After sleeping on an ice pack for a week and looking slightly crooked in the mirror I decided to finally break see my friend, The Salsa Chiropractor, for the first adjustment of my life.

"You might hear a loud crack. That doesn't mean anything is wrong," he said.

Think I'm going to get scared off by a measly crack? As if I haven't been creaking and cracking through yoga class for the last two years (how do you think my back got messed up?...though, I've always been a little crooked)! I'm sure I have the loudest joints in West Los Angeles.

Sure enough, the sound of my spine reverberated through the office.

I spent the remainder of the day feeling dizzy, but I've been told that there's an adjustment period to being adjusted and it's all for the better in the end.

Just for today, I can get straightened out.

My friend told me that I don't give guys a chance.

There seems to be two camps among my female population of friends. First, there's the Give Him A Chance group (my friend) who believe in things like "duty dating," "being open-minded," and treating dates as opportunity to practice initiating conversation on vanilla topics (traffic on the 405, best picture nominations, and sushi), and not the inappropriate topics I manage to incite (past relationships, therapy sessions, and IBS).

Then there's the First Five Seconds group who tend to be a lot racier and believe in things like instincts (as in "you know in the first five seconds") and not wasting the time and money of people for the sake of practicing your conversation skills, or hoping to make a "new friend." Men, according to the First Five Seconds, aren't interested in developing friendships with women.

One group is kind of PollyAna, the other kind of slutty.

Putting aside the interesting development that men in my generation have become metrosexualized/feminized to the point of mass confusion (a boon for the stray Alpha Male...), in the end, it's all one big amorphous plot to validate my pervading sense of rejection (what's up with all the SAT words?...).

I hate to sound like the beginning of a bad romantic comedy, but, if and when I do "meet someone," (just figured out that this is a euephemism for someone you want to sleep with...why did it take me 35 years?) it's just going to be one long painful road to rejection. Either rejecting or being rejected. Even if you're married and committed till the day said person dies (unless I have the good fortune of keeling over first, at which point I'll have to watch his dating practices in fear and judgement from other side), there's still always that last thought "...was our relationship not reason enough to keep living?"

And that's why I think dating is stupid (I know I sound like a ten-year-old).

Just for today, I can be honest about my cynical views on dating.

I've been spending a lot of quality time with myself and I'm worried that it's starting to make me strange. I'm becoming one of those overly-friendly types that plague coffee shops and talk the ear off of retail clerks. It's the less dramatic version of becoming a bag lady. The lost coffee-shop lady who sits in the corner and who everyone avoids for fear that she'll start grilling them about their lives...

I mean, it's not that bad right now...but what if this is just the beginning?!

Just for today, I can look at my compulsive chattiness.

...for being a sensitive soul.

Just for today, I am sad.

I am loathe to date for some very good reasons: it sucks, and I hate it.

Still, there is a lot to be said for the ability to simultaneously participate in quality conversation and covert inspection. I realized yesterday that my problem in the past has been 1) not dating someone who I eventually deemed "my soul mate," (if I had, those relationships never would've happened) and 2) (when I do date) letting the conversation get all serious and deep right off the bat. You order your coffee (or dinner or breakfast) and before the caffeine has even kicked in...BAM!, Past Relationships! God! Children! Private or Public School?...weird awkward silence ensues (also, you gotta keep these things short), while I create an imaginary friend that I was supposed to help move five minutes ago...

So, that's why I don't date. That, plus the fact that nobody is attractive to me [(except George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Mark Ruffalo (my boyfriend)].

This time, I kept the conversation simple. Mexican Food. Honda Civics. Bike Riding. It's just coffee. He's not my soul mate. Maybe he can be my friend. (Otherwise, I'm not doing it...).

Just for today, I can learn how to date.

This past week was packed full of life events, recovery, and phlegm. Someone died (oldest friend's mom), someone was born (best friend's baby), someone was in the hospital (aunt), and someone was hacking up solids (me).

And, someone else liked the movie Cloverfield (Mr. Enthusiasm). It lost me when the Statue of Liberty's head came off (conveniently right in front of the protagonist) and turned out to be the size of a large SUV (I think it's a lot bigger). Still, I have to say, I was entertained. Even though we ended up sitting in the front row (punishment for wanting a bigger TV).

Today, the waiter at the restaurant asked for my phone number because he found me "intriguing." Since I'm intrigued by someone finding me intriguing, I gave it to him...

