My neighbors put a sound-activated ghost on my front porch (in the spirit of Halloween...obviously). It makes loud scary ghost noises whenever someone claps or yells loudly. People strolling around in the evening and joggers running by in the early morning send it roaring away. While some people have spouses, or children or pets to greet them in the morning, I welcome in the day with hollow electronic noise of a sound activated ghost. I have to say, it is a step down from the pigeons that roosted on my porch over the summer.

Just for today, I have yet another reason to embrace the prospect of co-habitation.

Blowing my money on chintzy gifts, spending uncomfortable hours with relatives crammed in one house with unprocessed emotions, alcohol and sporadic relationship skills, stressing out about which side of my family not to offend, feeling lonelier than ever, ready to puke out Christmas lights and music every time I walk into Sav-On or Target...the Holidays are almost here!

Just for today, I can have a positive attitude about the impending holidays!

The holidays can be a very stressful time. For those of us without friends and relatives around whom we can show our real selves, it can be tough to live up to the images of people on television who are smiling and laughing around a fabulous table spread. What if you are poor and have no fabulous spread? What if you have a fabulous spread, but everyone around your table is so intoxicated or consumed with substances (including food) that you may as well be in a room by yourself? What if your uncle is hitting on you and the whole day is an exercise in situational extrication?

Do we all take naps after the meal from the triptophane, or is it just a way to get out of the room?

Just for today, I can keep it real on the holidays.

According to my friend Marge, the "Evil Eye" in "The Lord of the Rings" looks like a giant vagina. (For the purposes of this blog we'll ignore the fact that the non-human, and non-European characters have some ethnic characteristics...but we're talking about sexism here). If you think I'm reading far too much in this epic, try "Bad Santa" in which every single female character (without exception) gets screwed, is elderly (which is apparently high-larious), or extremely overweight (and getting screwed...up the butt, no less). I'm hard press to see where this is empowering or even remotely respectful to women. I think "Bad Santa" may have even included the old overplayed never-funny-to-me joke where a woman who is overweight, middle aged, with a mole on her face (and she's either a waitress or nurse or some occupation where women serve) turns around to face the camera and her mere presence is enough to inspire laughter. Why? Because she's supposedly heinous and it's funny to laugh at women who aren't child-like waifs waiting to wrap their legs around the director, who still hates his mom and all the girls who didn't like him in high school. And, finally, we mustn't forget the scene where the short midget guy chops off a mannequin's leg (and don't tell me that it's just a mannequin, it wears women's clothes for God sakes!).

Sometimes when I express what I really think I fear that I may be furthering my chances of landing a gig as a suburban housewife. And then I realize that I'm actually protecting myself from entering a special type of hell disguised as a domestic partnership where women are supposed to accept that the "Man Show" is not pure venom towards women.

Just for today, I can express my feminist views.

This holiday season, I abstain. Save for midnight mass (which is, oddly, a rebirthing experience for me, unlike any other) and a few obligatory gifts, I will treat this Christmas day as any other holiday (which is a day off of work). The rest of you can plummet through store aisles, run up your credit cards recklessly buying useless chachkies (sp?) (clutter no more!), make plans for a stressful family gathering (nap time), and wonder in your heart of hearts what all the fuss is really about (corporate America). Meanwhile, I will be in my pajamas. The true meaning of Christmas is one of rebirth and renewal. And that I can do without stressing out my finances and my emotions and adding four hundred more obligations to my life. Don't do it people! You're worth so much more! Give yourself the greatest Christmas gift and take a vacation from the insanity...I swear.

Just for today, I abstain from my addiction to holiday insanity.

Even for those of us who spent this day unofficially abstaining from the holiday because we were incapacitated by the flu-from-hell, it's important to remember that celebrating the birth of Christ isn't about Christian propaganda, or retail business, or corporate America, or even about continuing the tradition of deluding your children into believing in some old white overeating fat man who delivers gifts to white middle and upper class children. The real truth about Christmas is that it's about re-birth and humility and hope. I can be rejected from all the fancy jobs, and people and parties, but I can still be reborn in my humble little apartment. And we are all kings and queens here, born to save each other from our own fruitless ambitions for those same loveless jobs and parties and people.

