"It was so depressing," said College Friend. "Everyone looked terrible. I didn't even recognize people."

"You made the right choice in living in California," said College Friend's girlfriend.

"People in California look younger..." I replied. "...healthy lifestyle mixed with narcism."

I didn't go to my 15th (damn, I'm old!) college reunion because besides the fact that it was across the country, I don't have much to say to 90% of people my age. House? No. Job? Nope. Husband? Hell no. Kids? Where would I put a kid in my studio apartment?

Skipping adult reality must be good for the skin...

"People looked like they were 50."

"It doesn't surprise me. People from college seemed 40 when we were 22..."

"It's like they were trying to relive college. Like it was the best time of their life."

When all else fails, at least college wasn't the best time of my life. We talked about our college days and how lonely they were back then, and how better things are now.

Just for today, I'm grateful for my life.

Today, I ran into two women from the Job That Sucked The Life Blood Out Of Me (not to over-dramatize) on the street.

"I almost didn't recognize you," said one of them. "You look so different."

I had almost forgotten that three months ago I was a Raging Bi-otch Web Producer who woke up at 4:00 am every morning and obsessed about banner campaigns...not the peaceful, caffeinated coffee shop dweller who wakes up at --- am.

"My friends tell me that job aged me by ten years," I said. "Only they didn't tell me till I got back from vacation and was looking slightly better...."

Both of the women, an Art Director and Production Designer were recently let go in a round of lay-offs.

"Congratulations," I said. "Welcome back to life."

They were both stressed about money, but much happier.

"It's like working for the mafia," I said. "I just felt...dirty..."

"That's exactly right!" said the Production Designer.

"It's just like Mad Men," I added.

"I can't watch that show," said the Art Director. "Because it's too real. We haven't advanced enough to appreciate the irony of the past. Anywhere you go there's still only one woman in creative The only difference is that nobody smokes in the office."

"It's still a frat house," I said. "Those guys hated me," I added.

I was so glad to have seen them and been reminded of my raging bitch days. None of us want to go back to working in advertising, but will if we have no choice...(which, we very well may not). I'm not sure who is getting killed (the consumer?), but it felt like I was earning blood money.

Just for today, I'm so grateful not to be working.

"What's wrong?"

"Just stressed out...I need to have a kid, write a book, put up a cabinet in my bathroom...some major projects.

"I'm not going to give you advice...but (blah, blah, blah...insert advice that doesn't help me)..."

"You just told me you weren't going to give me advice and then you give me advice!"

"I know...I can't help it. My archetype is 'wounded healer.'"

Wounded healer...who are you, and why do you look just like my dad?

I didn't grow up hearing my father talk about 'archetypes.' This is Dad 3.0. Evolved New Age Dad. It's very impressive how he's embraced the concept of self-reflection. Except, as my friend Jared says, he's still running some old applications. I never know what is going to come out of his mouth. One minute he's giving me non-advice, and the next he's channelling Deepak.

Just for today, I can try to talk about my crisis with my dad.

I procrastinate everything. Now, I have a lot of big shit to take care of...write a book, have a kid...too much! It took me seven years to fix up my bathroom!

Today, I started to stress out. How am I going to do everything? I can at least buy a shelf for my bathroom! So, I drove to Target and bought a damn bathroom cabinet.

Just for today, I can accomplish something.

I went through what could be called a Free Spirit Shopping phase of salsa clothes. I bought things I might never have thought I would wear, and low and behold, I never did wear them. I eventually found that I like dancing in jeans and a tank top, and those aren't hard to come by. However, I realized that dresses, tops, shoes I bought had a home, it just wasn't with me. So began the the diaspora of my salsa clothes and shoes.

I gave my flamenco dress to Courtney, the tank-top to Yuki, the three inch gold heels to Michelle. I figure salsa gave me so much, it's the least I can do.

Just for today, I can give back to salsa.

(See, I'm blogging every day...so committed).

Things have been seriously jacked up for the past few weeks. It's like relationship drama, except instead of bouncing around unavailable guys, I'm getting dumped and dumping web hosting companies. I broke up with one company and went to another. Then, they dumped me on my ass...(refunded my money and said they couldn't help me). Fuckers. (Whatever you do...never go near 2mhost).

Yes, I got mad. I cried, made threats, even pleaded.

Now, I have a new server. So far, we're working things out.

Like a long-term relationship, I had taken my blog and web hosting company for granted and failed to appreciate the miracle of instant publishing of all my half-baked, inappropriately self-revealing, and misspelled thoughts.

Then everything went to shit. My database disappeared, tech support people started to hate me...this is why I hate web production.

I vow to blog every day (I know I tried it once and didn't do it) in order to re-establish my credibility as a blogger (if I ever had any).

Just for today, I can appreciate my blog.

I never knew any Israeli people before I started dancing salsa. Now that I have met them, I understand why. I could never before stand to be around anybody that direct...I was way too sensitive.

"I don't like it tonight," said Israeli Salsa Mafia Leader. "The band is no good."

We were talking to the club promoter.

"Hey, don't hold back or anything. Tell us what you really think," I joked.

"You don't step back on your one. That is why you have trouble following me."

Be careful what you joke about with Israeli Salsa Mafia Leader.

I used to think they were weird. They were always in a clique, always dancing rueda, always taking over the salsa club....sound familiar? But now that I'm friends with them, I'm like one of the family.

"I'm watching you," said Israeli Salsa Mafia Leader. He always watches my footwork so he can correct me. It's his way of showing that he cares.

Just for today, I can connect with people of different cultures through salsa.

"And then he writes, 'w/ psycho grlfrnd..."

"He was telling me the same thing about you!"

"What an a-hole!"

"I can't believe he lied."

I'm sitting in the back of The Girlfriend's SUV while The Ex-Girlfriend and The Girlfriend compare text phone messages from The Guy they both "love," are wasting precious moments of their life obsessing about, and who is, inadvertently, keeping me from my pillow.

"I want to confront him while you're there....because otherwise, he'll deny it," says The Girlfriend.

"I think getting a certified therapist in the mix might be a good idea..." I chime in. "But actually, I have to wake up kind of early tomorrow...."

"I'm so sorry you have to hear this..."

No, really, it's OK. I'm all for girlfriend's and ex's getting together and straightening out What's His Face. I would just rather it be done a) at a reasonable hour and b) without me in the car. In other words...dump the loser and drive me home!

This is why car pooling to salsa clubs is a bad idea.

Just for today, I can learn to avoid Salsa Drama.

My mom suggested for the 100th time that I might want to consider an arranged marriage.

...maybe if I was Indian, Hindu, 18-years-old, and wanted an arranged marriage. The fact that I have to explain, makes me feel sad.

I also don't know if I can have a conversation with my mother without hearing the words, "Let me finish!"

Just for today, I can write about things my mom says.