Seasons change

Wow. So, as if cued by Daylight Savings Time, the seasons here seemed to have changed overnight. It's been in the 80's the last few days, and 60's -70's at night. I went from turning the heat on on Saturday to contemplating taking my fan out of storage on Monday. My pale feet have been liberated from socks and tights and thrust back into spring and summer shoes, invoking painful, but not unwelcome, blisters. I could get used to this.

As much as you know I love the warm weather, I'm actually not thrilled it's here. Time just seems to be moving so fast these days. I guess I say that every year, but usually by the time the seasons change, I'm dying for summer to come, and now, well, I guess I'm just dreading turning another year older. Not that that's happening tomorrow. It's just out there.

Sally: I'm gonna be forty.
Harry: When?
Sally: Someday.
Harry: In eight years.
Sally: But it's there. It's just sitting there, like some big dead end.

Of course, we still have a few more months of cold and gray and gloom before I turn another year older and it officially turns into beach season. I just wish I could slow things down a bit.

As things are, it was five years ago Thursday that I picked up and moved to LA. Five years. And that seems to be about the average amount of time it takes for a once-hit TV show to officially jump the shark. Which is why I think it's a good time to admit to you all that I think I'm officially out steam for this blog.

I'm all about being official around here.

Part of it is simply that I'm out of material (same home, same job, same social status), and part of it is that I'm over the urge to write. Over the last five years, material hasn't always been plentiful, but I've always found inspiration, always had a voice editorializing in my head, imaging how the most obscure or arcane scenarios could be storied in print. Now, even when I have good material - celebrity sightings, dating warfare - it's a struggle to string together interesting sentences. I just think I need a break.

I'm going to leave this up for the next few days, so people can read this, and then set the blog on Private, with the intention of writing at best, once a week, but more likely, monthly or even less often. I don't expect many of you to keep up. But if you'd like to, please send me your email address and I'll add you to the list of private recipients so you will be notified and have one less thing to check everyday. I love that my friends and family check in, unprompted, to see how I'm doing, and I'm not entirely ready to lose this channel of communication.

To all of you who have kept up, and chimed in over the years - thank you. You have made this experience so unbelievably rewarding. I can't currently imagine my life without Lori MacBlogger, but right now I just don't feel like I am doing her justice.

And with that, I guess this is all I have left to say:

Sat on our barstools like bookends

This was the third weekend in a row in which I had an old friend come to visit, and as such, was the third weekend I found myself playing tour guide. Tom was one of my good friends in college, and one of the first people I knew to move from school to NYC. I wrote, years ago, how he stayed on my aunt's couch those first few days, and he always remained part of my New York social circle.

Tom came out partly for work and part for pleasure, so we made plans to have lunch on Sunday. I woke up early to a sun-filled morning and figured - since lunch would likely include drinks - it would be a good idea to squeeze in some exercise. I'm never much of a morning runner, so thought a brisk hour walk would suffice. Until I got outside, and the gorgeously clear day and sweet-smelling air filled my lungs, and I don't know what came over me, but I just got the urge to run.

"I just felt like running." - Forrest Gump

I ran to the top of the hill on my regular route, where, on a clear day, you can see the beach to one side and the Hollywood sign to the other. Sunday, not only could I see the Hollywood sign, but I could see the majestic snow-capped mountains behind it, 100 miles away. It was nothing short of breathtaking. I tried taking photos with my iPhone, but the effect looked much farther away. In that case, then, I decided, I should keep running east, towards Beverly Hills, West Hollywood if I had to, in an effort to get a decent shot of the sight. This was the best I could do:

And it really does not do my view justice.

Anyway, I ran out past the border of Beverly Hills before I decided to turn around and head back. I walked/ran home, feeling alive and enthused and so unbelievably blessed about my life.

Since it was such a nice day, I suggested we head down to Venice Beach, have lunch by the Pier, and take in the crazies on the boardwalk. It was great catching up, and Tom was a competitive player in my favorite game of making every possible geographical reference to the original 90210. "This is where cokehead Colin lived." "There's where Kelly's rehab-roommate-stalker hid her suitcase when she was on the streets." "Why yes, Pasadena is the home of the Rose Bowl where Donna competed on the Royal Court and learned her mother got pregnant out of wedlock." We're both watching reruns every Saturday morning. The day could not get any better.

1997


2010

Why yes, those are crows feet by my eyes and gray hairs on my head. I much prefer the ponytails.

All in all, it was a fantastic day. Fortunately for me, I have one more week of Old Friend Fun in store. My college and NYC friend Heather is flying west this weekend, and we'll be hanging out with Cara in San Diego. Four weeks, four good friends. No complaints over here.

This may well be the laziest post I've ever written

... but Cara has graciously recapped our weekend so I don't have to.

Oh, and in addition to Wanda Sykes, we also had a random Top Chef, Season 3 sighting. I didn't even watch that season, but he's so tall, there's no missing him.

My bathroom is done, kind of. The shower doors and tile look good, but the floor is a mess. It's uneven and sloppy and I'm the last person in the world who notices that sort of thing, but even I can see it's lazy, rushed work. They've already agreed to re-do it.

