In Los Angeles, one can find many fabulous 12-step meetings. Meetings filled with rock stars and people in black leather who smoke a lot, or meetings with socialite women with Prada bags and French pedicured feet. Or meetings with actresses with cool flowey clothes who cry about their abusive parents (who were probably a childhood icon). And these are wonderful meetings, filled with the spirit of a loving higher power. However, I, personally, like the meetings filled with secretaries and temps, and people wearing clothes from Loman's and Ross, who don't consider facials and massages as part of their recovery program. While I embrace my own fabulousness (though, there are those baseball-cap, no make-up, days when I CHOOSE to embrace my earthiness) I like meetings that don't have a high quotient of fabulousness. And not because I think that God looks down on Fabulousness, but it just distracts me, personally, from the greater goal at hand, which is to recover from the effects of my alcoholic family and re-connect with my own higher self (who does happen to be VERY FABULOUS).

Just for today, I accept that in order to find my fabulous self, I need to go to earthy meetings.

As a co-creator of my own reality, I accept that my relationship with my computer is a reflection of my own inner emotional and mental state. I am cognizant of the fact that my computer is an inanimate objects (really, just a bunch of particles and matter), and can not possibly be, at times, possessed by evil spirits hell-bent on causing me to have a nervous breakdown. So when my computer crashes for no apparent reason, I can look to myself to see what kind of energy I am giving my computer. Am I stressed? Am I anxious? Am I treating my computer like an abusive boyfriend? I am not a victim to what FEELS LIKE psycholgical warfare with technology. Just for today, I can detach from my computer's strange (yet, not personal) behavior.

It seems that now that my generation is moving into the decision making stratosphere of American culture, 80's music is no longer some hip party theme. I used to think that I just had bad taste in music, but now I realize that a) it wasn't all bad and b) I actually have a biochemical need to listen to Modern English or Prince or Duran Duran, (do I even need to write them out?) etc. And it goes a lot deeper than re-awakening memories of the slow dance parties my friend Reb1 (tag name) had in her parents' garage. If truth be told, maybe being a teenageer in the 80's was the universe's redemption for being a child of the 70's, and maybe the 80's had, in fact, mystic hopefulness that went beyond my teenaged emotions and Madonna's (who - I don't care what anyone says - rocks!) brand of female self-empowerment.

Just for today, I can accept that my need for 80's music isn't as shallow as it seems (and maybe is a little).

I was looking over my archives and I found millions of typos all over my blogs. Perhaps, some people might call this sloppy. Well, those people clearly have not surfed the Internet enough because if there's any medium that accepts typos, it's the Web. It's just so easy to publish writing on the web, and you can always change it or correct it later. Some other people might call this laziness, or might ask me why don't I just paste my blog into word and let it get spell checked before I publish my posts. Well, they have a good point. But I'm only human. Just for today, it's OK to find typos.

This morning I slept in until 11:30 (to hell with exercise) and then got up and walked to the corner to get coffee and a breakfast burrito. It wasn't until I was walking back that I realized for the first time in the 6 1/2 years that I have lived in my beach community, that this neighborhood is land of the Lost White Middle-Aged Divorced Man. These white-haired guys are everywhere! They live in beautiful condos, drink lots of coffee, surf and talk about investments. What was God thinking when he placed me here 6 1/2 years ago to begin my life of independence from my family? No wonder I don't have any friends here - I have more in common with the cleaning ladies. Not only am I in an astrononically different income bracket (my apartment is oddly under-market), I don't have much to say to these guys.

In truth, there are a few women in their early 30's, but they are either married or spend all their time at the local bar (two options that I have been holding out on for as long as possible...)

Just for today, I can feel like an anomaly in my neighborhood.

I now create fabulous wealth! I now create a flow of income where money pours in up the whazoo! I now take that money and spend it on a DSL connection (so that I can do things other than sit in front of my computer watch pages load)! I now buy a $3,000 new IMAC! I now go on a clothing spending spree, buy some new furniture, catch up on my wedding gift giving, tithe some money to whoever spiritually feeds me (it was my church, but after finding out that the future governor of California - yes, him! - attends and gives plenty, I don't know what they need my spare change for)! I now invest the rest in lucrative real estate and blog about the minutia rich people complain about; the lines at Whole Foods and nannies who don't speak English (except I do speak Spanish and am of Latin descent). Ok, ignore the last one. The truth is, I don't know what rich people complain about because I don't have many (i.e., none) in my inner circle of recovering artists. The point is that, just for today, I can affirm financial abundance!

