The joke at an old job was that my secret Native American name is She With Many Windows Open. The dock on my OSX browser frequently hosts about ten open internet windows at the same time, including everything from AP news, to Kim Cattral's IMDB page to the lyrics to Styx's "Come Sail Away"...(very important stuff). I think it's a compulsion, an addiction to random, useless and mind cluttering information. (For example, just now, after writing that sentence, I opened a new window and logged onto Facebook...and I don't even understand what a "poke" is).

In general, I have the attention span of a pop rock. If I try to actually focus it gets worse. Everything goes haywire and I feel like Beaker or Linda Blair when their heads spin around (they should date). Suddenly, it's a combusting information orgy (pardon the mixed metaphor) of Jeffrey Wright's latest speech, recent MySpace message from Good Man in VEGAS (yes, I'm very popular with MySpace stalkers), salsa shoe online store, LinkedIn message from former acting class scene partner, Netflix que, 10 Ways to Avoid Dating (or something like that) article on yahoo homepage that sucks me in, and an email from my mom. Yes, the jury's out, not only are Obama's halcyon days over, but I cannot dance in three inch heels, social networking has not improved the quality of my life, and it's definitely time for some Ridalin.

I'm just overwhelmed by life right now. At a certain point (like 36), you can't go back to the old ways of doing things (i.e., stressful desk job, lots of coffee and unhealthy relationships). Well, the coffee isn't going anywhere, but it's clear that the path from Point A to Point B isn't a straight line. No, apparently, it's filled with lots of meanderings, distractions, and FaceBook surveys...

Just for today, I can forget what the point of this blog was...

My friend called me this morning to discuss whether or not she should end a relationship with the charming guy she's been dating who "doesn't know what he wants" (i.e., not interested in the whole marriage and kids package). I started to wonder about this conversation and how many times it has taken place in American society in the past thirty years...a kajillion?

Seeing as I have failed to connect with the Nuclear Family concept (or even the Nucular one) at this point, I've been doing some research and am reading a book called "Marriage, A History." The author, Stephanie Coontz, offers, among other things, some historical alternatives to the modern concept of marriage and family. My favorite is a Chinese society called the Na, wherein the primary relationships were with parents and siblings. Women rarely married but had "visitors" at night and when they got pregnant the siblings and extended family helped raise the child.

No need for any uncomfortable "Where are we going?" conversations, and dealing with all that hemming and hawing. Sounds like a good fit to me. Where do I sign up?

Like I mentioned before, I would consider embracing a Biological Clock Panic, but I just don't have the energy right now (too much Salsa).

Just for today, I can research alternatives to the Nuclear Family.

My father drove down from Northern California for a short visit on Wednesday. He took me out for dinner at a high-end French restaurant that probably cost more than what I spend on eating out in a month (I've never seen Wild Boar on a menu, let alone eaten it...). Dinner with my dad was great and made me realize both how much he has grown (which is weird to say about your father), and I've gotten used to drinking cheap wine (you can really tell once you start drinking the good stuff).

In the past few years, my father has undertaken the task of intense self-reflection and personal growth, and now says and does things that make me think, "Who is this person?" It's like an Invasion of the New Age Body Snatchers...

I have always thought my father was a very intelligent, creative, and well-read man, but never felt particularly heard or "seen" (therapy word) and, finally, just resigned myself to the fact that emotionally availability in a male of his generation was just too much to ask. I felt like the Lisa Simpson of my family. The voice of reason in a cacophony of self-interest. Not that it was a healthy way to be, as is evident now that I'm 36, I'm single, childless, and happiest when in close proximity to salsa, coffee, and Forever 21 (not necessarily in that order).

I guess what I have seen is that for better or worse, people do change. And when it's for the better all you can do is be grateful.

Just for today, I can spend time with Dad of the Year.

When I was in the 3rd grade my teacher asked us to write an autobiography. I remember feeling overwhelmed by what seemed like an undertaking of immense proportions. I could not, for the life of me, understand why she gave us just one night to complete a project of this scale and scope (I can't remember what my autobiography said, but I do remember it was the longest in the class...). Years later, my blog attests to how much mileage I get out of the trivial and mundane (i.e., coffee, eyebrows, and salsa shoes). And, yet, when asked to write a bio, I have nothing to say except that I once graduated college and now I write a blog.

Just for today, I can accept that I have a boring life.

My friend talked me into going to yoga this morning. I hadn't been in a while for two reasons: a) I keep re-injuring my back (yoga is dangerous), and b) LA yoga teachers scare me. It seems that in LA it's taken for granted that any and all skills and talents that haven't found outlet in other parts of society can be brought to a yoga class (i.e., singing, comedy, guitar, group therapy). Which would be fine if I was planning on going to day camp instead of somewhere to stretch my body out and think about my week. These days, it seems the teaching of the actual "positions" has been relegated to an elementary status with an "anyone can teach that" attitude.

I've always been a little wary of the chanting, instruments, self-help spirituality talk, and hands on chiropractic adjustments. But the singing is what really drives me nuts. I'm just not prepared to be an audience...