I've also mentioned before that my carpets are kind of a disaster. It took the workers leaving such a disgusting trail of plaster, drywall, and odds and ends that they were dragging in and out for me to finally do something about it. For $100 I bought a Hoover Steam Cleaner at Target, and spent an hour or so steaming the carpets on Saturday. And oh my, do they look good. I'm kicking myself for not doing this four years ago. Not to overstate things, but the entire feeling in my apartment has changed. Suddenly I am living in less of a crack shack and more of a modern-looking abode.

Or at least I will be until Linoleum Installation, Round 2.

And this is why I live here

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.

Everything's coming up roses

Hi! Did you miss me? I'd love to say that I missed blogging, but, really, I didn't. I kind of enjoyed not reporting in. Especially since I had little to report, anyway. Let's mutually consider this my summer blogging schedule and both go grab a mai tai before reading the recap:

My business trip to New York was good. I'm still recovering a lot of the data that I lost on my computer, so I've been extra busy at work, which I think has also contributed to my lack of posting. But my media lists are finally almost back up to where they were, and my most important and timely documents were saved elsewhere, so I am out of panic mode for the time being.

A nice surprise was that Kelly Taylor (aka Jennie Garth) was on my flight back to LA. Before boarding, Jet Blue made a loud announcement paging "Jennie Garth Facinelli" to the terminal. I bounded out of my seat and strained my neck looking for any sign of her and her yummy hubby. Alas, she was traveling solo - well, with only kids and other women in tow - but it was still very exciting.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here, but hands down, my very favorite part of every week is Saturday mornings when SoapNet plays old episodes of 90210. Especially since the weather has been nice, I've been waking up pretty early and catching an episode or two before my 9:30 yoga class. Sometimes it's seriously a struggle to leave the house. Last weekend, one of my favorite episodes ever came on right before I had to leave, and I spent 20 minutes mentally debating whether or not it was worth staying home. Reason won out and I went to yoga, but only because I figured I'd be able to find this on YouTube:

Also, and I know I have said this before, I have fallen headstand over heels in love with yoga. I have not run in weeks; haven't lifted a weight in months. And yet my body feels different, better, lighter, tighter, than it has in years. It's seriously amazing - but also, weird. For 15 years, I've defined myself by my workouts. I'm a "runner". I lift weights. I shave my legs so I can wear cute shorts and am constantly charging my iPod.

Now? I haven't even listened to my iPod in weeks. I shave for my work wardrobe but wear stretch pants to practice. More than that, my entire commuting schedule has changed. Rather than go to the gym near my office to avoid what most people would consider a miserable drive, I'm heading across town during rush hour to make my favorite classes. I can't say I don't mind or notice the traffic, but it doesn't really bother me, either. These all may sound like little, trivial details, but so much of my identity has been wrapped up in the gym, it's a little disconcerting to suddenly develop entirely new habits.

When I haven't been working or at the gym, I've been living life in LA - spending every weekend at the beach, going out with friends, celebrity-spotting when I can. Last Wednesday, I had two good sightings - at the same restaurant. First, James Spader, who is one of my favorite actors and childhood crushes, was eating with what looked like his wife and family. If I had a Top 5/Free Pass/Celebrity Sex Loophole List, I can confidently say that he would be on it.

A little bit later, Jillian The Bachelorette walked in. She and her friend ate at the bar but did not reveal any clues about what or who might have contributed to what is supposed to be the MOST EMOTIONAL SEASON FINALE IN BACHELORETTE HISTORY. (I typed that literally as Chris Harrison spoke it - I'm watching while I write.) I liked Jillian a lot when she was on The Bachelor last year, but she grated on my nerves a bit this season. I don't blame her for that; truthfully, I think that show is just so formulaic, they've reduced her to little more than a methodical rotation of sound bites. It didn't help that the series was extra long this year. But she looked like a cute, normal girl when I saw her, and maybe it was the wine or maybe it was James Spader, but I couldn't help but think that I liked her again.

Of course, given what takes place on TV tonight, I reserve the right to change my opinion.

Information generation

How is it that I go away for one week, and four pop culture icons die? That's it - I'm never leaving Los Angeles again. I can't handle the drama. (Or, more truthfully, the weather in any other part of this country.)

I was in Stamford Tuesday morning when I learned about Ed McMahon. Rebecca and I were sipping homemade cappuccinos on the couch, and I was scrolling through Facebook when a series of sad status updates revealed his passing. Minutes later, The Today Show confirmed it. Not that I was at all surprised.

The TV delivered the Farrah news Thursday, and my mom and I shared a collective, but also, unsurprised, sigh. Hours later, while I was posting a work update on Twitter, I started seeing frantic tweets about MJ; I then horrified my mother with my multitasking multimedia capabilities as I refreshed the laptop with one hand and my iPhone with the other, shamelessly lapping up details to the story.

Facebook was also the bearer of the bad Billy Mays news, this time minutes after my plane landed today and I turned on my phone desperate - after six and a half hours in the air - for a connection with the outside world. Maybe I should just shut my technology down for a day and hope that the rest of Hollywood stays safe.

Oops. Too late.