I went to the doctor today (to get a Pap Smear, if you must know, though you may not want to). The nurse asked me if anyone in my family had any of a long list of diseases (cancer, diabetes, etc.) and I responded "no" to all of them.

"The only diseases in my family are alcoholism and mental illnesses," I told her.

"That's very common in America," she answered.

When I asked her where she was from, she said "the Philipines." Thus, confirming again my belief that, while America may have the greatest standard of material living, we are, nonetheless, a miserable country.

I recently read that Mexico and Nigeria rate the two happiest countries in the world, despite being the "third-world." Perhaps, in Nigeria or Mexico it's common for a family of eight to live in a one bedroom house with no indoor plumbing. But the question remains: does each member of that family need ten-years of individual therapy? Not to mention three 12-step programs (for the eating disorder, alcohol problem, and codepencey issues that developed in adolescents), a psychiatrist (to monitor the meds), and a bookcase of self-help books? (Not that there aren't addictions or depression in these countries, but they aren't ingrained in the cultural landscape - at least not like they are in Los Angeles). I've been to Mexico many times and I've never heard anyone there discuss how Celexa is working out for them. Not once. And I speak Spanish fluently.

Just for today, I can accept that America (or the US) is a stressful place to live.

Who is John Gray (the guy who wrote Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus) to say that I, as a woman, get my self-esteem and identity from my relationships? Who says that I don't get self-esteem from accomplishments out in the world? Who says that I don't go into my own cave in relationships? Why does this simple, control-freak of a man sell so many books? I weep for those who have tried to fit into his vision of women. It must be a Stepford Man's wet dream to write a book that women read and try to follow to find love. I now proclaim October 22nd "Dating Book Burning Day" for all those heathens who dare strive for honesty and integrity in their relationships.

I am seeking Happily Married Couples for observational purposes! All I'm looking for are people who are happy in their relationships, non-traditional, on a spiritual path, and have been together for longer than five years (and still want to stay together).

Due to lack of proper role models in my early years, I am in need of people who make marriage look good - over the long haul! (Note to all friends: it's not that your marriages look bad, but it's only been a few months or a few years...I'm looking for people with some serious time!) All are welcome to apply (unpaid, save for the company of odd single lady) and all religions, races and philosophies accepted. (I read Oprah's issue on "Love," so I know you happily 25-year-long married people are out there!) Please note: I'm not weird, just midly eccentric.

"A Course in Miracles" says that only love is real. Conversely, anything that is not love, is unreal. If it wasn't loving, it never really happened, because only love is real...damnit! (The book doesn't swear, but it does feel like it's yelling at me sometimes).

Forget about what this means for murderers and rapists and racist dictators - I've never been late for work, I've never misappropriated my affections (and other parts of myself) to the wrong people, I never shoplifted from Bill's drugs when I was 13, I've never spent money irresponsibly, and I've never flaked on anybody. If I'm going to forgive myself for these minor digressions, then surely I can extend it to those individuals who have hurt me in my life (and really f---d up). And, yet, there is something about this philosophy that is really hard to swallow. If only love is real, then what is war, disease and poverty? What is the 405 S. after 4:00 on a Friday? What is the Victoria Secret catalogue? What is a dial-up connection? What are divorce attorneys? What is the evening news? Are we all just delusional? I don't know if I can detach from reality as I know it...just yet. Just for today, I can still share the global fantasy of a loveless world.

According to some people, (one weird guy I met in a 12-step room) human beings communicate everything about themselves within the first three seconds of meeting each other (I'm assuming through electromagnetic vibrations and pheromones, but I'm not sure). If this is the case, why do we date at all? Perhaps, if we lived in a more advanced and evolved society, we would need only stand before a prospective mate for three seconds, before making a decision. This would do away with the agonizing process of dating for three months to 2 years and would save lots of time and heartache. Unfortunately, I think my hormones have permanently pulverized my radar, and so I have no choice but to go through these odd dating rituals, where I begin mind reading and creating fantasies based on segments of mass media I picked up at 13 ("Say Anything," comes to mind). The only solution that I can see in all of my confusion is to date someone for five years, so that I'm extricated from my fantasy life and planted firmly in the Real Relationship. This is a far cry from the three second prospect. But just for today, I can take my time in finding The One.