I am reborn anew on Christmas Day!

I don't believe in resolutions, because the idea of failure is endemic to the word "resolution." However, I do believe in fresh starts and changes, and a "vision" for the New Year. For some reason, I can feel that 2004 is going to rock. In fact, I was so sure of it, that I was writing 2004 on my checks back in June (mostly, I just wanted to kick 2003 out the door. Not that it didn't have its moments, but enough with the pain!).

My personal vision for myself for 2004 can be summed up with the following statements: I relinquish my need to judge any people, places or things, not even women who get stuff put in their upper lip to make them look like their husbands just beat them (though, I admit it does give me a chill), or even judgmental people (though I guess I am judging judgementalism, since I judge it worth relinquishing). I also relinquish the need for control over my life (which takes the form of obsessive thinking) and self- and other-criticism (which takes the form of a running dialogue of 14-year-old caddiness in my head). I envision an open heart in romantic relationships, new avenues of income, and spontaneous adventures (which entails NOT using the phrase "I'm really tired, I think I'll just crash." It's good a few times a year, not every weekend!).
And, finally, since nothing ever seems to turn out as I plan it, I relinquish all attachments to specific visions (I'm not even going to envision the opposite of what I want in a manipulative attempt to fool the universe).
I also plan to paint my kitchen, get more pedicures, and actually read my blogs after I've typed them for typos (even if they makes me cringe with embarrassment...God, who would write that?).

So long 2003! Seeya never!
Happy New Year's!

In case you've blown your New Year's resolutions, or the year has just gotten off to a bad start, you need not worry. You can start afresh with the Chinese New Year. Yes, that's right. And if the next few weeks don't pan out, then there is always the Persian New Year coming up. In fact, who needs a calendar. Create your own New Year starting any day you choose.

According to the Chinese New Year tradition, your behavior and actions today will reflect your behavior for the rest of the year. Just for today, I can say "yes" to opportunities that send me outside of my little hovel box of a life. I can not worry about the big picture or money or how I will raise my children as a single parent in a one bedroom apartment (seeing as that would be the product of the Immaculate Conception...which would surely make me rich and famous).

Just for today, I can be happy, open, honest, and expectant of the great things life will bring!

Judging from the population migrating through the shower accessories aisles of Bed, Bath, and Beyond (before Laker tip-off), I wasn't the only one not invited to a barbecue this weekend. After deleting a flurry of abusive span e-mails making fun of the size of the penis that I don't have (which I guess makes it really, really small), and reading a Time article about what scientists say about love and sex (apparently, this may come as a shock, but human beings like sex! Amazing what scientists can do with research grants), I went to the movies and saw "Saved." It was almost REALLY AWESOME, until the last thirty minutes when the writers turned the script into a case study for Robert McKee's story structure theory. I started to criticize the movie to my friend for failing to delve deeper into the relationships in the movie, in favor of a tie-me-up-in-a-bow ending, when I realized that I can't criticize someone for failing to write about deep relationships when I can barely have them in my own life. All my screenplays come to a sudden halt after the romantic male lead gets annoyed at the romantic female lead for having an opinion...and then they sit on my desk-top and quietly mock me.

It was an eventful Memorial Day.

Just for today, I can appreciate national holidays.

Boy, I sure picked a great time to stop eating all the fun food. I totally forgot the sedative effect of cookies and eggnog lattes (not to mention the more popular inebriants at Holiday gatherings, like wine and crack) have on this time of year when corporate American insists that we must experience joy (in the form of shopping) or suffer the decline of our retirement porfolios.

I've been feeling like crap for 32 years and never thought for a minute that the consumption of red vines, coke, frapuccinos, egg nog lattes, See's Rum Raisin and Divinity chocolates (sigh), and Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey had anything to do with it. I guess it's the price I paid for not being an alcoholic.