When I wasn't checking Facebook or Twitter or thanking the iPhone Gods for the GPS that let me drive effortlessly from one friend's house to another, I was, actually, on vacation. I saw everyone I intended to see, met and reconnected with their kids, parents, and/or pets, and generally spent some much needed quality time with everyone.

What I didn't do was see the sun for seven days. It seriously rained every single day I was away, if not the entire time, just often enough to keep anyone from becoming too optimistic. I wasn't expecting beach weather, but it would have been nice to have had some meals and drinks outdoors, maybe go for a walk or a run. As things were, I got very little exercise but a f#&%ing arkload of damp, gray, cloudy skies. I can not underestimate for you my ABSOLUTE and UTTER JOY and RELIEF and ELATION at arriving at a sun-drenched LAX this afternoon.

And what do I do? I stay inside and blog about it.

Stagnant

To paraphrase (okay, plagiarize) my blogging friend and unbeknownst-to-her soul sister, Tiny E, as you may have noticed, when the going gets tough, the tough stop blogging. I'm done, people. I'm fresh out of blogging inspiration for you.

It has been exactly a year since my LA Times essay ran, and I have had exactly nothing published since then. I told myself I had a year to coast off the glory, but if nothing else had been published, I was no longer entitled to call myself a writer. Stripped.

When the Redbook article ran last month - which was something I pitched back in November - I thought for sure, by now, I'd have a brand to promote, a reason to want people to visit this blog. As it is, I've blogged less than ever and some of the least inspiring stuff since I first started. I was thankful for no noticeable spike in traffic, no feeling that anyone was going to be disappointed by what they found. No opportunities, lost.

It has been four years since I've been at my job, lived in my apartment, and lived in LA. And other than some new gray hairs and smile lines to accompany some small newfound knowledge, everything about me and my life is exactly. the. same. as it was four years ago.

A few weeks ago, I was on a date when the guy started talking about how he couldn't go to his 20 year reunion because he was going to be the only one not married with kids. "Don't be ridiculous" I laughed. "Your 20-year reunion is four years away!"

And later, after I stopped laughing, I suddenly second-guessed the entire relationship, wondering if he really didn't see himself married in four years. That was like, forever from now! Not only would I be married, but hopefully I would have kids. How could he not picture himself in family mode in what seemed like ages down the line? And then, once I got off my imaginary high horse, I remembered that, four years ago, I in no way thought I would be single at 32, and certainly not as single, if not more, than I was at 28. At least at 28 I had a favorable decade on my side. Now I am gray hair, laugh lines, biological clock, and why-on-earth-are-you-still-single-stigma attached to a less fun and less confident girl than I was four years ago. I may be smarter and more sane now, but dammit, part of me feels like I had more to offer back then.

Let's talk about my apartment for a second. About a month before my lease ran out, I started negotiations with my landlord. We all know it's a renter's/buyer's market, so I actually managed to get them to build me an entire new kitchen with more modern fixtures and - the cherry on top - a washer/dryer. If nothing else, that one contraption will change my life significantly once it is installed sometime within the next few weeks. And I am excited - BELIEVE ME. So excited that I don't think I will ever be able to move until I can afford another place with the same equipment, which will be like, never. Because, also, as part of my negotiations, they did not raise my rent. (!!!) Which leaves me feeling like I will be in this apartment forever, or at least as long as I am single, which will be forever because if I don't get some change in my routine soon, it will be five years, six years, ten years of the same story, and part of me is just wishing I'd picked up and moved to Santa Monica even if it meant a smaller apartment and going to a more ghetto laundromat down there. I just need some change. And that was maybe one thing I could have controlled.

I went on a date with a midget on Monday. Technically, he wasn't a midget, but he was a small 5'6 who was a lot balder than his pictures and it did nothing but make me feel worse about myself. I used to think I was a pretty girl. LA has humbled me, that is for sure.

And there are a ton of other reasons I am feeling bad about myself and that I am not a worthy, contributing member of society right now, but I will spare you. It has just been a tough couple of months and really, a tough year, and I think I am just intensely feeling the pressures of having yet another birthday a month from tomorrow.

Also, to clarify from the first paragraph, I'm not stopping blogging. I don't think I'll ever stop blogging. I just so often feel like there is nothing left to say.

Random Wednesday Goodness

Yep, still here! Not too much going on at the moment, but here's a brief update:

As you can see by the (expired) ticker in the upper right hand corner, I met my 40 mile cardio goal in March. To celebrate, I decided to take April off. Not from exercising completely, of course - do you not know me at all? - but from making cardio/running my main goal and reporting the progress here.

I have been setting these goals for myself since October, and, to be perfectly honest, I am thoroughly sick of the gym. I've been doing mad yoga (that's not like hot yoga or anything, just an enthusiastic way of saying I've been doing a lot of it), but otherwise, I can't bring myself to walk through the door. Now that it's getting nicer out, anyway, I'd rather bring my workouts outside, and I don't know if they make a ticker that would track my laps up and down the Santa Monica Stairs.

Despite my slacking, I'm not that worried about gaining weight, since, at three weeks into Invisalign, I've already seemed to have lost some. Only 2-3 pounds or so, but that's enough to keep me guilt-free until I consider re-starting the mileage goals in May. Of course, every time I stop working out I tend to lose a little weight, because muscle weighs more than fat. Unfortunately, muscle looks much better in a bathing suit.

