Michael is a nice man who has worked at his job for 19 years. He has a passion for Native American jewelry, but there's certainly no security in that. His parents didn't have enough for retirement, so he has to think about them. If he were younger...then, perhaps he would think about leaving. But now, at the ripe old age of 48 there is really no sense in leaving a stable, secure job...sure, the coffee is bad, the work boring, and the general vibe uninspired...but the world is a scary place and there are no gurantees. Except for the stable job. That's a For Sure, No Brainer...he couldn't think of leaving. No. That would be stupid. The benefits. The sick leave. Please...

Have scoured the Internet for a solution. Does anyone speak English out there?

On depressed winter days I like to huddle in my apartment and aimlessly find odd things to do, like read my diary from when I was 22 (which I'm sworn to burn along with the rest of my journals filled with embarrasing teenage scribe...) I mean, I know it's destroying what would surely be described as pages of riveting literary fare. For instance, in several passages I ponder profound questions on the nature of young male motives, like "why doesn't he call me?" Or I discuss the effects of stimulants on the human body..."boy, I drank a lot last night and I sure am hung over." Surely, when I'm famous, biographers are going to want to save these gems. There are also some fascinating unique chronicles of my escapades which (fancy this) involve alcohol and wacky escapades (in college too), like stealing food from the dining hall pantry, and climbing fences to get back in the dorms...I bet we were the only ones.

It's not to say that it wasn't fun. It just, in hindsight, wasn't always original.

I'm going to read what I haven't read before once so as to fully digest the nature of my own teen angst, and then go back to my thirty-something depressions (which is far more sophisticated and original).

Just for today, I can let go of the past.

If I eat anymore I'm going to explode like the fat man in Monty Python's Meaning of Life. And, despite overeating with turkey on Thanksgiving AND with Chinese food (which was very delicious and I do feel blessed and abundant to have so much delicious food) TODAY, and despite telling my mom that I probably won't be hungry again until 2006...she still just walked in and asked me if I wanted some "bean salad." As if bean salad is exempt from food. And when I said, no, she made me an offer to the tune of a turkey sandwich. Now, it's very nice that my mother has an instinct to feed me, but it's getting to the point where I can't enter into the house without duct tape on my mouth.

Just for today, I'M NOT HUNGRY, MOM (but I still love you)!

It seems like I'm getting a lot more respect these days...but geez, I've had to really start being a bad ass to get it. I've had to find my Inner-Big-Black-Woman, my Inner-Tony-Soprano, AND my Inner-Robert-DeNiro. No more little nice girl. No more co-dependent doormat. And if you give me any crap, you're invited to my therapists office. Everyone's invited to her office. Even the president of the United States. However, I know he's busy and may be a little intimidated by the directness of my shrink's questions. Now, I know Robert DeNiro never had a therapist in Taxi Driver. But boy did he need one!

In case you don't want to come to my therapists office, that's fine. Just get ready for the ice storm! Cuz I'm not messin' around!

Just for today, I am not taking anymore crap!

My Republican doctor made a good point when he said that drinking two cups of jet fuel is probably not the best thing for my UTI (that's Urinary Tract Infection for those of you not to hip to urology...and just FYI, there is a whole shelf dedicated to it at Whole Foods). I had to ask my Republican doctor, "When you say stay away from coffee, what exactly do you mean?" And low and behold he told me that he means I need to cut out caffeeine/coffee (I mean what is coffee without caffeine?) for SIX MONTHS TO A YEAR! Talk about loss. Talk about grief. A whole universe of reliable comfort and adrenaline has been wrenched from me like a bottle from a baby. I must blog caffeine-less. Depression looms.

There was a time when my system was clear of mood altering substances. However, I got very depressed when I was 26 and was introduced to an anti-depressant (have you heard of Prozac?) that I took for two years. I now feel certain this is the tool of The Man to keep the agitated middle-class (ever shrinking) in a harmless comatose state of bland nirvana so that we continue our weekly migrations to Cost-co. The point is that this time in my life taught me that depression was easily cured with coffee and a pill, thus, keeping me disconnected from the deep wells of anger that threaten to make me bold and unladylike (also known as my Inner-Big-Black-Woman or my Inner-Tony Soprano). I stopped taking the Prozac a long time ago, but coffee proved a friend too fun and reliable to say good-bye to. Sniff.

I read in a book (cuz I do read) that had coffee been created after the FDA was established it would certainly require a prescription (which doesn't mean it would be hard to get, there just wouldn't be a franchise on every street corner).

In my new clear state, I imagine a world where everyone followed their doctor's orders to stay away from coffee, alcohol, cigarettes, sugar (not to mention crack or heroine)...we'd all be depressed for a while and then...maybe...we'd start hugging!