To my own credit, part of this consumption had to do with my refusal to be an irritating healthy person who makes everyone else at the table feel like an undisciplined hedge-hog (because that's not unity), but I've been sick so many times in the last five years and have had so many chronic conditions (i.e. type in "sinus infection" and "UTI" in the search and you'll see what I mean), that I'd rather be an irritant to others...hell, it's about time I've started irritating people! What kind of dull person walks this earth without creating any enemies or fellow irritants.

Anyhoo, the point is I've joined the health camp and I feel great as I drool over the desert table at the office x-mas bash (more on that next week).

Just for today, I can be an irritating healthy person.

Someone once said that alcoholism is a three-fold disease: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years...and I think it's safe to say that there is a damn good reason for that. Mustling through the holiday insanity sans any anesthesia is like (INSERT CLEVER METAPHOR HERE). It's like walking through a hailing snowstorm with x-ray vision (INSERT SELF-DEPRECATING REMARK ABOUT BAD METAPHOR HERE). So, after experiencing several bouts of loneliness, depression and paralyzing fear about the present, past and future, I am considering becoming a "wine connoisseur" for future holidays. I'm going to have to read up on wines before I know the appropriate lingo to say to get safely sloshed.

Negativity aside, I did have a wonderful Christmas eve and day with my boyriend. It was just everything leading up to it and coming after it that sort of through me...maybe it was the egg nog latte hangover...

Nonetheless, just for today, I'm grateful that Christmas came and went...

This year I began a very significant relationship, performed Karaoke in Australia, gave notice at my job with nothing more than blind stupid faith centered around logic like, "we live in a dynamic economy," painted my kitchen neon apricot, spent exactly $540.17 ON COFFEE (what the #%@?)!, showed up for one relatively successful therapy session with father, spent $1,685 on therapy (low caps represent my feeling of sanity and appropriateness around this expense...oh, and did I mention that I have an awesome therapist?), spent $1,132.23 ON CELL PHONE (what the #%@, again?)!, differentiated from my madre and family (yet, again) by not going home for the holidays, ran out of my office approximately 50 times in a tearful state whilte clutching cell phone (which accounts in part for absurd cell phone expense), purchased a guitar (that I have picked up four times in the past eight months to either dust or move so I can mop...still, it's pretty to look at), taught writing to some really kick-ass women in South Central LA, AND blogged about my fear, anxiety, and grief for the world to know (and hopefully empathize with)!

I have a good feeling about 2005.

Happy New Year!

Does anyone like Valentine's Day? If you are NOT in a relationship there is a tinge of mockery and pity in the air. If you ARE in a relationship, but are currently in a funk about it (cuz such seems to be the cyclical nature of romantic/sexual love), any attempts at celebrating this day of pepto bismol pink feel forced and creepy, and if you are madly in love and having great sex, do you really freakin' care that it's February 14th?

This weekend I called my friend Jane crying. There aren't that many people you can call crying who won't try to dish out bad advice before trying to get off the phone and get back to their lives. Jane has a life, but she has a big spirit, and she's a great friend. She invited me over and we listened to the Indigo Girls (who rock!...and explain the previous post) and ate chips and green chile salsa from Trader Joe's and then everything in my life was OK again. That kind of friendship pulls me out of myself and self-pity and into a world of music, food, laughter, and exciting things to do. This kind of relationship is not glamorous or romantic, but it feeds my soul, gives me strength, and builds me into a woman who can give to the world. Just like how in Sex and the City (love that show!), the friendship between the women made them capable of being themselves in their work and relationships, a friend like Jane makes it possible for me to risk failure and still come home again. There is no Friends Day (that I know of...do you?), so today I send a big cheezy Valentine (what the hell is a Valentine anyway?...all I can imagine is that stupid horror movie)...I send great waves of love and appreciation to all my friends who keep me real, strong, and in love with life. I love you all (and you know who you are cuz you read my blog ;-)

Happy Valentine's Day!