Having nothing to do (well, having little to do) with the Ghost Cat, I decided to burn some sage throughout the apartment last week. It's supposed to be a spiritual cleanser, and, truthfully, I felt like my spirit could use some cleansing. So I bought a bundle of sage leaves, read up on how to burn them, and did so last Thursday night. Everyone always talks about burning sage to get rid of spirits and cleanse the soul. You know what no one tells you? That burning sage smells exactly like marijuana. Which I suppose wouldn't be a big deal to some people, but I don't like pot, and more than I don't like pot, I HATE the smell of smoke.

I don't like smoke or the smell of smoke coming within any discernible distance of me. My mom, who is a smoker, mailed me a book last week. It was a great book but I had to read the whole thing in the living room because I didn't want the pages - which still smelled of her Barclay 100's - within breathing distance of my sheets. And, now, here I was spreading what smelled like marijuana smoke all over my comforter, every item in my closet, and every nook and cranny of the house. Wearing my favorite dress that I had just brought back from the dry cleaners. I opened the windows as far as they would go, at which point I realized I was giving my neighbors totally the wrong impression. I'm not nearly that fun.

In any case, the whole time I burned the sage, I mentally told the Ghost Cat he could stay. I really kind of appreciated his presence.

The book, by the way, that my mom mailed me was Carrie Fisher's Wishful Drinking. It was cute, funny - all about her experiences growing up, living, and drinking in Hollywood. It was also a quick read - I read it in three hours one night - so it wasn't that big of a deal to have to read it on my couch.

After I finished that, I immediately started the Dooce book. Hilarious. Awesome. I highly recommend it. It's written in the same witty tone as her blog, but, as a story, is much more thorough and satisfying. I read a little bit each night, the whole time dreading the night it would be done. That night was Monday, so if you have any recommendations, please feel free to make them.

Finally, in case you were wondering, I decided not to take another class this quarter. The Humor Writing class that I wanted turned out not to be closed, but was canceled due to a personal issue with the instructor. None of the other writing classes really grabbed me, and, when I really thought about it, I didn't want to shell out money for tennis lessons -- I already know how to play. So, instead, I am actually attempting to enjoy this down time, reveling in the self-imposed slackdom from the gym, trying to reconnect with my friends and with myself. Doing a little spring cleaning for the soul.

Which, let's be honest, is much more fun than cleaning my apartment.

Blogger book tour, round two

One of the best things about living in Los Angeles - or any major city, for that matter - is that you have the chance to meet a lot of interesting people. Never mind the diversity of the city's inhabitants; talented people from all over consider LA a worthwhile stop on their publicity tour. And if you have the tenacity for sitting in rush hour traffic and paying by the meter on Sunset Boulevard, you, too, could be rubbing shoulders with your icons.

(I don't have either of the above, by the way. I'm guessing the economy is responsible for the recent lack of traffic, and the bookstore had a lot for free parking.)

But I would have sat through gridlock and risked a parking ticket tonight, if those were the hoops I had to jump through to meet Dooce. More than one of my favorite bloggers/writers, she is the person who (unwittingly) inspired this thing four years ago, and who I have held my own blogging/writing standards to ever since.

While traffic and parking were (relatively) easy, the actual set-up of the book signing was kind of a nightmare. When I went to Stephanie Klein's book signing last year, it was in a vast upstairs area roped off specifically for the guests; chairs and a large table were set up, and while I think there were so many guests that it became standing room only, even those standing guests could see the speaker.

Tonight's event was at a little nook of a store, with no common space for the reading, and, really, not a lot of space at all. I was claustrophobic just looking around. There was a podium set up in the corner, with six chairs in front of it. Six. For one of the biggest stars on the Internet. People started filling in the aisles, and ultimately had to crane their necks around the maze of bookshelves and tables just to catch a glimpse of the speaker. Which, for an hour, I would think would be annoying.

Because I was early (I'm ALWAYS early) I did get a good spot, right up front. If there was a fire in the building, I'd never have made it out of alive. The store manager actually introduced Heather by saying that they were pleased to disregard fire codes. But as soon as she started, the room filled with energy, and I was exactly where I wanted to be.

How to make friends and succeed in self-promotion

Shameless media whore that I am, when I heard that Redbook was looking for women who had made some of their best friends as an adult, I immediately pitched the writer my story. I explained that when I moved to New York after college, almost all of my friends moved with me; it wasn't until I moved to LA that I had to actively seek out new relationships.

Anyone who has had to make new friends as an adult can appreciate how hard it can be. It's kind of like dating - easy enough to find someone to share dinner or drinks with, but no one you necessarily want to share your life with. I've written before that I experienced some of that when I moved here. I was lucky to have always had enough plans to fill my social calendar, but it took a while before I built a circle strong enough to feed my soul. The catalyst, it turns out, was this blog and the people I came to meet through it.