Just for today, I'm back from the dead.

What the hell was I jabbering about? Whatever, I meant to say, didn't come out right due to illness, Benadryl, and cabin fever. I tried to fix it, but again, I apologize for writing blogs that make no sense (not that I usually make sense, but at least I put effort into it). I, really, should not be allowed to blog while in the following conditions:

1) Intoxicated (figured that one out over the holidays)
2) Sick (the blood of a toad...WTF?)
3) Happy (usually, this is when blogging is least interesting to me, anyway...hate to break it, but happiness is death to creativity)

The best time to blog is at 3:00 pm (the hardest time of day according to some psychic lady I once met) while slightly-depressed, seriously annoyed, with a little caffeine and under the pressure to either be somewhere else or do something else for which there will be some "shame triggering" consequences.

Too much depression and blogging, like everything, seems pointless. Too much happiness and not only do I have not desire to blog, nothing funny to say, but my edit function dissolves and I'm end up writing impassioned not-researched-at-all opinions on things I know a scanty bit about because I overheard someone in line at the movie theater talk about it (I was an English major, so maybe I know something about England before 1800...). Apparently, if I'm sick I just sound like a lunatic.

Just for today, I can blog in the right condition.

I'm in the throws of some kind of laryngitis virus that makes me sound like Kathleen Turner after 10,000 cigarettes. It would be sexy if it weren't for that lugie I hacked up this morning (it was awesome).

There's nothing a doctor could do for me but to tell me to be still (the hardest). Though at this point, I'd have more faith in a medicine woman who told me to drink the blood of a toad and to sleep facing the ocean as a cure than anything my Republican doctor has ever prescribed me.

...I don't think I should blog after taking Benadryl...

Just for today, I can be sick.

Ever since I've begun writing "seriously," (anything other than blogging) life has become one gigantic search for a distraction. The following are my favorites time-wasting distractions:

1) Neflix (.75 hours a day) - The goal is to create a nurturing diversity of order in the infamous "queue." Ideally, my "Netflix" arrivals come in the following order 1) Blockbuster (Live Free or Die Hard, etc.), 2) Old Movie That Any Well Rounded Liberal Artsy Person Should Have Seen, But I For Some Reason Haven't (The Maltese Falcon, Ben Hur...the list is endless), Depressing Documentary About This Hypocritical Country (Sicko), Foreign Film That My American Ignorance Makes Me Resist Watching (The Lives of Others), and 70's/80's Movie That I Haven't Seen For At Least A Decade (9 to 5, Ordinary People, Kramer vs. Kramer...I relate so much to the latter two films that it's almost like watching a home movie).

2) Cleaning (.5 hours)- I think I've covered this territory. In short, I hate dirt.

3) Making coffee (1.5 hours)- Now that I have a grinder this daily ritual has become a full production. Add to that the fact that I have begun inviting my also unemployed (or between gigs) neighbor to get caffeinated with me, and we have a full hour and a half of time alloted to drinking coffee and talking politics (presidential and apartment), beauty products, and the state of the mail delivery (our mailwoman hates us).

4) Cooking (1 hour)- My mother gave me a crockpot for Christmas, and so I've really had no choice but to start using it. After finding a few recipes on the Internet, I put it to work making chicken soup while I went to yoga and spent the entire time fretting over the first ever crockpot cooking explosion (I have some control issues).

5) Social Networking (.5 hours) - This has come down quite a bit thanks to the fact that a whole slew of people migrated to Facebook which I can't for the life of me seem to be able to figure out. I only check MySpace to change my mood status from Jedi to Grateful to Virginal to Voluminous...etc.

6) Writing (????) - Somehow, between all of the above, some writing happens.

Just for today, I can be distracted.

In order to keep my life functioning, I have to write things down (maybe that's why I'm a writer?). I have lists coming out of my ass. My lists include items that range from the mundane...

Get oil changed.

...to the abstract...

Forgive that asshole you slept with.

...to the difficult...

Buy original art that will uplift your spirits and appreciate over time at a rate of 10% a year.

...to the cosmic...

Have a child.

...to the complicated...

Find an emotionally stable dentist.

...to the relational...

Call aunt to wish her a happy birthday.

...to the mundane (again).

Buy some orchid food.

Just for today, I can write things down.

I've read way too much self-help crapola. It's making me think that everything I write has to have some sort of 'You Go Girl' message...kind of depressing.