Whenever I complain about coming home to an empty apartment, my pet-owning friends insist that I get a cat or dog. My response: why don't I just throw in the towel altogether and shoot myself in the head?! While I know they love their pets and only want what's best for me, and while I love animals, too, I just find the prospect of substituting the need for human companionship with another species, a little disturbing. Sure, I could sleep with my cat or dog, but is that really what's best for all of us? If that takes away the loneliness, why should I date ever again? Perhaps my heart is cold and shriveled and that's why I am single in the first place. And maybe a litter box, and hair, and feces isn't really too big of a price to pay for having another mammal in my space. Just for today, I am open to the prospect of being a pet-owner.

As a courtesy to my fellow confessioners, I tried today to keep my confession (or the story of my life over the past two months) to a few key points. Father Ben has a way of making me feel like I'm making too big of a deal out of my "sins." After all, it's only human to hate certain people and wish them dead. Any reasonable Catholic has a healthy appreciation for the drama of human emotions. Needless to say, I said my penance by praying for those I resent and lighting a candle. While I was praying, I stared up at a mural of Jesus Christ, Mary and Joseph. I noticed that while Jesus stood in the center with his arms open wide, Mary had hers crossed over her chest (as if she was trying to hide her boobs) and Joseph was carrying a stick (as if he was preparing to beat somebody). I have often noted the odd bloody depictions of Christ on a cross that permeate most Catholic churches, but I never realized how depressing some of the portrayals of his co-horts are. Just for today, I can accept that the Catholic religion is bizarre.

Sure he or she has the power to promote you, demote you, make your life miserable or peaceful, and send e-mails titled "FYI." And sure you may only interact with him or her in an environment that smells like paper, dust, overheated computers and old Panda Express (orange chicken, to be exact). But a boss is just a human being who needs love. A child of God who may have been put in our lives to teach us a lesson. Just for today, wish your boss Happy Boss' Day!

My neighbors put a sound-activated ghost on my front porch (in the spirit of Halloween...obviously). It makes loud scary ghost noises whenever someone claps or yells loudly. People strolling around in the evening and joggers running by in the early morning send it roaring away. While some people have spouses, or children or pets to greet them in the morning, I welcome in the day with hollow electronic noise of a sound activated ghost. I have to say, it is a step down from the pigeons that roosted on my porch over the summer.

Just for today, I have yet another reason to embrace the prospect of co-habitation.

My co-worker Anne likes to practice a lesser-known form of birth control on me (unbeknowst to her) by explaining to me in gruesome detail the subtle nuances of being pregnant and giving birth. Not that there's anything subtle about giving birth, especially when described by Anne who likens it to something that those of us (without IBS) should do every day. When she was really pregnant (a few months ago) and looked like she was about to explode, I asked her if she was having twins. She repayed me for this faux pas, by coming to my office and describing the details of her pregnancy; the positions of her every vein, the pain of birth, and the long healing process - knowing full well that I have ambivalent feelings about having kids!

Whenever I think of getting pregnant I think about but Geena Davis giving birth to a half-human, half-fly creature in "The Fly." When I told my friend Courtney (who is about to give birth to her second child) that I had some fear about having kids, she looked at me seriously and said, "Be afraid, be very afraid." I know my friends love their kids, but with this kind of feedback, how is my ambivalence ever going to settle into a quiet knowing?! Sigh. Just for today, my ovaries remain unfertile (rather, make that my eggs).

This weekend I had the opportunity to tell my father all of my feelings about his inappropriate (i.e., drunk and lewd) behavior in a therapist's office. Despite the fact that he dismissed most of what I said as "my perspective," failed to admit that he'd rather be dragged behind a semi than pay me a compliment, and despite the expletives that came out of my mouth when he told me that I was a "difficult child," it was a positive step on My Journey. Later we pretended the therapy session never happened and went back to the normal co-dependent, stressful relationship that we've always had (i.e., news, weather, sports, gossip about other family members).