As most articles are, this one was edited down to include only the most basic, and compelling, information. While I explained that I did, in fact, have one good friend here when I moved, that wouldn't have created as climactic of a story arc. Also, I don't think I've ever gone out for coffee - the writer almost certainly changed that from "drinks" to better relate to the magazine's mature readership. She loved the wine glass/emergency room angle, as it dramatized my lack of local closeness, which, I guess in hindsight, it did. And while I relayed that I had a met a number of wonderful women though the website, she wanted to focus on the one that had the most significant impact, which all of my regular readers would recognize as Nicole.

Aside from having adjacent birthdays and the same astrological sign, Nicole and I found that we had a lot in common and almost immediately hit it off. Anyone who knows her can attest to her warmth, and I did very much feel like I had found a big sister. While I still laugh at the idea of finding friends through the internet - like, hello, the D&D chat room is that way - it just reiterates once again that creating this silly little blog was one of the best things I ever did.

Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to read the article? Here it is, from the April issue.

Here's also the wine glass story, which, to this day, still scares me from ever doing the dishes.

Luck of the I wish

Donna Martin Graduates! Donna Martin Graduates!

What? We're not commemorating those four years? Oh, yeah. Tomorrow (Wednesday, March 18th) marks four years since I moved to LA.

Four more years! Four more years!

Now that's more like it.

In going through my archives, I realize I've already said pretty much everything there is to say, reflected on the past, pontificated on the future, and honestly, am just plain out of words on the subject. Now that I have been in LA more than half the time that I lived in New York, does it even make sense to compare my life now to what it was then? I don't know if it's just that the LA has totally seeped in, or that my 30's have been such a different decade than my 20's, but I do feel like a very different person than I was four years ago. Maybe I'm just sober more often.

Nah, that's not it.

These past four years have been some of the most challenging of my life, but, as such things usually are, also incredibly rewarding. What I find myself thinking lately, though, is that nothing has ever been that hard. I've experienced my share of setbacks and disappointments and faced the same insecurities as everyone else, but overall, I've led one hell of a charmed life.

Things with my move fell into place so easily, I can't help but feel the Universe moved into alignment to help. I also know I could never do it now. I couldn't quit a job in this economy trusting blindly in contacts on the other coast. Lucky I did it when I did.

I think about how lucky I am that I even found LA, found somewhere that would make me happy. Found the job that I did, the career I've fallen into. Lucky to have made the friends I have and kept the ones I left.

And though I grew tired of it, my life was pretty perfect in New York. I had the best friends, a bustling career, and perennial bragging rights that I lived in the Center of the Universe. I was also lucky to have so randomly met and befriended Tracy, whose singular existence has served as the catalyst for the last half-decade of my life.

Somewhere in all of this gratitude that keeps me awake at night and choking back tears during namaste, I've also realized that I've done a lot of work, too. I've found a calm and a strength and made a lot of changes to make the most of my second chance. My fortune could run dry tomorrow but it will never be entirely taken away. After all, luck has definitely been on my side, but someone had the good sense to make the wish in the first place.

Quite possibly the happiest place on earth

Last week when Lauren and I took Tricia down to the Santa Monica Pier, we stood in front of the amusement park and talked about how, with regard to rollercoasters and other rides, we had all, at some point, turned into our mothers. "I just can't imagine a scenario," I said, "in which I would ever go on a rollercoaster again."

So, naturally, that's exactly where I found myself last night, riding Space f'ing Mountain at Disneyland. And dammit if I didn't love every second of it. The Matterhorn was my second favorite, as from the top, it offered views of the entire park; and my third favorite was probably the Indiana Jones ride, because, hello, who doesn't love Harrison Ford? I went on five or six rides throughout the night, and the only one that made me just a little bit sick was probably the most tame - Star Tours. It was little more than a glorified IMAX movie experience, but we were so close to the screen, I immediately felt carsick. As soon as the first wave of nausea hit, though, I closed my eyes and started chanting to myself, "you're fine, you're fine, you're fine". And as soon as it over, I was.

The one thing I hadn't considered about Disneyland was the amount of exercise to be had. We walked/ran around for four hours straight, except when we were standing in line or sitting on a ride. By the time the park closed and we got off the last ride, it was after midnight, and I was starving. But I wasn't hungry for a meal or anything remotely healthy, however; instead, I craved the spun sugary sweetess of cotton candy. And so, at 12:30 AM, I guiltlessly inhaled the most tooth-achingly delicious dessert I've had in ages, and felt much less like my mother and more like a kid again.

In like a lamb

So, I'm kind of disappointed that I didn't meet my 40-mile cardio goal in February. I could make the excuse that, with only 28 days, it was a short month, but I didn't even start my January goal until the 5th, and I still managed to run 38. Oh well. Clearly 40 is a lofty goal, then, and one I will continue to aim for in March. Of course, I didn't exercise all weekend and I'm planning on going to yoga tonight, so cardio is going to have to wait one more day.

By not exercising all weekend, I only mean that I didn't hit the gym. But I did more than a fair amount of walking, giving an old college friend a tour of the city, and of course, dancing, on Saturday night. My party shoes may be orthopedic but they still fit. Kind of. In a really uncomfortable, pinching type of way.

Yesterday turned out to be an absolutely GORGEOUS day, high 70's, with a strong afternoon sun. My friends and I headed down to Santa Monica, where we walked along the beach and the promenade, had a late lunch, and then headed down to Venice to the Whaler. We arrived around 5:30, just in time to catch the sunset.