Today, I arrived 15 minutes late and, still, was subjected to ten minutes of sanskrit singing that, according to my friend, whose patience were tried as well, went on for TWENTY MINUTES!

I guess he noticed that some of us were fidgeting or moving out of the "position" (I think we were supposed to be on our stomachs with our hands outreached), and told us that we needed to practice PATIENCE. Like priests or therapists, yoga teachers like to turn it around on the client. But is it really our fault if we're bored to tears? Are you trying to teach us a life skill or indulging your inner-karaoke champion?

I've said it before and I'll said it again, Yoga Teachers in LA are drunk with power. If we're not careful, we're going to find ourselves in a hybrid group massage/ therapy session/12-step meeting/free form dance class/a capella singing group, while a guy with dreadlocks and baggy pants practices ritual self-abuse before he gets taken away by the police and we all wonder why we were planning on giving him our $15.

Just for today, I can practice yoga.

I tried going to the Santa Monica public library to write because I needed to check out some books anyway and I thought it would be a nice change of pace from Coffee Shop Land. "What's wrong with embracing a public institution?!" I thought. "Do we all have to be snooty little coffee shop dwellers?"

However, the Homeless Lady asking for change put the first crimp in my idealized plans for the perfect Library Writing Day. The other problem with the library, I found, is that you don't have Journey and Aerosmith playing in the background...

So, I drove myself back to Coffee Shop Land with all the Screenwriters and Snooty Coffee Shop Dwellers at the twilight hour of emptiness (5:00 pm...coffee shop chill time). However, for some reason I've been flogged with the worst of the 80's (no, I don't think Journey and Aerosmith were the worst of the 80's...is that a problem?!), Pat Benatar's "Treat Me Right," and, yes, Starship's "We Built This City On Rock And Roll"...

...am I being punished for not giving the Homeless Lady my change?

Just for today, I can write to 80's music.

Last night, a guy asked me to dance who seemed like a Beginner Salsa Dancer. In general, I try to be generous with dancing with beginners because I know what it feels like to want to dance with people at a more advanced level than myself, and it's even harder for guys who have to lead. However, it was late and I was too tired to risk the possibility that a) the guy is a creep or b) attempts moves that lead to pain for me (pulls my arm, drops me on my head, etc.). After a plethora of bad experiences, I have decided that dancing isn't something I do for charity, and I'm the one who pays the price when I choose to say "Yes," to people I don't know [which I do because a) I want to be nice b) want to be generous and c) I really want to say "No," but the guy is too persistent]. This is what is called Boundaries. Not everybody likes it, including the guy last night who, when he saw me dancing with someone else came up to me and said, "You're a bad person!"

What am I going to do. Sit and wait for the next song so that a guy doesn't get his feelings hurt? I can't spend my life on Bruised Ego Detection Alert. Frankly, I'd rather be a "bad person." It's one step closer to my goal of being a full-fledged bitch. Because, like Tina Fey said on SNL, "Bitches get things done." And, the corollary to that is being too nice is a big waste of time. I'm 36, and I can't waste any more time.

Just for today, I'm a bad person.

Ok, so today I've got two very loud improv actors sitting behind me broadcasting the status of their careers to the entire land of coffee (from here to South America). Other than that there's a pretty chill vibe in Coffee Shop Land. No Screaming Children, no Creepy Men, just lots of people listening to Journey and reading The Onion in this metropolitan city on this 14th day of May 2008 (OMG/WTF?...did you see that? I don't even know WHAT MONTH IT IS?!...things are worse than I thought...). FYI, today is the 14th of APRIL 2008 (this is what lack of structure does to people like me).

Years from now people will ask us what we were doing as the earth headed towards environmental, economic and spiritual combustion, and I'll have to say that we were helping the world by getting caffeinated, laughing at social parody, and enjoying that mysterious happy pill of 80's music. And creating a Good Vibe is, at least, something...(I did volunteer to make calls for the Hilary Clinton campaign and my favorite response was, "Is she a Democrat or Republican?").

Meanwhile, I continue to procrastinate working on my over-serious Opus, making decisions about my life (hello, job?), and washing the bucket of bird shit that landed on my car over the weekend. It must have been a giant bird (what are they eating these days? colon cleansers?...that stuff works for me). I heard that it's good luck, so I think I'm good for the next decade (however, between the white splash, dents, and trashed license plate, my car is looking ghet-to).

God, help me. I'm beginning to bore myself.

Here's some inspiration for anyone patient enough to get through my babble:

"The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." - Bertrand Russell

Just for today, I can enjoy procrastinating with my boring blog.

Sorry, I've been neglectful of my blog. I've been so busy fretting, that everything else has taken a back seat. It takes a lot of energy to sit on my couch, stare into space, and worry and stress-out about the future. I can't say it's a productive way to live, but it sure is tiring! I had a dream last night that I was seeking counsel from a semi-homeless hippy who took the bus as her/his main form of transport. Something tells me that it's time to get a job.

It's not that I'm abandoning my over-serious Opus, it's just that my faith muscles are getting a little worn out (although, they are much stronger than they were five years ago).