I've already gone through one chocolate advent calendar and it's not even Thanksgiving, yet, and I'm still choking on the stale fun sized M&M's that made their way into my life like a bad friend (though, truth be told, it was I who finagled Halloween candy from several little kids). This time last year I vowed to abtsain from sugar (hahahahaha). Then I swung the other way telling myself that I have to have "balance." Then my doctor told me to stay away from chocolate and caffeine (too bad I don't believe in Western medicine). Now chocolate is a staple food group, second to vegetables and dairy.

It's interesting to note that my grandmother was a dipper for See's Candies (maker of fine chocolates). And while my mother was strict about my consumption of sugar, for some reason chocolate from See's was exempt from her rules because it wasn't considered "bad food." To the point where I, to this day, don't think of See's candy as in any way harmful. Because though it may be filled with chocolate and sugar, it's full of love. And I do believe (and I'm totally serious) that this belief allows me to eat it without gaining weight (though, this is JUST See's candy I'm talking about). I know that's scandalous to say (but I'm saying it anyway).

Just for today, I love chocolate.

In a world of change, it's nice to know that I can rely upon my family to provide me with some semblance of stability. On any given Thanksgiving (including today), I can expect the following to happen:

1) Either marshmellow fruit salad will be served (sometimes it's green jello mixed with cool whip and cottage cheese).
2) The wine will flow like the Nile river (which does flow...right?)
3) I will be asked some version of the question, "Why are you not married?" Sometimes it will be "What happened to so n' so?" or "Do you still like your apartment?" Other times, it will simply be, "Why are you not married?"
4) My mom and aunts will migrate to another room and tell stories about their childhoods in Arvin, California that will erupt in explosive laughter.
5) My uncle will tell them to quiet it down and then make a comment about how my mom and two aunts can generate the cacophany and volume of fifty people, while he cranks up the sound of the football game.
6) After finishing his black coffee said uncle will suddenly announce, "We're going!" at which point my aunt will protest (along with everyone else) in a futile attempt to change his mind.

Just for today, I am grateful to spend Thanksgiving with my family.

I had something good to write about, but I went to a Christmas party and ate too much ravioli and drank too much Pinot [alcohol is my new "drink"...I'M JUST KIDDING (not really)] and all I can think about is how many more Christmas cards I need to write and how America is making me immune to honest self-reflection. The holidays make me want to do strange things...like call old boyfriends and spend too much money on wrapping paper (isn't there something about charity and good will toward men/women?) Instead all I can focus on are ginger bread lattes and my eyebrows (which desperately need to be taken into the Eyebrow Lady). Presents, gifts, and Christmas lights (I went to Target TWICE). It all just feels like one hellish finals week and I haven't been in school for eleven years.

Just for today, I feel stressed by the holidays.

It's no joke. I've been dragging myself through this season of cheer like a sack full of old tangerines. I just finished doing a totally ghetto wrapping job on my presents because I can't believe I have to do this....AGAIN. The stress of giving is enough to kill. Would Jesus feel guilty about spending $3.99 on a gift for a relative he saw once a year?

There was a time, somewhere between 7 and 10, when my love of Christmas, along with my gift wrapping skills, shone like the Virgin Mary herself. [This is around the same time I developed the compulsive habit of making the sign of the cross during times of great duress (this behavior so horrified my mother that she would pinch me till I cried...thus, solidifying the association between God and pain...thanks Mom!)]. This behavior eventually morphed into compulsive shopping and boy craziness and other forms of destruction, but at that time who knew? I was like an virtual angel blessing the world with my weird fixation on religion and during the season of giving my heart was like an electrical socket that lit up the Christmas tree under which I'd stand and marvel at the beauty a light made when shining on a bulb...Those were the days when Christmas mean something...(sigh).

Just for today, I'm making it through the holidays.

I decided that I actually like the holidays, it's just my digestive system that has become cynical. I'm drinking egg nog and eating spicy tamlaes and basically sinning against my biology...