The northeast doesn't need to get blanketed under an obscene amount of snow to remind me why I live here. Although it certainly helps.

Edited to add: And also? There is a line in the movie Clueless where Cher claims that mirrors lie which is why she always takes Polaroids. I never quite got that until seeing this picture, and a few from the party last weekend, and so I am publicly stating that I am never wearing those khaki capris or this dress again. I swear, I don't think I look dowdy when I leave the house, but neither are doing me any favors.

I think my party shoes are orthopedic

Well, I don't know about you, but I loved, Loved, LOVED the Oscars. I thought Hugh Jackman was flawless, was entranced by the song and dance, got emotional with the multiple presenters, and was completely romanced by the razzle dazzle. I don't know if I was the target audience that the Academy was hoping to impress, but their changes definitely did me good.

I spent about five hours in front of the TV on Sunday, mostly having a lazy day. I did manage to hit the gym and do some writing, but I was tired from an otherwise busy weekend. Saturday night I headed out with some work friends to Whittier, which, if that sounds familiar, is home to the Octomom. Whittier is southeast of Los Angeles and the farthest east of downtown I've ever been (by car), and it was quite the adventure. At one point I ordered a vodka tonic and the bill came to $5, so I'm not complaining.

Friday night I went to the Vanity Fair photography exhibit at LACMA, followed by dinner at Osteria Mozza, which was absolutely fabulous. I've been wanting to go there for ages but reasonably-timed reservations are hard to get, though on Friday, the timing worked out in our favor.

Next weekend will be busy, too, as I have a friend coming in from New York. I asked if there was anything in particular she wanted to see or do, and her reply was, "No, I just want to party! Go clubbing - have fun." Since I haven't "gone clubbing" in quite a few years, I think I need to go to bed now so I can start storing up some energy.

Things that boggle my mind

- Why this one woman, in response to my dining room table ad on Craig's List, keeps making plans to see/buy it, and then flakes on me every. single. time. After the second time, I would have been too embarrassed to reschedule; however, shame seems to be in short supply among the Craig's List crowd.

- How companies can spend money on throwing an event, and then forget to put the address on the invitation. This would be the same company I had problems with before. They have problems with every piece of printed collateral I've ever seen - and they are a magazine. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that they're being run by a six-year-old. What does surprise me is that better media outlets are dying by the day, and yet this one keeps plugging along.

- That we have this amazing technology called GPS. I admit, when I first bought my iPhone, I felt a bit guilty and frivolous - I never spend so much money on gadgets. But if anything helps me justify the purchase, by far, it's having a navigation system. I've used it a number of times, mostly as a back-up to another set of directions, but tonight, it really came in handy. I was driving home from the gym when an accident on the 110 closed all three lanes of traffic. Police were routing everyone off one of the exits, and I had no idea where I was. Fortunately, I was able to use the GPS, figure out my location and subsequent directions, and I was back on track within ten minutes. Without it? I'd likely still be driving around in the dark, somewhere in the vicinity of Dodger Stadium.

- That LA can have a seasonal high of 80 degrees while the rest of the country suffers from subarctic temperatures. How did I ever get so lucky?

- Chuck Bass Fridays. This doesn't so much boggle my mind as make me all hot and bothered. The idea of a bunch of people in a room that just look like Chuck Bass? My ovaries just might explode.

Holiday wrap-up

Happy new year, everyone!

Before I talk about the things I did this week, I want to address what I didn't do.

Unlike many bloggers, I didn't write a reflective post about what I learned or how I grew in 2008. I wrote something similar to that on my blog anniversary, and I think after four years of this thing, the subject of my maturation has started to get a little stale. But I have been personally reflecting, and it occurred to me that while nothing major changed in 2008 (same job, same apartment, same social status), I made a lot of smaller personal changes I think will have some impact on the future.

On that note, I also didn't make any resolutions. I thought of all the things I did in 2008 that I never could have predicted I'd want to do back in January - take up yoga, go to Peru, sign up for a writing class - so I didn't think it made sense to come up with something now. My whole life, the biggest changes have occurred practically without warning or any planning on my part, and right now, it seems appropriate to just keep my eyes and mind open to opportunity.

Finally, I also didn't go to the gym! Since I met my December mileage goal more than a week early, I gave myself the week off from running, and did yoga only three times in ten days. It was a nice change not having that obligation in the back of my mind, and opened up so much time in my schedule! It was also nice not harboring guilt on the couple of days I was hungover and sleep-deprived and really just wanted to lay on my couch. My mind hasn't been so guilt-free in years. It was like taking a vacation from myself!

As for what I did with all that free time?

Most notably, I got a dining room table.

My dining area is pretty small, so when I moved into this apartment, I purchased a two-seater highboy with matching bar stools. It sounds like an odd choice now, but I wasn't throwing dinner parties back then, and, after coming from a 300 square foot Manhattan studio, I was excited just to have a dining room. I couldn't begin to overthink the furniture.

The highboy was also where I kept my laptop and did all of my writing. It wasn't uncomfortable, per se, but the stools had no back support and the table wasn't wide enough to hold much more than my computer. I've wanted to upgrade for a while, but I figured I'd be buying/moving soon, and I should just wait until then. Well. Now that I have this writing class coming up, I really wanted a more comfortable space in which to work. I'm likely not buying a condo until the economy stabilizes, so I figure I can get at least a semester of classes out it.

