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.

A gift

After a gray, rainy day, and sitting in rush hour traffic for an hour and a half, there are few things better than coming home to a care package tucked neatly under the doormat at your front door. Especially if the care package is a totally unexpected and unnecessary surprise from a good friend, and included three things that you specifically said you loved, wanted, or needed.

First, loved: Graham crackers. We were in the car one day, and Julia asked me to list my top five favorite foods. I couldn't. You may have noticed, but I'm not an enthusiastic eater. I don't really like a lot of foods, let alone "bad" foods that most people would list as their favorites. But graham crackers are the one snack over which anyone who knew me in my early 20's could attest that I have little control. I rarely buy them anymore for that reason, but once in a while will indulge myself with a box that will usually be gone in a few sittings.

For the record, I listed coffee and wine as two of my other favorite foods. I don't think I was able to come up with a four and five. Cheese, maybe, if I had thought of it. Yogurt? I'm really lame.

Wanted: a phone charger for my car. Would be nice not to worry about a low/dead battery in case of an accident. It looks like the charger will also work with my iPod as well, which is a nice bonus.

Needed: a new rubber case for my iPhone. Mine was torn along one side which, while still usable, compromised the safety of my phone, should I ever drop it. Which you know I do. I actually almost bought a new case at Target last week, but none of them were the right model, color, or price, so I passed. How cool is it for one to literally appear at my fingertips, in the exact color I wanted?

And how cool is it that Julia took note of and remembered all that? In this day and age, I feel like so few people really listen. Everyone skims and nods their head and takes back bits of the bigger picture, but details get forgotten if they were ever even absorbed to begin with. I do it, too. We're all so busy and distracted and not entirely engaged. This was such a welcome reminder of how good friendships can be.

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.

Working on my fitness

You know how most people go on vacation, or have guests come visit for a week, and their whole healthy lifestyle gets temporarily put on pause? Homecooked meals are forsaken in favor of restaurant dining, and exercise is all but thrown out of the window?

This has not been one of those weeks.

My high school friend Julia came to visit me this weekend. Well, she traveled here specifically for her cousin's bar mitzvah, but flew in a few days early to spend time with me. Julia is a triathlete, marathon runner, trail runner, and all-around exercise fiend. You thought I was dedicated to the gym? She wakes up at 5 AM to train every morning. In the cold/dark/rain/snow of west North Carolina. So nothing was getting put on pause this week, and in fact, my schedule has been set to Fast Forward.

She arrived Wednesday night, and we had a nice evening in, catching up over a bottle (or two) of wine. Thursday morning, we got up, made breakfast, then went to yoga, and then went on a hike. Friday morning, we got up, went to 8 AM pilates, and then went on a power walk around the neighborhood. This morning, we got up and went on a 7 AM walk, to fit in an hour of exercise before her cousin's event.

I am EXHAUSTED. In a good way.

My muscles ache mildly - not enough that I can't walk, but enough to let me know they have been challenged. My arms, legs, abs and ass feel tighter, even when I am lying, spent, face down on the floor. What's more, Julia - in a complete coincidence - has also been using the Lose It program, so we're both helping each other record every single calorie.

In between all of this activity, I've been accompanying her to some of the more informal family events, and generally running around town trying to fit everything in. I expect we'll go on one final walk tomorrow morning, before attending the farewell brunch on the beach, at which I will happily help myself to unlimited mimosas and possibly pass out in the sun. Not from being drunk, of course, but from sheer physical exhaustion.

Which, in the expected 75 degree weather, sounds like a perfect way to spend the day.

The rain exploded with a mighty crash as we fell into the sun

One of the few good things that came out of 2009 (my God, are you as tired of my whining as I am?) was that one of my very best friends from college and NYC caught the west coast bug and moved to San Diego. Cara and her boyfriend moved in October, spent a few months in temporary housing, and at the first of the year, signed a lease for an ocean-front apartment in Mission Beach.

And when I say ocean-front, it's actually more like ocean-back, because this is their backyard:

That white stuff isn't snow, as I originally thought, but foam, brought up to the sea wall from the rain storm that roared through Southern California earlier that week. Because it happens so infrequently here, rain is considered a novelty, and - in LA, at least - it's a welcome relief as it clears out the smog and cleanses the city.