The good news is that I've also been out doing a lot of fun activities lately: going to happy hour with my friend and her new man (how do all my friends find boyfriends?), seeing a friend in a play, watching the IMAX documentary on the Rolling Stones, Shine The Light (talk about inspiring...I've never had MJ's energy in my life) that make me realize that there's more to life than financial insecurity, and that, despite the cluster-fuck parking situation that is an inevitable outcome of going anywhere in Los Angeles, there's a lot of fun things to do in this city.

I have also re-invented my porch as an outside room, painted the hallway, and developed a deeper relationship with everyone I know who is also unemployed.

Just for today, I can enjoy life during uncertain times.

I've been feeling a little depressed and haven't been inspired to blog. I think it's the requisite bi-monthly Stress And Freak-Out required by the California Employment Development Department (such a nice way of saying "Unemployment"). I've been due for one, anyway. It'd been a while since I considered doing anything like moving to Tangiers, sub-letting my apartment to European backpackers, or joining the CIA.

Actually, that last one is no joke (well, not to my father, anyway). I made the mistake of mentioning to him my life-long secret dream of working for the CIA, and now that's all he can talk to me about. I've, actually, gone so far as to research the training program. So, if you don't hear from me in a few years, just assume that I'm working as an undercover Mafia housewife in New Jersey (actually, never mind, I'll never get the accent right...).

Just for today, I can have my freak-outs.

I'm in Coffee Shop Land right, as usual. Right in front of me a guy is talking on his cell phone as if we were at a Lakers game. I know I've done the same thing, but when I do it, I don't have to listen to myself from three feet away. This is far more annoying.

I gained a few pounds. No big deal, just hope it stops here. However, I'm wearing the jeans that cut off the blood circulation on my right thigh under normal circumstances. Then I ate a breakfast burrito. I wouldn't be surprised if I'm turning purple.

I had a wardrobe malfunction yesterday on the 3rd street promenade whose end result was my skirt down to my knees (I was wearing some pretty sheer tights). There were only about a few dozen non-salsa dancers standing around watching. Now that I think about it, I should have passed a hat...see, that's my problem, I don't think like an entrepreneur.

Just for today, I can celebrate Monday.

My friend called me last weekend crying. She had just received news that a former short-term boyfriend/dating experience (she's not sure what it was, either) had passed away, suddenly, at 49, from cancer. It had only been a three month relationship, but he was someone she had known many years before. [The weird thing is that a similar scenario happened to another friend of mine a few years ago, and both remind me of the Sex and the City (of course) episode (LOVE THAT SHOW!) when Miranda's date stands up her up because he gets hit by a bus (or something like that), and she tells Miranda, Samantha, and Carrie, "They're dying on us!" It brings new meaning to the expression "all the good ones have been taken!"]

Holding the title of His Last Girlfriend, my friend was asked to sing a song at the memorial service and she has been struggling with what song to sing. Since they weren't together that long she never got around to the What Song Do You Want Played At Your Memorial? Conversation (I assume that comes after the Commitment Conversation...but whose to say?)

Not something I ever thought about before, but, really, more important than an updated will, how about an updated memorial song list?! It's one thing to be misunderstood in my life, but to play a song I never cared for at my memorial...that's messed up. What if the powers that be play "Let It Be" and then everyone thinks I was a big Beatles fan, when I could really take them or leave them?

I'm still thinking about it (this is what happens when you're unemployed), but the following came to mind:

The Wind - Cat Stevens
If I Ever Leave This World Alive - Flogging Molly
The Body Electric - Fame (Really, I'm dead...so what do I care what people think of me?!)
Galileo - The Indigo Girls

Just for today, I can be morbid.

I have a wrought iron bench on my porch that I bought from Furniture Brother #1 about five years ago. It's a weird shape, not standard, and that has been my excuse for not buying pillows for it. For years, whenever people came over and stood on the porch, they would sort of stare at the bench and ask me when I was going to buy a pillow for it. A few brave souls would sit on it and, thus, experience the discomfort of my world.

This week, I finally bought some pillows (misaligned, but who cares), and lo and behold, I sat and had coffee on it with my neighbor! What kind of craziness is in my brain that keeps me from doing the obvious?! (I don't really want to know the answer).

Just for today, I can sit on my porch.

Funny how when you don't bring in a big steady paycheck, the numbers in your bank account get smaller...I'm beginning to feel some stress, confusion about how I'm going to support some important things, like my salsa shoe habit (and other things, like rent). Decisions, decisions...

Do I go back to Corporate America and deal with a culture that treats The Client like God and, yet, is willing to pay me enough for me to afford an HDTV, a new Marc Jacobs bag, and my habit of roaming insanely priced adorable boutiques? Or, say, "who needs that shit?" and resume my Marshall's, Targae-loving (let's face it, though...when will I not love that Target?! Never!), basic cable life for the overwhelming benefit of feeding my soul and pursuing my dream?!!!!!!! (an infinity of exclamation points!!!!!!)!!!!!!!!!

Like my Therapist says, it's not Either/Or, but it feels that way to me.

Just for today, I can look at the numbers.