Just for today, I embrace the end of coffee.

I had about five or six REALLY FUNNY things to say today...something about how I ask everyone how much they pay for cable, even though I've never had it in my life (I'm telling you...High-lar-i-ous. You would have died.). But at some point in my day, some time during my obsessive search of the cast of Sixteen Candles on IMDB or for any kind of cure for my recurring UTI (I know all about the cranberry juice...please, I've digested enough to burn a hole through a space shuttle...I'm looking for new ideas)...I FORGOT all the very funny, publishable, self-deprecating, non-offensive things I've had to say.

And I think I know why.

I think it's because I'm tired of being FUCKING SELF-DEPRECATING and NON-OFFENSIVE. (I know I've written some unkind things about our re-elected president, but so has half the country...). The point is that I think it's about time I've started offending some people, my e-mail box is lonely for hate mail. So, here goes...

I saw the film (let's face it, it's a film, not a movie), "Kinsey," and I didn't really like Liam Neeson's performance. I thought it was a little boring. And the scenes where John Lithgow plays his father (and Liam played young 23-year-old Kinsey) were weird. There you go! Let me have it!

Just for today, I can be offensive.

Hey, I'm all for Hilary! I'd follow her to some piece of unoccupied land and just start the hell over (but barring the emergence of a hunk of volcanic ash from the ocean, I think the earth is pretty much tapped out)! But at the rate we're going I think we need to focus the next four years on finding some electable healthy not-to-presidential white guy whose main talent is NOT torching any more parts of the world.

I'm feeling so afraid of the devolution of the this country that I'm just keeping my eye out for any Viking Nasars filled with Texas crusaders ready burn and pillage any community not keeping a hawk eye on women's reproductive organs.

Just for today, I'm holding on till 2008.

A few years ago, I was wondering why two healthy individuals would bother to enmesh themselves into creepy coupledom. I studied all the nauseating couples at Pottery Barn and the Farmer's Market with suspicion and disdain. I scrutinized the men for sidelong glances at other women, and I wondered if the women were ignoring their art, creativity, their real life for the empty supposed glory of a "Relationship." I had no faith in the idea of one. None. Nada. The idea of soul mates was laughable. Don't waste your life waiting for some tacky cheezeball Harlequin romance story invented by The Man to keep you down! Get a freakin' life, already! And then...

CUT TO: INT. - STARBUCKS - DAY
MAN AND WOMAN, BOTH EARLY 30'S, SIT OPPOSITE EACH OTHER DRINKING PEPPERMINT SOY MOCHAS IN FRONT OF LAPTOPS WHOSE BACKS TOUCH EACH OTHER. THE MAN STANDS UP AND KISSES THE WOMAN. IT IS BOTH ANNOYING AND SWEET. IT IS ANNOYINGLY SWEET. THE WOMAN IS HAPPY.

Now I can see that I was working through my own resistance (i.e., shit). But it's still scary, cuz what if it goes away?!

Just for today, I am grateful for my soul mate.

It's not just a place to get coffee, but more like my last sanctuary. In this Christian Bush land it's the only temple I have. At Peet's I can worship the progressive politics/artists/shamlessly strong coffee vibe. I can run into people I know that I want to talk to. I can get high on a socially condoned drug AND drive.

No other spiritual outlets work for me anymore. Bush-era Catholic churches have become creepy, 12-step rooms feel dogmatic, yoga in LA is a GIANT CLICHE (must use caps when typing this way overused - by me - expression), Buddhism is kind of boring (quite frankly), malls are depressing, bars are filled with alcoholics, and the ocean is just too damn big. When I am down I need a place to go where my faith in life, love, and humanity can be restored. Not to mention my olfactory senses re-awakened. And there's nothing like the electric jolt of Peet's drip to bring my spirit alive...

Just for today, I can find religion in Peet's Coffee.

It's not like regular lonelieness. It's not about feeling friendless. It's more like total cultural alienation. Like, I woke up one day and realized that all this time half the population have been inhabited by aliens. They look and act and sometimes say things that remind me of humanity, so I gave them the benefit of the doubt. But, the time has come in my maturation process to realize that MOST PEOPLE IN THIS COUNTRY ARE TOTALLY CHECKED OUT! No offense. It's nothing to do with their DNA...it's just the aliens, I guess. I mean I knew we lived in TV land. I knew that we are a very fat people obsessed with image. I knew we are a consumer culture (I studied it in school). I knew a lot. I just didn't accept it (awarness, accepantance, action). I think I've been waiting for someone to go "Just kidding....we're not this stupid!" But it's time for me to wake up and realize the truth.

I am experiencing culture shock in my own culture.