Last night I went to mass with my mother and then over to my aunt's house. My mom and aunt drank brandy and egg nog while we told stories of Christmases past. One story involves my uncle and charades (a deadly combination) and the time that he acted out the words/syllables, "Feel Lizard Naval Dad." I think it was my aunt (his wife) who made the brilliant connection to "Feliz Navidad."

Just for today, I can celebrate the holidays with my family.

My new year's resolutions are as follows:

1) Keep clear of people who claim that God speaks to them. (Just because you hear voices, doesn't mean that they are from God).

2) Be kind to everyone.

3) Only quote "Sixteen Candles" once every six months. Any more constitutes acting out on a weird obsession.

4) Love freely, but protect myself.

5) Eat more Trader Joe's stir fries.

6) Blog more.

7) Put money away.

8) Be good to myself.

9) Don't worry so much about eyebrows.

10) Enjoy life.

More to come...May the best come in 2006!

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 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.

I'm in NYC visiting my younger sister who goes to NYU. I have to say, there's nothing like walking to a dorm room late at night with a substantial buzz going on to remind me of my own bright college years. [For some reason, the East Coast seems to be one of the few places where I actually get intoxicated. Perhaps that's because it's so damn cold and it's what you do to get up the hutzpah to walk outside...].

At dinner my stepfather looked at me and said, "You look so dissappointed."

"I am," I answered, "with my life." I know it's not a good attitude, but at least it's the truth.

I have to say it's hard hanging around young, promising college kids when you're old and bitter. Everything I say in response to their wide-eyed excited conversation is tinged with the some kind of condescending "Sounds great, kiddo!" energy. Just because my life is nothing like I expected, though, doesn't mean I have to lay it on America's youth like some old piece of leftover turkey. I can't blame an NYU student for feeling positive about life. I was tremendously positive in college, what with all the boyfriends, dreams, watered-down beer, and freezing cold wind-chills...what was there not to love about life? I didn't know the whole world was going to go off and pair up in five to ten years...

I really shouldn't write when I'm this tired...

Just for today, I can survive the cold (inside and out).

I am grateful for the following on Thanksgiving Day!

1) That all my diseases are spiritual maladies and not things like leprosy and plague (let's hear it for the 21st century!).
2) That my only food-related worry on this day is that I might eat too much pumpkin pie (which I did).
3) That not only do I have family to spend the holiday with, but I want to spend time with them.
4) That my sinuses are clear.
5) That the Democrats won the house and senate (it's as if a dark cloud has been lifted...partially).
6) That I still have some fabulous years ahead (and if they have to be single years as well, then so be it).
7) That I don't know what it is to sleep in the freezing cold.
8) That I can spend time with my sister watching videos on YouTube.
9) That my boobs still have some solid firm shape (don't know how much longer that'll last)..
10) For Trader Joe's.

Just for today, I am grateful.

My therapist asked me if I would consider taking her to my office party. I wondered if maybe she was feeling a little lonely during the holidays, but she told me that it was more of an exploratory question about my unconscious fantasies (damn Freudian shrinks). I told her that I hate to let her down, but the thought had not cross my mind. I can just imagine us standing by the open bar with our mojitos and discussing my shame triggers until the party gets going and she ends up freak dancing the bus boy. Boy, how embarrassing would that be?!

Seriously, though, this lack of date thing has been very stressful. My co-worker who I will call "Andy," wrote an ad called "Searching for a Date to the Office Holiday Party" for me to post on Craigslist (sans the picture of me in a bikini and a Santa hat...I thought it might give the wrong idea...not that I look that stellar in a bikini, but we're talkin' Craigslist here). Anyway, I got 40+ responses, which just goes to show you the power of free booze and an environment of employees set free of social constraints (the bets are on for who will be the first to freak dance the bus boy...since it's not going to be my shrink). Anyhoo, I thought the Craigslist ad was kind of a joke, but apparently I was the only one to make that assumption. I emailed one guy who seemed nice and told him that while there might be some liability in inviting a total stranger to my office holiday party, I might be interested in meeting him for coffee. He responded,

"Thanks for wasting 3 minutes of MY time!"

