So, it's a little warm out... And, no, I don't have air conditioning (pause as I respond to look of pity). It's OK! They didn't build them into apartment units in 1924. It's not so bad, just another opportunity to get creative and come up with "10 Things To Do To Keep From Thinking About How Damn Hot It Is!"

1) Sleep with all doors and windows open (for those of you who have air conditioning...just try it and save some energy for Godsakes!). If someone happens to break in, or your creepy neighbor waltzes in under the pretense that he's looking to borrow some measuring tape to start on his new kitchen shelving project (total lie), invite him in to experience the sauna-like air of your apartment. He won't stay long, trust me.

2) Jump in the ocean (but try to not get ocean water in your mouth...it won't taste good, and you might start thinking about what type of water constitutes the "ocean" in your beach community).

3) Stick head in freezer. Call a good friend, make yourself some ice tea and just spend some quality time studying the innards of this treasure trove. Who knows what you might find? An old tamale, Trader Joe's pizza from 2002, or a rock solid frozen chicken thigh...you may even get inspired to make a soup.

4) Don't cook! Make your chicken soup in the Fall.

5) Go see Pirates of the Carribean in a refrigerated movie theater (bring a sweater). Enjoy this extremely entertaining adventure and try to not get grossed out by that octopus thing at the end that looks like a giant vagina. If you don't believe me, go see the movie again while holding up a Georgia O'Keefe painting.

6) Watch the lightning storms and ponder global warming and the inevitable self-destruction of our civilization as we know it until you are in such a deep depression that your blood pressure slows down, thereby making you cooler. Watch Al Gore movie for bonus refrigerated theater effect (don't forget sweater).

7) Yell at downstairs neighbor for smoking you out of your apartment with their barbecue in the middle of a heat wave. (This may not make you cooler, but you will feel a lot better).

8) Buy a $.99 ice cream cone at Rite-Aid. Best deal in town.

9) Go somewhere and sweat (bikram yoga, salsa dancing, etc). This works more as reverse psychology. Rather than schlep around in a sauna-like apartment, go do the most sweat-producing activity imaginable until you're soaked to the degree that you were in the middle of the JV hoops game you played in 10th grade where everyone fouled out until it was you and three other midget sophomores left to endure a humiliating defeat to Amazon girls from Marine....once you lose all your bodily fluids and succumb to exhaustion, you won't think about the heat so much anymore...

10) Stare at the ceiling fan in a coma-like trance and be grateful that you don't live in the Valley.

Just for today, I can stay cool in the middle of a heat wave.

I thought I'd accentuate my work IM message with a cute clever emoticon, a traditional happy face in some state of feeling. That's when I mistakenly clicked on the "winks" selection and this giant animated laughing woman popped up and was instantly sent to my colleague on the other end.

"what was that?" he shot back.

I was so embarrassed, I went into a hysterical laughing fit (cuz that's what I do) and apologized profusely. Luckily, he didn't label me a dork and proceeded to even the score by sending me a series of other scary winks. Why don't these things have warning labels?!

Just for today, I can IM at work.

Yes, I'm quoting the Sex and the City (LOVE THAT SHOW!) episode that challenged and explored the myth of the lonely single woman. My single and fabulous friend at work who I'll just call Roberta (don't ask me why) has suggested that I register myself somewhere nice (say Crate & Barrell, Pottery Barn, the Mac counter).

I am currently choosing to see my single status as a state of asshole-freeness.

Just for today, I am single and fabulous.

I went to a party last night. I wasn't really in the mood to socialize because I was feeling a little unfabulous. But since I'm single and must appease the Gods of Youth and Fun (as well as meet potential relationship prospects), I dragged my friend and my ass across town to the 323 area code (I may as well have been flying to China). I also needed somewhere to wear one of my fabulous new sundresses. If there is ever a place to wear a sundress, it's in Silver Lake in the summer (I could wear them to work, but I'd freeze under the air conditioning).

So there I was riding on the energy of my fabulous sundress from H & M (this store, by the way, is the perfect ice breaker topic with any woman in the Western world), but not quite feelin' the magic, when I meet the Perfect Couple. Mind you, most people in a relationship without any overt signs of abuse seem like the Perfect Couple to me. I keep meeeting these people lately and they generally annoy me with their understated, loving connection. But what made this couple seem MORE perfect is that the female portion of it had the career that my mother would KILL for me to have (fortunatley, she hasn't killed anyone, yet). So, there I was in my H & M sundress talking to the Perfect Couple Female Half Who Has the Life I Was Supposed to Have (or thought I was supposed to have) and writhing with jealousy and envy (what's the difference, really?) in Silver Lake on a hot summer night...this is why I don't go out. This is why I also lived in under a rock for so many years.