My boyfriend walked into my apartment with sandy shoes and I just about had a nervous breakdown. I know I have a problem (a weird one, but nonetheless)...but just because I compulsively clean and just because I avoid a lot of other important things to do keep my apartment spotless...DOESN'T MEAN THAT IT'S STILL NOT A LOT OF WORK!!!

It has to be one of the more bizarre addictions known to humanity. Why couldn't I be an alcoholic, or something that is kind of fun for a little while, something that actually makes sense, like eating, having sex, or gambling. But no, my instincts are so derailed that the only way to satisfy my need to stuff my feelings is to find an addiction that takes deprivation to a new level and that not by any stretch of the imagination is fun. Not ever.

Just for today, it's OK to let my apartment be dirty.

I guess we can just say good-bye to abortion rights as we head deeper into pre-Nazi Germany (except without the German and the Polka music). I’m thinking of just driving into the "heart of America" and interviewing people to really understand what is going on in their brains, visiting churches, etc. No judgement or anything, just so I can understand the nature of the beast. Maybe I'll also hand out copies of "The Mists of Avalon," while I'm at it. All it takes is one frustrated white Christian whose tired baking cookies and listening to her husband moan about "moral values" to start the revolution. I know the Christian faith has helped many people, but historically it has been the demise of female power around the word. I mean, really, you don't need to go deep into Christianity find words like "sin" associated with a primary female figure (in case you were born on Mars, that would be Eve). And there is also that whole "virgin Mary" thing that's a little disconcerting... But anyway, politeness aside, have I mentioned that WE ARE FUCKED?!

It is my suspicion, that our friends living primarily in non-coastal states (i.e., ALL THE RED STATES) experience substantially more fear than us coastal people. Maybe it's the ocean breeze. All I know is that Bush and Co. spun them so fast they couldn't see straight (I'm giving them credit for some potential for clarity). They are SCARETY CATS! They were born into families who were afraid of....black people, women, homosexuals, the boogie man, whatever...And I know that because when people are afraid, everything must be placed in the right box (like, I go crazy when my lotions get out of order...I am a little bit scared). Men go here. Women go there. The Evil Ones go to some Arabic or third world country. But my forgiving analysis aside...GEEZ, WE ARE FUCKED!

Just for today, it's a sad and angry day.

I realized this morning while voting that my neighborhood is not quite the Land of the Middle Aged White Man, but more Land of the Very Well Dressed Attractive Young Couples.

I had spent the night at my boyfriends and came home and decided to vote before I showered, which was a BIG mistake. Not because I smelled, but because I had a stocking hanging off of my coat and had I showered, I might have noticed it and removed it before standing in a line for 30 minutes with some of Los Angeles' most insanely well-dressed people! Score one for my fifth-grade classmate, Carlos, who called me "Goofy." Yes, Carlos, at 32, I have yet to outgrow this character asset/defect (wink, wink to all you 12-steppers...but note: there is life outside of hteJudeo/Christian tradition!)... BUT ANYWAY...WE'RE IN THE MIDST OF THE MOST IMPORTANT ELECTION OF MY LIFETIME!

SO, my mom called me with her worried old lady voice (which is weird because I'm not used to thinking of her as old) because she's afraid that Bush will win and the past four years was just the tip of the ice berg that the Titanic/US hit in 2000, the next four being the slow descent into the ice cold water. I've decided to be psychotically optimistic until the last lawyer (have I ever been so grateful to live in the Land of Lawyers? No, I have not...) rakes the Supreme Court over their own crusty coals and deems this election legit enough to keep a lazy nimwit in office. UNTIL THEN, I can't afford to not have faith that a new president will redeem our country's sorry image in the eyes of the world. SO WORLD, JUST FYI, I VOTED FOR KERRY!

I've got to be honest. I feel like I'm writing for the electrical currents of spam that have been invading my comments like the foot fungus I got in the 10th grade. So, I'd like to send a big "Hello" to Gay Porn and Debt Consolidation before I go further into the depths of my comforting self-pity. I know the world doesn't need any more bitterness, but it's just SO FUN to reflect on the nature of my pain and isolation. It's almost as fun as deleting comments from my good friend, Online Casino, and the truck load of spam I receive in my six-year-old yahoo account. At this point, I may as well spam some sky writing of my own e-mail to porn companies and faux pharmaceutical companies across cyber space. Just TAKE IT, already! Just unload all those desensitizing e-mails that you KNOW some lonely soul will buy to numb out the pain he feel because his mom never saw that he really was born to play the flute in a Gregorian choir (which, I know, doesn't exist...which is probably why he's depressed). I can't fight it anymore. The creepos win. I stand (or sit) defeated.

Just for today, I can take comfort in my bitterness.