I didn't want to spend a lot, so Friday morning, I dragged my friend Lauren up to the Burbank Ikea. The last time I went to Ikea, I was still living in New York, and the crowds and the kids and the chaos at the loading dock made me swear I'd never return. Oh, how time forgets. No. Actually, this experience wasn't bad at all. There was no traffic, parking was fine, and we got there early enough as to avoid the masses. The lines were long and furniture maze was still annoying, but, all-in-all, it was a fine experience.

Until.

I got home and had to put everything together. And realized I'm way too old for make-your-own-furniture.

Lauren came back and we both set up the table. It was mostly simple, save for a few screws that didn't want to go in, but we managed okay and I'm fairly confident I can eat and work at this thing for a few years without incident. I can't say the same for the chairs. We each took a turn trying to assemble the chairs, and we both agreed that there is no way the front legs will ever be stable. The directions call for a wrench to secure the washers on the screws, but I got a wrench and I applied elbow grease and nothing changed. Except the angle of the legs when I sit, which probably doesn't bode well for their future.

It turns out, I also got the wrong slipcovers. I was devastated when I realized this. Yes, the Ikea experience had been okay on Friday morning, when half of LA was still on vacation or back at work or maybe even just sleeping in. But returning once the city was back to normal? Fuhgettaboutit. I'm going to have to wake up early one day next weekend and just be there when it opens. That's the only way I can deal with doing it again. That, and maybe a sedative in my Starbucks.

When I wasn't working towards home improvement, I was having a lot of fun. New Years Eve was spent with Nicole, first at a dinner party, and later, at a house party. Friday night was another late night with Miya, partying at Foxtail, and later, at the SLS Hotel. In between, I had two (mediocre) dates, watched two (bad) movies, ate lunch with two (good) friends, and started one (very good) book. I did a lot, and yet feel very relaxed.

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and a satisfying start to the new year!

Fear and loathing in Los Angeles

When I was in second grade, my peers often presented some decisive questions:

Michael Jackson or Boy George?
Madonna or Cyndi Lauper?
Gremlins or Ghostbusters?

There were no wrong answers in these mostly-meaningless polls; however you could not answer "both" or "neither" or qualify your claim. You had to choose one and align yourself with that camp for the rest of your life, or at least as long as our seven year old brains could remember.

That was also the year a more pointed question was posed: "Are you gay?"

It wasn't directed at me, per se. It was another poll posed by one of the more boisterous boys, who probably heard the word from an older brother and took great pleasure in testing its effect. The question was almost as arbitrary as the others, but this time, I knew there was a wrong answer.

At seven years old, though, I wasn't quite sure what it was. I didn't know what "gay" meant, however I immediately sensed the definition to be bad. I answered "no" with baited breath and a bit of disdain, and was rewarded with instant acceptance. A friend of mine was not so lucky. She answered yes, just as a guess, and spent that lunchtime getting teased and taunted.

So, now there is a large group of people who voted Yes on Prop 8 out of a supposed fear that kids would be taught about gay marriage in the classroom. Forget, for a second, the facts: that gay marriage - or any marriage - is not now and is not ever going to be on any curriculum. That was simply a scare tactic employed - very successfully - by Prop 8's supporters. But kids are already learning what "gay" is at school - not from the teachers, but from their friends, who may not understand everything they say, but can easily comprehend the power behind their words.

Imagine, if you will, that gay marriage was legal. "Gay" wouldn't be taught, but it also wouldn't be a taunt. Kids could grow up understanding it as something normal and accepted, just like any heterosexual relationship. And that, apparently, is the problem. Prop 8 supporters don't believe that gay relationships are normal or should be accepted. But instead of admitting their fears, they're blanketing their bigotry under the more comfortable guise of, "Well, we're just protecting the children!"

The fact is, as far as we have come, there are still a number of ignorant, fearful people. Even, so it seems, in California. I know that deep down, many of these supporters truly believe that they're fighting for what's right, and, in the end, protecting their children. I just wish they'd realize that children are ultimately better protected when armed with the truth.

No on 8 rally at the Mormon temple, in my neighborhood.

Admit that the waters around you have grown

Four years ago, I woke up to a rainy morning and dutifully headed down into the dank basement of a New York City public school. I pulled the handle that voted Kerry for President, and left all other categories blank.

Eight years ago, I did not vote at all. New to, and still overwhelmed by all the changes I'd had to face in moving to Manhattan, I had never bothered to register as a New York voter. I didn't particularly care for either candidate, anyway. But I sat up til after midnight that night with my roommate Kristin, a staunch Republican, watching the news until it was clear there WAS no news. Neither of us went to bed particularly happy.

Twelve years ago, I sent in an absentee ballot from my sorority house in Syracuse; the only category checked off was for Clinton. I didn't know, and didn't care, about anything else. At 20 years old, the only measure I could possible see affecting my life was a woman's right to choose, and therefore, I voted blue. That's pretty much been my mantra ever since.