This trip was, in a sense, cleansing for me. First, I had never been to Mission Beach, never knew a place like that existed. It's basically a vacation town, where people actually live and work, though I can't imagine anyone gets much work done, what with the beach and so many bars and neighbors within distraction distance. It reminded me of my summers spent on the Jersey Shore - which weren't that different from that Jersey Shore - in that the whole town just seemed like one party after another. Good-looking people walking, rollerblading, running on the beach; neighbors drinking wine and beer on their porches, inviting us in; bar after bar after bar after bar; after-hours in abundance. And, my goodness, the boys. How have I never heard the term Man Diego? Good-looking, all-American-looking, single-looking guys, all around my age, seemingly around every corner. I was completely floored. I'd seriously given up on the idea that they even existed.

Beyond anything that Mission Beach offered, I just had more fun with my friend than I have had in a long, long time. We laughed for two days straight. My sides hurt, my cheeks hurt, and it was the best I've felt in forever.

I'm so extremely thankful they have a guest room.

Single-handledly supporting the California Wine industry

So, if this PR thing doesn't work out, I'm thinking I could always consider a career change to Tour Guide. This weekend was Tracy's bachelorette party, and, as such, my fifth trip up to Solvang/Santa Ynez wine country. In four years. To recap, I've also been there here, here, here, and here. To even my own surprise, it seemingly does not get old, and, in fact, gets better with every trip.

Seven of us drove up on Friday afternoon; there'd be 15 of us by Saturday night. We didn't carve any cucumbers but we corked a ridiculous amount of wine, ate a week's worth of red meat, and by the time we got back yesterday afternoon, I would greatly have appreciated some fresh produce.

On my drive home, I noticed a police car in my rear view mirror. I was in the second lane, not speeding (much), so just kept my eye on him as he passed me on the left. As soon as he got a couple car-distances in front of me, he turned on the flashing lights, and crossed right, back across another lane or two. I assumed he was pulling someone over, but no. With his lights on, he then looped back left again. Then right. Then left. Then right. This went on across five lanes of traffic, zig-zagging in and out of moving vehicles, for at least a quarter mile down the road. He wasn't in any rush, wasn't pulling anyone over. I couldn't tell what he was doing, other than perhaps interpretive basket weaving.

Whatever he was doing seemed obnoxious, out of place, and, frankly, dangerous; then all of a sudden, I got scared. It must be a stolen cop car, I thought. I'm about to witness a freeway shooting, or perhaps become the next victim. I stopped breathing and started sweating, suddenly aware of my heart beating in my chest. I needed to get out of his path, off the freeway, but how? I was afraid to pass him or pull up next to him, and I couldn't just pull over in the middle of a five lane freeway. It seemed like he was purposely slowing down, slowing us all down while he settled on his target. I saw an exit quickly approaching, but didn't think I could make it. As I attempted to cross over, the cop car pulled ahead and off the exit, lights still flashing, and I sped up and continued along the freeway after all.

Here's my question: what the hell was that? I tried to Google it, and came away with the idea that it might have been some pace-setting system, but I don't really understand why, since traffic was light to begin with. The cop car did nothing but slow us all down, cause some confusion, and scare the shit out of me, so if "pacing" was the objective, that hardly seems effective. For a few minutes, I could have benefited from a Pacemaker.

In other pacing news, I apparently needed to rethink my workouts. Remember that post a few weeks ago, when I was all, I haven't run in over a month and I'm only doing yoga and I've never felt better and blah blah Murphy's Law... It was around the same time that that study came out which said that exercise doesn't actually help people lose weight, which I've always kind of thought but have been too scared to test out. Well, about a week after that, my stomach popped out and over the waistband of my jeans, perhaps to tell me that it wasn't buying that load of crap any longer and that I'd better add cardio back into my routine if I wanted to retain any shred of self respect. So I've run a couple times in the past week and it has been much, much harder than it was a month ago. That actually makes me happy, though, like it's working and that I have something else to keep my body from becoming too complacent.

And speaking of Murphy, guess who we ran into in the middle of wine tour? Kevin Connolly, aka Eric Murphy from Entourage. He was with a date and it was highly inappropriate of us to interrupt them and ask if he would take a picture with the bachelorette, but he complied and was kind of adorable, and this was by far, my favorite moment of the weekend.

Since Tracy and I have known each other, people have always told us we look alike. Would it be really weird and/or noticeable if I tried to pass this photo off as myself? If you see it on my Facebook page, do me a favor? Sshhh....