The next day he, my little bro, and I threw a football around. One athletic ability I have is being able to catch a football (my throwing is not quite up to par).

"I'm pretty good at catching a football," I mentioned.

"Would you like some pointers?" he asked, as he skyrocketed the ball into the grass twenty feet in front of me. (He gives pointers on everything, especially things he knows nearly nothing about.)

"No," I said. "Would you like some pointers?"

After an hour of silence he asked me if I knew "that you're supposed to catch with your arms."

"Yes," I said, as I caught the ball.

"Nice catch," he said.

That was it. It doesn't get much better than this with this guy. I have no choice but to seek more effusive forms of love from outside the family system. Because to expect more than "nice catch" sends me on the road to anger and resentment (like, for instance, "you're good at catching a football.") Just for today, I can accept my father for who he is.

Some days, when I'm really burned out at work and tired of staring at my computer, I like to go to my favorite Karaoke web site and sing "Come Sail Away" (by STYX) in harmony with my friend Charalene. It takes a very special office to find this behavior appropriate, and, oddly enough, my office is not one that does. I swear to God I thought that nobody was in the office after the second verse (right before the guitar break). I suppose Office Karaoke won't catch on for a few more years as a way to recharge at work. I guess I'll have to resort to coffee breaks to rejuvenate, though there's no doubt that a round of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is way healthier than caffeine.

Despite sustained effort, I have failed again and again at predicting my future. Whether good or bad, life never turns out the way I expect it to. This is fine when you're young, but it's not working for me anymore. How am I supposed to make any decisions if I don't know how things are going to turn out? How am I supposed to plan? I can't deal with any more uncertainties or mistakes. What if I fall in love and marry someone and have kids and then, a few years down the road, it doesn't work out? What then? (My parents were in this situation and I can tell you from first-hand experience that it blows.) What if I decide that I want to move to Nigeria and open up a gift shop? Or decide that I want to convert to Judaism? Or take a vow of life-long silence? Anything could happen. Just for today, I refuse to accept that the future is unknown. (Even if I still don't know it...where are the irritating psychics when you need them?).

This morning I practiced my civic duty by voting. And after I voted a lady handed me a sticker that said "I Voted" and told me "Now you can feel superior to everyone who hasn't voted." I never thought of voting as something that made me special, but since I didn't have any other reasons to feel superior I thought, "why not?" But then I thought, what about voting makes someone superior? Especially, if they voted for a sexist egg-head actor who doesn't realize that life isn't an action movie. So, then I dropped my superior stance and went back to feeling like myself. Just for today, voting doesn't make me superior.

What did I do before Friendster? What did I do at work all day? Where did I upload my recent digital photos? Where did I reflect on testimonials? The internet provides many new and exciting avenues for distraction throughout the work day. Just for today, I can be grateful for yet another reason to procrastinate at work.

Sometimes it's important for us to try new things and to do things that we may not be the best at. In fact, sometimes we may try new activities, such as a Jazz dance class, where we may be one of the worst ones in the class. During such times it is important to give ourselves credit for suiting up and showing up. With this in mind, it's also important to remember, that sometimes we should try to do things that we might have some chance of being successful at. This way, we won't have to face the humliation of having people in class asking us to move to the back row. Also, sometimes it's important to do activities that don't involve a large full length mirror. Just for today, I can give myself credit for taking Jazz dance and spend some time thinking about whether or not I want to go back.

Just for today, I have many things to be grateful for today; some big and some little. Here is my list: 1) sweater coats are still in style this season (I can still wear my furry blue one and not feel dated) 2) my cell phone is still, technically, functional (despite the fact that I dropped it several times at Disneyland and broke the spring that allows it stay open) 3) my friends don't blame me when my father puts the moves on them 4) I have a large computer monitor at work to stare at for eight hours a day 5) I'm not an unemployed mother of three living on welfare 6) I don't have any life threatening diseases (not physical ones at least) 7) I'm not the rock bottom worse dancer in Jazz dance class 8) I'm not experiencing pre-mature balding 9) I'm not a former child star and 10) I have a great eyebrow stylist!

Just for today, I have many things to be grateful for.