I really don't think Shakespeare ever felt obligated to shape his writing around the self-empowerment of his audience. If Hamlet went to therapy and healed from the shame of his Oedipal longings, forgave his step-father, and created a mutual "containing" relationship with Ophelia, would we really give a shit?

Really, where would the canon of literature be if writers historically felt compelled to make sure all their works were uplifting, heartening, and directed towards the goal of "healing"? If Jay Gatsby faced the (obvious) neglect by his mother (why else would he find Daisy hot?) and Ernest Hemingway joined AA (and a few other 12-step programs) and Virginia Woolf watched The Secret and practiced the Law of Attraction, and Emily Dickenson took meds for her agoraphobia...what would we do for that hour in high school (YouTube Studies)?!

I'm kind of worried about pursuing a career as a book writer as I'm worried that nobody ('cept Oprah) reads anymore (according to a New Yorker article it's on the decline). What if reading is becoming some kind of twentieth century past time, like listening to the phonograph or telling fireside stories?

Just for today, I can have a writing depression.

I'm really tired of hearing and reading the words "hard work" and "commitment" in regards to writing. Having experienced creative suffocation under the burden of discipline, I can't say it's always worked for me.

So...for the sake of experimentation in the name of positive evolutionary growth, I have decided to forsake the Protestant American work ethic to see if, given the opportunity, my creations will manifest themselves with nothing more than faith, good vibes, and strong coffee. Sort of like a teenage pregnancy, they will just "happen," whether anybody likes it or not.

Just for today, I can do things differently.

When I was first laid off, it was difficult to adjust to a life without the structure of a job. Seeing as I don't have the structure of a relationship, family, or anything really (except salsa), I was afraid I might start to feel disconnected, like I might float away.

Not anymore. I've since realized that not working for not working's sake is an excellent reason to tap into my savings. Just the fear fact that I'm no longer spending 8 hours a day in a stressful environment akin to the ER is a huge relief. It's really no surprise to discover that my natural rhythm doesn't quite jive with corporate America and if it weren't for my religion of Coffee, I wouldn't be able to function in it. If I feel this good, how can unemployment be a bad thing?

Here are the improvements in my life:

1) I feel peaceful
2) My sinus infection of four months is gone
3) I feel healthy
4) I've bought lots of plants and resoiled my old ones (metaphor, anyone?)
5) I feel happy
6) I feel happy
7) And, I feel happy

Just for today, I can love not working.

My Salsera Girlfriends have taught me so much about salsa, life, and love. Just as each one has her own unique dancing style tailored and fitting to her personality, each has her own approach to relationships and life.

Tonight, I was talking to Assertive Salsera about the State of Love Affairs or S.O.L.A (which means single in Spanish...sorry, clearly, frustration is beginning to deteriorate my sense of humor) and she offered me the following advice.

"First, you gotta make it happen, girl," she stated. In the past I would disagree, but am not currently in a position to really argue.

"Second, I'm giving you till Sunday," she added. "You need a deadline."

Yes, if it weren't for deadlines nothing would ever get accomplished, I'm just used to applying them to writing projects, bills and Christmas trees (I took my down...so sad). She then offered the following formula for securing a boyfriend:

"This is what you do. You go out salsa dancing and then at the end of the night you ask a guy (ideally one you like...but you gotta ask somebody) if he wants to go to Norm's or Denny's with you and have some desert. You can go with a group if you want, just make sure you sit next to him. You each order your own desert and then you ask him if you can try some of his. When he says, yes, you ask him to feed it to you....the rest is history."

I have to say, this approach couldn't be farther from my ideas of meeting a life partner. Why don't I just sky write my intentions? It would feel less forward.

Also, not that I have anything against Denny's or Norm's, but for whatever reason, neither establishment has entered my mind as a the backdrop for the inception of a lifelong relationship.

It may not be my cup of tea (it's just not very Pisces) but I did love hearing it and do think that there may be something there for me to learn..

Just for today, I can learn from Salsera friends.

I'm attached to her (for example, I've personalized it), and she's still healthy. I kind of want to see how long she'll last. It seems cold hearted to put her in the trash (or take her to the ecological sound place...wherever that is) just because it's January 2nd.

See, this is why I don't have kids (and other things that go with having kids). If I can't let go of a Christmas tree, I'm most likely screwed.

Just for today, I can keep my Christmas tree up.