17 Again

Before I went to Nicole's 1992 Prom Party this weekend, I dug up this old photo to justify the fact that polka dots were a legitimate trend in 1992.

But now, I guess I don't have to.

The party, as you would expect, was amazing. So amazing, in fact, that I lost my camera, most likely in the cab on the way home. So I have started a small Flickr set here, drawing on what has already been shared with me. I'll try to add others, as they come.

In the meantime, can anyone suggest models for a relatively inexpensive but takes-really-good-photos digital camera? I'd had the other one for almost four years, and in 10 years of owning a cell phone, I've never lost a single one, which should prove to you that I'm not usually this irresponsible. Just, apparently, regressing.

But hey - I suppose a camera isn't the worst thing people have lost on prom night.

Nights to remember

So, after all that, I had a fantastic birthday. Thank you to everyone who commented, called, emailed, Facebooked, texted, and just generally made me feel so special and loved throughout the day. My company gives us all our birthdays off (yay!) so I slept in a little, got my coffee, and opened up my computer to an entire screen of Facebook messages that continually kept me amused. I said it there and I'll say it here, Facebook is the best thing to happen to birthdays since cake. I don't care if I don't talk to half the people who chimed in - it was just a nice reminder of all the people who have, in 33 years, made up what I can't help but admit is a very charmed life.

When I wasn't chained to the computer, I took a new yoga class, got a FABULOUS facial, and met my five best friends for dinner and drinks. I got home shortly before midnight, full of cheap tacos and free shots, happy at making the most of my day.

Now that my birthday is over, though, I am ridiculously excited to concentrate on Nicole's birthday party planned for this weekend. The theme is 1992 Prom - we are all dressing in prom gear from the early 90's. I'll post pictures next week, but in the meantime, I thought I'd warm you up with some photos from my own high school dances from the same era.

Sophomore Semi-Formal - 1992

Oy to the vey, as Nicole would say. The thing is? I still love that color pink, and still wear it enough that I can shamelessly say, it's a good color on me. I stand behind the color choice, if not exactly the style.

This was an awkward event. Girls ask boys to this, for some reason, and while I was friendly with my date, I wouldn't say we were good friends. To be honest, I am not even sure why I asked him. We got along well enough but there was no attraction, and therefore no real excitement, and I'm pretty sure we just walked through the motions of sharing our first (semi-)formal dance. I was actually dating a junior at the time, though it didn't stop me from making out with yet a third person at the after-party. Said third person was actually Bryan, who I apparently still held a flame for and felt the need to remind him of what he was missing. Bryan didn't go to our school at that point - had just come to the after-party - so it wasn't like I stole anyone else's date.

Unlike at Junior Prom , in 1993, which was ripe with attraction, sexual tension, jealousy, drunkeness, and everything else John Hughes could have set me up to expect from a school dance.

First, I had the best date. Really fun, awesome guy who I was super comfortable with but also a tiny bit attracted to. Word had it, he was attracted to me as well, so we easily and candidly flirted throughout the night. The whole dance went by in a blur.

I should also mention, I loved my dress, thought my hair came out great, and overall, was just feeling really confident. It clearly shows, especially compared to the two other photos here.

The problem came at some point during the after party. My date managed to drink so much in such a short amount of time, he passed out. At which point, another guy (who went with my friend) swooped in to hit on me. I was flattered by and intrigued by the attention. This had never happened before! Two boys! Or actually, no boys. I resisted the second guy's advances, but because he tried to kiss me in the middle of a crowded room, word spread to both his date and my date, who then woke up and (if I remember correctly) had a testosterone-fueled tantrum about the whole thing. I couldn't say it out loud, but I was thinking, Dude. If you hadn't done that tenth keg stand, you could be rounding second base right about now.

Then there was my Senior Prom in 1994.

This pretty much sucked. Again, I was dating someone at the time, and I made the mistake of bringing him. He was in the grade below me, so while he had enough friends in my class, he was still more like "my date" than a natural part of the group. And since we had been dating for five or six months by then, there was no tension, no anticipation, no surprises. There was also no after-party. I remember everyone in my grade gathering in a parking lot somewhere discussing where to go. Talking and talking and talking and talking. No drinking.

