city and the ocean.

And so it was there, against the clear blue sky and drop-dead gorgeous sunset, which betrayed so little sign of the fires burning further east, I was reminded, once again, of why I live here.

Plain and simple, I f*@%ing love this town.


If you look closely, you can see the flames burning in the distance. They were very visible to us, but apparently, not to my iPhone.