I'm approaching the age after which all cool people have died (Jesus Christ, Eva Peron...and we're not even talking about rock stars here). One more week till I'll be 34. I'm officially boring.

The most thriling part of my day was finding Cranium's Turbo Edition on sale at Targae (that's Target) for $19.99. So, if that's any indication of the thrill-factor of my life you can see that I'm not in a high-stakes stage of the game. It's OK, though. I'm living "flowly," as they say in certain circles of light.

Just for today, I'm living la vida mellow.

I went on a hike on Monday because it was so amazingly beautiful outside I couldn't stand it. I could actually see one of the Channel Islands (I don't know which one). How could anyone not love LA?

While I was hiking I saw a family walk by with a boy who was collecting rocks. When I was a kid, my father used to take me on grueling backpack trips which I blame for my ten-year hiatus from nature (I refused to do anything associated with trees, mountains, or grass, and I even had problems with some plants). Anyway, on these grueling backpack trips, I, too, used to collect rocks (perhaps, in my burgeoning masochism, I was finding a way to make the hike more grueling). By the end of the weekend, my backpack would weigh double whatever it did on the way there. As I learned while hiking, collecting rocks wasn't an obsession that was unique to me.

After I passed by the kid with rocks I started thinking about my other childhood compulsion, giving my money away. My mom says that when she took me to Mexico on vacation I always wanted to give my spending money away all my money to all the impoverished families on the streets. In my innocense I didn't understand why everyone didn't feel the same.

And with these two compulsions, giving away money and collecting rocks, I entered adulthood. I'm still working on hanging onto my money, and not picking up anymore rocks (although, these are emotional ones).

Just for today, I can go hiking.

It's cold in LA. After living here for eleven years, this is strange. I go out to bicycle on the beach and enjoy the sun and, what the hey?...it's friggin' cold! However, because it's been raining the sky is crystal clear and free of smog and there's no better time to ride along the famous "strand." I was yesterday when this guy on roller blades (total stranger) came up to me and asked me if I would pull him. In a rare moment of expansion, I actually said, "yes."

"Do you normally say yes to pulling total strangers?" he asked.

"No, never," I replied.

So, with that bit of honesty to forge a momentary relationship we rode along for a few hours and talked about our lives, careers, and LA weather. I got his phone number, but I don't think I'll ever call him. It was just a nice knowing that perfect strangers can make nice conversationalists on a beautiful day in LA when you're riding on the strand.

Just for today, I can talk to strangers.

Oh, come on! Lighten up! Ok, so blame it on Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues (LOVED IT!). Ever since I saw the play, which is often performed on this day, I have been liberated to say the word vagina publicly more often than most people would like to hear/read it. Thanks Eve!

I was treated to a very "LA Story" lunch at a small, cute, Europeanesque (not a word) restaraunt where (star siting!) Orlando Bloom sat in the corner. Alas, I can only go by heresay that he was actually there because I couldn't possibly be seen doing the full body turn-around "Where?!" routine that I did ten years ago when I first arrived to town. (I did try to sneak behind some bushes, but all I could see was a bunch of leaves). I trust my source had no reason to lie about it.

Just for today, I'm too cool for star sitings.

I know it's been a while since I blogged, but I temporarily lost my power cord, which led to NO COMPUTER ACCESS! Oh, the horror, the horror!!

In my latest earning incarnation, I have turned into a rapid fire note-taker for focus groups. I get to sit behind a two-way mirror with marketing professionals while they make snide remarks (oh, yes, they do) and type every last minutia about what Barbara from Encino thinks of Gucci handbags. It's fascinating to see how people live...especially, people willing to spend $1,000 + on handbags about once a year. What I have come to realize is that handbags are to many women, what cars are to many men. An addiction to a status symbol that I might well indulge if I could afford such addictions (whoops...I'm not allowed to ever say "I can't afford...." Rather, I CHOOSE not to indulge in luxury handbags as my addiction of choice, since caffeine and sugar are so much cheaper). I know that the last time I went bag shopping (I spent a whopping $100 - which I'm grateful to have had to spend), I noticed that these intensely pocketed, giant monstrosities sitting side by side inside the cases posed a striking resemblance to a row of SUV's in a parking lot. Anyway, the point is this: I'd like to make enough money to even consider blowing a grand on a freaking purse.

Just for today, I can observe people.

I just realized that coffee shops are where it's going on for single ladies. Especially at 10:00 am on a Monday morning (my car is getting worked on down the street). Three guys have smiled at me. That's three more than I've run into in the last three weeks of working in my apartment where, oddly enough, the only men I meet are the ones who come in to fix things that are broken (alas, no one can fix my heart...).

Just for today, I can work in coffee shops.

I was an extra on an episode of "Sex and the City" (LOVE THAT SHOW!) Oddly enough, the episode that we were shooting has already been shot (when she and Aidan break up for the second time in front of the giant fountain). I found this very strange and brought this up to Sara Jessica Parker.

"But the DVD has been out for years!" I argued. She shrugged and told me that they hadn't gotten it right the first time.

No matter to me, I was getting my big break. However, whenever the camera alighted upon me or in my direction, I looked directly into it (which, unless you're Ferris Bueller, is a cardinal faux pas). The director was pissed. I realized my acting career was over.

And then I woke up.

Thoughts?

Just for today, I can dream about being on my favorite show (which is over).

Spending another fabulous night babysitting boys who give me more love than any man I've ever "known." Sigh. If only I could be seven or ten again. Those were really the golden years of pure, unadulterated love between me and the opposite sex. Little did I know that those moments of sexless intimacy would remain the shining examples of genuine affection that my bitter heart could conjure up at the old age of 33. Like when I was in the first grade and was playing tag with a bunch of kids and Andrew pulled me aside and asked me to make a pact swearing that WE (my first true introduction to the word that would get me in so much trouble later on) wouldn't play if Alicia joined the game (maybe it wasn't Alicia, maybe it was Carlos...I can't remember, but it was someone who annoyed US). It wasn't that I gave a rat's ass if Alicia or Carlos played tag with us, but I was the ONLY ONE to whom Andrew had made such a request. What romance! What passion! Truer words of love were never heard by mine ear (did I mention I was taking a Shakespeare acting class?...) Now, I have Relationships...Relationships that end in bitterness and dismay and dredge up every rank childhood pain. I know it's all a part of growing up and blah, blah, blah, but pleeze, let's be honest. it's rare that it's not all a bad imitation of the blissful sweet moments of youth.

Just for today, I can recall the sweet puppy love of my youth.

I was in a road rage on my way to yoga today, and on my way home after yoga. However, for that 1 1/2 hours I was as peaceful as a song bird (which, I'm assuming, are peaceful creatures and that's why they sing...if not, then I was as peaceful as...an elephant?). My apologies to the limo driver who kept stopping at cross streets that had no stop sign. Sure, you were holding up traffic and confusing me, but that was no reason to honk my horn and act out all my frustrations on to your ears. I was suffering from the rude aggressive mania that comes on me when the stars are aligned with my hormones in a special way. While yoga is fabulous, it's no preventative cure for Los Angelisis. And when I have a case of it, I'm in a mad rush to get somewhere (usually nowhere really exciting...places like the post office, or Trader Joe's) FAST!.

Just for today, I'm grateful for yoga...even if it's not a cure-all.