Appearance-wise, while I liked my dress, I didn't LOVE it. I didn't feel sexy or attractive or whatever is appropriate for a 17 year old to feel. I had also had my hair blown out - but then the late-May, Northeast humidity immediately brought back the curl. So then I tried putting my hair up myself - to no avail - and ended up with the careless half-up/half-down look I wore to school on days when I couldn't fit in a shower. What did I care? The night hadn't even started and I was already looking forward to getting it over with. Boo...

So now that I am older, have better fashion sense, and can actually drink legally, you can see why I am very much looking forward to this weekend. It's not that I want to make up for lost time, exactly, but that I am more than ready to make new memories.

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.

Once upon a time I was popular

Okay, Facebook, you've redeemed yourself.

(click to embiggen)

If you can't transport me back to 1996, you can at least remind me that the best parts still exist.

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!

Body issues may come and go but creativity is forever

The following was from an email written ten freaking years ago, dated 12/2/98:

REASONS WHY I LIKE BEING FAT

1. Lack of self-confidence provides a challenge to meet boys
2. Flab rolls are a convenient place to keep house keys, small pets, any inconvenient item
3. Insulation in the winter
4. An excuse to buy all new clothes!
5. Pears are good for you, why not look like one?
6. Breasts become much less noticeable
7. People must really like me for my personality
8. Dress Barn has really good sales
9. Give the makers of cellulite creams a chance at the market
10. Crushing beer cans with arm flab

Of course, this type of email could only have been written by someone who knew, deep down, that she wasn't really fat. But it was my first year out of college, in my first few months at a desk job where I was given no responsibility and nothing to do, and my confidence was in the toilet. I may have gone up to a size four (OMG! The horror!) but I definitely wasn't crushing anything with arm flab, and, if I really had gained weight, I would have known that I am much more of an apple.

I have a ton of emails printed out from that fall. I must have known, even back then, how miserable and desperate and unsure of myself I sounded. I was missing college - we all were - and sitting in an office all day with nothing to do. When I was hired, it was the fall of 98 - the height of the economy. My position hadn't existed before and no one knew what to do with me. So I spent that first year emailing my friends, comprising ridiculous poems and late-night worthy top ten lists. Here are a few more, for your enjoyment:

10/1/98 - Top Ten Reasons to be Glad We're Not in Syracuse:

1. Get to see the sun rise every morning
2. The Big Apple much more impressive than Otto the Orange
3. Same fish, bigger fishbowl
4. Syracuse, 1 Rat [popular bartender]; NYC, rats everywhere
5. Work up a better sweat in the subway than at Archbold [the school gym]
6. Much too expensive to buy shots at the bar, therefore reducing embarrassing throw-up stories
7. No one is ever Jackass of the Week
8. We only get tested on our ability to suck it all up
9. Hazing refers only to the weather
10. Getting laid is much more of a challenge

And, my favorite, also from 10/1/98:

Once upon a time, I went to this school
Lived in a house, and followed no rule
I lived with these girls, who knew how to play
They drank and they smoked, in and out, every day.
Two-for-Tuesdays, abound
Wednesdays, All You Can Drink
Ladies Night Thursdays, turned into Happy Hour
I think.
It was a time of true happiness, and utter despair
When the boys that we loved, seemed never to care
Remember My Toe Dust [nickname]
And my need for closure?
My heart was just crushed from that heavy bulldozer.
It was somewhat similar to your plight with Sig Ep
Boy-with-girl-name caused you often to fret.
Short Ted was a trip
Brendan and Evan, a joy
Why was it so hard, to find just one nice boy?
Though life could be bleak, we'd often have a killer time
Party like rock stars, at your favorite, and mine.
44's was our haven, through thick and through thin
When all else was low, it provided a grin
No Paddy Murphy coaches?
A test the next day?
There's only one choice - Fours showed us the way.
The next morning, hungover, we'd lazily rest
Sitting in the Sun Room, with a plate of Gary's best [house cook - we were so spoiled]
Classes were optional - we'd rather watch Rosie
Sipping our coffee, and being quite nosy.
Listening in as everyone sat, and voiced their complaints
About this, about that.
We'd mope and we'd talk, nosh on graham crackers
Ignoring our homework, cause we were such slackers.
I long for the days of fun and denial
Hanging out, drinking, doing nothing worthwhile.
The days now pass quickly, and we're busy with such things
But I know we'll stay close, whatever life brings.
The real world may suck, but after a long, hard day
The furthest I'll be is a phone call away.