This year has been completely different. For one thing, as someone whose adult (over 18) life has spanned two Presidents, one terrorist attack, and the rise and fall of an economy, this is the first time I can really objectively look back and recognize how leaders have affected our country. It's also the first time I've been educated enough about my own finances and economics-at-large to comprehend how political policy may affect my future. And it is also the first time that I've had friends who need the government to guarantee their equal rights - no longer just the basis for a series of annoying ads, at some point, these propositions have become quite personal.

But there's something else.

Much has been said about the way we consume news these days. No longer are we all reading the morning paper, watching the nightly news, and pussy-footing around political talk at the water cooler. Me and my friends are reading news all day, refreshing for hourly updates; seeing dozens of Facebook statuses announcing their allegiance; getting lost in the hundreds of links that are posted online - sharing and swapping news so quickly, the election has become more gossip-worthy than anything on Page Six. It's virtually impossible to NOT get caught up in it, no matter who you like or what you believe.

I arrived at my polling station just before it opened at 7:30 this morning. I darted into Starbucks first, and was thrilled to get free coffee - I figured that was only good AFTER voting! Then I waited in line for just over two hours in the hot morning sun, basking in the glow of the day.

Behind me stood a very chatty woman. Chatty McChatterson would talk to anyone who was listening. Talk talk talk talk, and let's talk some more. She was very friendly, and perhaps just had too many free coffees, but it was too early for me to start engaging with strangers.

Instead, I focused on the line ahead of me. And, there, standing two people away, was the homeless guy I've seen almost every day since moving into the neighborhood three years ago. I've always assumed he was homeless, anyway. He hangs out by the Starbucks, walks around the block, and never begs, only asks, politely, for change. And here he was, dressed in his usual dirty jeans and jacket, sample ballot in hand. Perplexed, I spent my time wondering where it possibly could have been mailed to.

I also couldn't help but marvel that this homeless (or homeless looking) man seemingly has enough faith in our collective futures to spend his morning making a difference.

Not that, this morning, he was any different from us. There we all were, standing outside of Starbucks, asking for change.

Where have all the parties gone?

It occurred to me recently that I don't go to parties like I used to.

For the majority of the time I lived in New York, and even the first year or two I lived out here, I'd have a party of some sort to attend nearly every Saturday night. Sometimes it was a friend's birthday; often, it was a stranger's gathering. But Fun! Single! Girls! were always welcome, and Fun! Single! Guys! were always there.

I don't know when, exactly, it happened, that Fun! Single! Guys! turned into The One Single Guy Who's Balding and Unemployed. Or when raucous parties started dwindling in general, my married friends opting for birthday dinners or afternoon delights. Even I, the Fun! Single! Girl! started making plans according to that preference, as evidenced by my last birthday which started at 4:00 in the afternoon.

I miss my old social life. Not the drinking and getting drunk part, exactly, but the sense of adventure - who will I meet/see tonight? What good stories will come out of it? How amazing do I look in my new sample sale jeans?! I used to plan my Saturdays around shopping for a party outfit, going to the gym, and consuming as few calories as humanly possible. It sounds shallow and juvenile and lacking in self-esteem; yet, when I knew there were boys out there for the flirting, I never felt more confident in my life.

Somehow, that's all changed. I'm (extremely) fortunate to still have plans every weekend I want them, but they usually consist of girls' dinners or dinner parties or grabbing a quick drink at the local pub. If I ever do have random run-ins, it's almost never with cute single guys - their wives or girlfriends are always in tow. It's so rare that I leave the house thinking I'll have anyone to impress, I'll often let my hair look limp and forgo the skimpy shirts in lieu of billowy blouses. And with a closet more billowy than bodacious, it' no wonder my body has started filling out the blanks.

Without the availability of single men to motivate me, I've noticed, I've felt much less flirty and way more frumpy. And it has done a number on my self-confidence. Maybe I'm plain according to Hollywood standards or am too old, myself, to fit into the scene out here, but its rare that, when there is a party, I feel capable of turning heads.

This post was not intended to be a pity party. (Although, hey - party!) By all accounts, I still feel like I'm pretty freaking fabulous, if a bit miffed by the idea that no one of the opposite sex seems to. What I had meant to write was that I haven't been to a party in months, and last night I was invited to two.

The first was an NBC premiere party for My Own Worst Enemy. Even though this was technically a work event and I wasn't expecting to meet any single men, I was excited at seeing Christian Slater. Former teenage Hollywood heartthrobs, though not likely to pay me any attention, are still reason to get gussied up, in my book.

I was also excited to finally go to Craft, even though we just mostly sampled passed hors d'oeuvres. I ate my weight in cheese puffs and mini pizzas since, you know, billowy. Baby doll dresses can not go out of style fast enough.

Then we headed north to a party in the Hollywood Hills. This was the party I was looking forward to, as I knew it would be a mix of fun, single people my age. And it was, I guess. But it was lacking... something. The soundtrack was low key, not upbeat. No one seemed interested in mingling, at least not with us. But mostly, the house, while jaw-droppingly impressive, was almost too big for the amount of people there. Rather than be filled it energy, it seemed to call attention to the empty space.

At least the view was pretty amazing.



I wish I had the same outlook on my social life.