I consoled myself with some chocolate ice cream and a lovely fruit cake (a veritable Kiwi and strawberry work of art) that I waited around for someone else to destroy (who wants to be the person to cut the lovely fruit cake?) before I had the epiphany or realization or awareness, or whatever you want to call it, that maybe...just maybe, I was not living the Perfect Couple Lady's life for a reason...as fabulous as her life looks, it's not mine. Weirdness ensued.

Maybe I never wanted that career, maybe there is no such thing as the Perfect Couple...maybe it's all a giant mind-fuck whose purpose is to obliterate all sparks of confidence...A giant paradigm shift followed and a large trunk of baggage got dropped off in Pheonix (I know this is a weird metaphor, but I'm just going to go with it).

Just for today, I can be social.

No, I don't want to be friends with Maniac or Biff or Magic or any other lonely male haunting the proverbial hallways of this cybermall. They kind of remind me of the guys in junior high and high school who lurked around the bathroom and never went to class. Except now they are grown and have jobs and Internet access...it's dangerous out there! It's like a 70's bar scene exploded in cyberspace. It's way too much information, much more than I need to know about any acquaintance, let alone a total stranger. I think I'll have to be a casual user, as ignorance is bliss.

Just for today, I am stepping away from MySpace.com.

Ok, so I finally got my ass on MySpace.com along with the masses of humanity under the age of 30 (trying to keep up with the kids)....So, what's the big ole deal, anyway? A bunch of people yappin' about themselves. I've been doing that for ages over here. I mean if everyone jumps off a bridge, does that mean that I have to?! Well, if the alternative is a creeping existential loneliness that makes me question my self-worth and ability to connect with the humanity, then the answer is "Yes!"

I've decided that it takes a lot of inner-strength to be yourself in this world. It helps if you're weird (well, it's helped me), but in the end we are social animals.

Just for today, I can conform to mass culture.

At the urging of my friend to get with the social program, I decided to try to update my MySpace account. I typed in one or two of the million of people I know who are on MySpace (because, let's face it...I know millions of people)...but to my amazement, none of them show up. Eons ago when I first got invited to join the biggest club in the world, I tried uploading pictures...also to no avail. So, I thought, screw this, this account is jinxed I'll cancel it and make a brand new start.

Doesn't work for me.

The biggest social networking phenomenon won't accept me (e-harmony was one thing), but this is...well, it's frankly insulting.

Just for today, I stand in my unique social isolation.

I got dragged into the frey of people who hoot and holler on the 4th of July. I don't know what it is about holidays and hooting (although, I suppose it has something to do with beer). But from my apartment that looks out onto an alley (lovely, I know) and that is subject to the incredibly loud sound of whatever goes down that street (the sound ricochets through the alley), hooting is all I hear on the 4th of July (it's usually along the lines of "Woohoo, I'm fucking drunk! It's fucking 4th of July"...or something equally unoriginal).

In the past, I've maintained a condescending distance from the hoards of people who run around the block parties in my hood in a mad half-drunk frenzy. In my life paradigm, the days of drinking beer on a lawn in front of a large unfurnished house are long over (by senior year in college, to be exact). But, apparently, in this neck of the wods (aka, Land of the Single Middle Aged White Man...with a few younger folks thrown in) fraternity style of partying is alive and well. So when my half-drunk frenzied friends called me out of my cave, this afternoon, I decided to join them and celebrate Independence day by conforming. It wasn't too bad. I ran into someone from work and met some very interesting drunk people. But let's just say that the people you meet at a beach party in LA where drinking started at 10:00 am on the 4th of July, aren't exactly in the market for witty conversation. I also saw a magnificent display of fireworks...the point is, I got out of my apartment.

I also proclaimed my independence with a commitment to blog more openly about my personal life (or lack thereof...more likely).

Just for today, I celebrate my freedom and independence by being social.

My aunt told me that if I really want a relationship I have to "make space" in my life by literally making space in my closet and making sure that my bed is approachable from both sides. This is simply not going to happen in my studio (apparently, living in a studio is utterly non-conducive to attracting a relationship) unless I make my bed the centerpiece of the room. I tried it for a few days hoping it would grow on me, but all it did was create a smaller pathway to the kitchen and make the room look scrunched together.

So, I pushed the beds back and settled on buying a shoe organizer. For now, I can rest assured that whoever comes into my life will have some place to put his shoes...

Just for today, I can feng shui my life.