Laura's Wedding Weekend

I just got back from a fun-filled, three-day weekend in San Diego for my friend Laura's wedding. I'm too tired to go into detail, so feel free to view these photos, for now. Enjoy!

More information about my travel preferences and celebrity predilections than probably anyone needs to know

Whenever I travel to New York on business, I always try to take the 7 AM Jet Blue flight out of Burbank.

Jet Blue is, especially in these trying times, by far the best airline. Seats offer a fair amount of legroom, the planes always seem newer and brighter, and, most importantly, there are working TV's at every seat. Delta offers seat-back TVs on a handful of jets; however, and I say this from a lot of experience, they very rarely function.

Burbank is a small, friendly, civilized airport, and even though it's farther away than LAX, I more than make up for the drive time when I can quickly navigate through the tiny terminal.

And while having to wake up at 4:30 AM to make a 7:00 flight may sound like a God awful inconvenience, that's really the best way to do it. There's no traffic at 5 AM, and shorter lines to heed. Plus, the later the flight, the greater chance for delay. This proved true on Tuesday, when the FAA had a small midday meltdown and grounded hundreds of flights across the country. I had already been in the air a few hours by that point and, thankfully, wasn't affected.

But what I really like about the early flight is that, so long as I don't sleep on the plane, it automatically acclimates me to Eastern Standard Time.

Usually.

I've been a mental mess since waking up Wednesday morning, and despite the fact that I'm now back in my normal time zone, I can't help but still feel more than a little bit off.

Sleep patterns aside, the trip was fantastic. The event was one of the best I've ever done - not because of me, this time, but because of the partners who hosted it at our spa. I saw a lot of friends, but, more importantly, had quality time, which, sometimes, in New York, gets compromised.

I didn't have much time to spend outside the hotel, but the weather was gorgeous - in the 70's, crystal clear, zero humidity. In my one venture across the street, I ran into David Schwimmer, and he looked good, amazing in fact. Wearing a worn-in, frat-boy baseball cap and muscle tee that showed serious guns, I did a double-take. I'll never forget how douchey he seemed when I met him four years ago, but after being blessed with the vision of those biceps, I've easily, already forgiven.

Pocket full of sunshine

In my last post I mentioned that I quit cheerleading a few times. At one point I was afraid of competition, at another I had just had enough, but what I didn't mention was that through all of it, I was never particularly good at it. I mean, I got by, but, having never been a dancer or exceptionally coordinated, I was usually one of the last to learn the cheers, and when I did, was often half a move behind everyone else.

Exhibit A:

Possibly the best thing cheerleading brought me, however, was my friend Miya.

She joined the squad my sophomore year, and we immediately gravitated to each other, became fast friends. We'd spend time before practice ogling wrestlers in the gym, and time after practice making friends with the bad boys from adjacent towns. Despite all the high school debauchery, however, what I liked most about Miya was that she was one of the most normal, down to earth girls I knew, a breath of fresh air from some of the personalities on our cheering squad.

We lost touch for a few years during college; then, in 2001, we were randomly reconnected in New York. We were back to spending weekends together, be it in the Manhattan clubs where she worked as a bartender, or in the Hamptons where she worked the scene. She seemingly knew everyone, or at least knew how to befriend everyone, what with ten feet of personality packed prettily into a five foot frame.

So imagine my excitement when she moved to LA a year after I did. I had built a bit of a social circle here by that point, but most of those were new friends, having known me for a few months, or, at most, a few years. Having her here was like heaving a sigh of relief; I didn't have to audition so much for friends anymore, or tell stories from adolescence no one could quite understand. She knew me back when I wore braces and teased my bangs and, god help her, liked me anyway. For the first time since I moved 3,000 miles away, I finally felt completely at home.

(video enclosure)

Just a little more wining

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post complaining that Facebook, with its gossipy news feed and sudden influx of my (now married) high school class, sparked an insecurity I haven't felt in years. Now, in addition to making me self-conscious about being single, it's also found a way to imply that I'm inadequate as a consumer.

13 of your friends installed the Facebook for iPhone application to their phones.

Really, though? The iPhone, apparently, is the new Benetton Rugby. Only my seventh grade PA system didn't announce, every morning, who happened to have one. If this isn't the definition of "peer pressure," I don't know what is.

Fortunately, I didn't have to impress any Facebook friends this weekend, and instead spent it with real ones at Laura's bachelorette party.

I've mentioned before that Laura was one of my first friends in LA. She's just very warm and friendly and easy to be with, and the crowd this weekend reflected that. There were fourteen of us there from all walks of Laura's life - high school, college, and the post-college group of girls she charmed just like me - and everyone was just so fun, so normal, and so great to be around. It was a refreshing, relaxing, exhilarating weekend.

The endless bottles of wine I'm sure had nothing to do with it.

Bridesmaid and grooming

If I tried to relay every funny story and tender moment and all-around-awesome time I had at the wedding this weekend, this post would be more akin to a screenplay than a summary. As such, I'm going to start off with a single, simple learning I took away from the experience: If I ever get married, it's going to be in LA.

All week, New York lay under a thick cloud of humidity that threatened rain every morning and delivered every evening. The wedding was wonderful, nearly perfect, but I spent the weekend worrying about the weather. The outdoor ceremony offered the option to move indoors, if necessary; the options for my hair, however, were another story.

Because this wedding wasn't about me, though, I'll spare you the frizz-fighting details, and instead link to the photos that have left me wishing for just one more day with my friends. Even if that day is a bad hair day.

But now we're rocking on the dance floor...

Before you look at the following photo from last night in Las Vegas, please promise you'll ignore the fact that I'm wearing the same dress I wore to my birthday party last weekend.

Considering I own no less than 10 additional-yet-similar dresses, I'm not sure why I opted to wear the same one two weekends in a row. Especially since, now that I look at the photos, I've decided it's possibly the least flattering thing in my closet. I don't care how much this style may be in style, I'm officially over the pregnant-babydoll-sad-sack-of-potatoes look.

Other than this one night's wardrobe, everything about this weekend was fantastic.

Friday night was a low key dinner before heading out to Prive at Planet Hollywood, where Kristin had gotten us on the VIP list. Now, I'm not a huge club person. I went through a phase in my early/mid-twenties when I loved dancing on platforms and twirling glo sticks and sidling up to sweaty men who considered t-shirts optional. But even then, while I could appreciate the (glamour?) excitement of the club scene, I've much preferred laid back bars and lounges and going home before 4 in the morning.

So I don't know what got into me this weekend, whether it was the supposed-oxygen being pumped into the air or the energy of being around my friends, but I surprised even myself with how much fun I could be. At Prive, we started out with a price-inflated bottle of vodka in the somewhat sleepy VIP section, but there wasn't a lot going on, and at around midnight we decided to go somewhere else. As we walked out, however, we noticed a separate room with entirely different music, people, and energy. And we danced until 3 in the morning.

Saturday, we headed to the pool at the Hard Rock. We were going to get a cabana, but those were all in the shade and further away from the action than we liked, so we got a day bed instead. In short, it was awesome.

We had a waitress bringing us food and drinks, a DJ spinning great music all day, an endless supply of eye candy, and it was basically the biggest display of hedonism this side of the Playboy mansion. In fact, it was exactly what I imagine the pool at the Playboy mansion must be like - well, without all the naked ladies. (Although we do all look naked in that pic, don't we? I swear, it's just the camera angle and our attempt at avoiding tan lines.)

Saturday night we had dinner plans at 8, and the Thunder from Down Under show at 11. Now, if I'm not really a club person, I'm even less of a cheesy male strip show person. But this turned out to be a hilarious, high-energy, fully entertaining hour-and-a-half of fun. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I highly recommend it.

On a normal night, I'd have been clamoring for bed by now, what with it all of 12:30 AM. But it was not a normal night, and so we headed back to the Hard Rock to dance at Body English until 4:30 AM. Per my suggestion.

Seriously? Who AM I? I, apparently, regressed for the weekend into Fun Lori of the Summer of 2000, when, after breaking off a fourteen-month relationship, decided I had spent too many Saturday nights dining with adults and not enough dancing with degenerates. No, I haven't regressed into that girl at all, actually, but it was fun for a weekend to party it up and pretend I was someone more fun than I have been feeling lately.

The nice thing about going to the clubs and dancing for hours was that it kept me from drinking too much. Really, have you ever tried to dance with a drink in your hand? It doesn't work so well. So, while I drank heartily and consistently throughout the weekend, I never felt too full or fat or drunk or hungover. In fact, I may have even gotten in a workout.

I am tired today. And quite a bit poorer. But, while that would normally worry me, I came home to another freelance check and my economic stimulus check in my mailbox. I can't help but think that's the Universe's way of telling me it's okay to loosen up for a little while.

That Universe can be such a bad influence.

No money, but Vegas, baby

I have been so apathetic with writing lately. I just can't find anything new to say.

The news now is that I am heading to Las Vegas tomorrow, for my one of my dearest friends Kristin's bachelorette party. Normally I'd tell you about the first time I went to Vegas, but I've already done that. So, naturally, I'd want to bring up the last time I went to Vegas, but I've already done that, too.

I'm hoping this trip will fall somewhere in the middle of both visits, a happy medium between staying out til 5 AM and getting eight hours of sleep. Ideally, I'd have no problem staying out til 5 AM this time around, but my 32 year old body might beg to differ. It took until Wednesday of this week until I finally felt rejuvenated from my birthday party - on Saturday - and I didn't even drink that much! I've decided that four-day hangovers are nature's way of telling me I'm too old to be consuming alcohol as one of the four major food groups.

But I also know I am going to have a lot of fun this weekend, because I'll be with two of my best friends, and also a group of other girls that I know are really cool and fun and low on drama. I am a bit worried because Maria has had a stomach virus all week - so bad that she was at the hospital on Saturday and on a diet of Popsicles since (damn her looking better than me in a bikini!) - and even if she doesn't cancel tomorrow, she's going to be at half-mast all weekend. I was really looking forward to the QT with my girls, and now, it's just going to be a little bit different. But I am excited to go out, dress up, do it up with flashing penis veils and Thunder From Down Under, partying the way only these friends and I can.

I feel like I have gotten into a bit of a rut here in LA - there's always the driving thing, and then there was the dating thing, and then there's the fact that somehow, most of my girlfriends here seemed to have gotten boyfriends - and I look back and I can't remember the last time I actually got dressed up and felt cute and flirted and had fun. I mean, aside from last weekend. I need this weekend to feel a bit more like myself, or at least the person I used to be.

I'll post pictures on Sunday of what that person looks like, assuming they let her pass through security.

Thirty-too-old-to-party-like-this-but-too-young-to-stop-now!

Where to begin, where to begin.

My Birthday! Weekend! Spectacular! actually started on Friday night, not with any birthday activities but with my seeing Sex and the City: The Movie. What can I say? I loved it. I'm a chick. I loved the show. I have the six-season DVD box set that I play in between the PG-rated reruns on TBS. The movie was like watching a yet-to-be-taped Season 7, a confectionery mini-series minus commercials. I loved the writing, the cinematography, the wardrobes. The plot was a little simplistic and slow and some details were completely unrealistic, but none of that mattered. I sat in the theater for two-plus hours with a shit-eating grin on my face and I swear it had nothing to do with the bottle of vodka I sneaked into my Sprite.

Saturday morning I woke up bright and early to prepare for the second annual birthday party with Nicole. Our friend Lauren let us host the party at her fabulous Malibu house, so we spent the day food shopping and prepping and generally, just party planning. The event started at four, most guests started showing up around five, and by seven the party was in full swing, just in time for the start of a gorgeous sunset.

Why yes, that is the view from the deck.

By nine or so I decided it was time for a dance party.

I thought I might demo The Charleston.

And practice my showtunes.


"Together, wherever, we go"

I think the last guests left around 11:30 or midnight, and I crashed soundly in the guest room, so, so, so happy.

Sunday we woke up, cleaned, and just lazed in the sun, sleeping off our hangovers. There could be worse things.

My company gives everyone the day off for our birthdays, so I took full advantage of that this year, and spent the day cleaning, running errands, and catching up on general weekend stuff I had to forgo in lieu of party-planning. Oh, who am I kidding. I slept late, spent half the day on the phone and the other half marveling at all my awesome Facebook messages, feeling extremely blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life who actually remember to wish me happy birthday. Who am I? And how did I get so lucky? I know I wrote something similar last year, and I don't want to repeat myself, especially since I am too tired to articulate it as well, but I just feel ridiculously, overwhelmingly blessed.

I also feel extremely exhausted and have been nursing a weird case of heartburn since last night (why, hello 32 - is that you?) but I still met Tracy out for dinner tonight, capping off my birthday weekend with the girl who has been my best friend since I moved out here three years ago. I really could not ask for anything more than what I have, and I am so glad my 32nd year has started out as amazing as it did.

Next stop: Vegas. Four days and counting...