I guess he really wanted to go to a party.

My Sex and the City Friend (SATCF) encouraged me to ask the 20-year-old cute nice guy (kid?) from my acting class. The thing I've learned about some men in their twenties (well, 20 IS in the twenties decade!) is that they aren't that different from men in their 30's, 40's, 50's....they just have less money and are in younger bodies. Do I sound bitter? Good, I was worried that I was losing my edge. I take back everything I said about men who date/marry younger women. I totally get the appeal. How could I possibly feel threatened by someone who never watched The Love Boat during prime time (or the re-runs for that matter) and who has yet to experience the bitter ego-shattering defeat of seeing your most tender dreams of love shattered like a coffee pot on a tile floor?! The only problem with that is the risk of looking like Creepy Older Lady Who Can't Get a Date (it's one thing to feel it, quite another to manifest it in the world...and another to write about it in your blog).

I think I actually want to go alone. In truth, I kind of like the brisk feeling of having the courage to stand alone. It's not something I want to do forever, but at least I'm not buying into the social pressure of being +1.

Just for today, I can be date-less.

So, I survived the Office Holiday Party with my reputation intact. The next day the 22-year-olds were blushing in the kitchen and I had to tell them that I was too involved in the really great Pinot I was drinking to notice anyone's breach of conduct. No great scandals to relay, except my co-worker informed me that the Technology Director's girlfriend has a "girl crush" on me... hey, I'll take it from wherever it's coming!

My 20-year-old date had to cancel at the last minute due to illness. The good news is that I got to feel out the climate of dating someone to the right (far right) of my age box. Thanks to Demi and Ashton, nobody seems to think twice about it. My therapist is cool with it (and let's face it, does anyone else's opinion matter?) and told me that age is "cultural difference" (sort of like dating someone from Uruguay....actually, probably more like Sri Lanka or Tangiers). The point is that I don't have to limit myself to those that have been through the relationship mill...wasn't I writing about the holidays? Boy, am I tired...

Just for today, I can survive the holidays.

I drove into the Target (Targaé) parking lot for three whole minutes this afternoon before the magnitude of the gridlock hit me and I turned myself around and eecked out. As I sat in a literal parking lot (no, this is not a euphemism for the 405), I wondered how we have come to be so brainwashed and manipulated by corporate America that we rush, honk, and stress on a Sunday afternoon to spend our hard earned cashola on things that will, at best, desinigrate into dust, and, at worst, clutter our closets in symbolic representation of our worse emotional baggage...OK, I just had to get that out of my system. (deep sigh)...Happy Holidays!

Aside parking lots and Target stores, the holidays are historically a time of bad decisions for me. The following are the mistakes I've made so far...and we haven't even gotten to X-mas yet.

1) Buying a bucket of chocolates wrapped as if they were Christmas tree ornaments (I thought I'd give them to my office co-workers on Thursday before I leave). What I didn't realize is that this would entail them sitting in my apartment for a week...do we really think they'll last till Thursday? I've already had four.

2) Forgetting to scope out my apartment for things to "re-gift" (hey, I purchased all my gifts...I'm just sayin').

3) Not buying a full-sized tree (I mean my Charlie Brown tree is cute and all, but aren't I old enough for a grown up tree...34).

4) Failing to find a boyfriend to snuggle under my tree (not to put "blame" on myself...but geez, what is up?!).

Just for today, I am ready for the holidays to be over.

There's nothing like Christmas to drive home the fact that my childless state is impeding the ability of my family to appropriately enjoy this holiday. Who wants to watch a 34-year-old woman open her stocking? It's a silent accusation (my mom doesn't want to "seem" to be putting pressure on me), which is why it feels like it's screaming behind every child we meet, every toy at the stores, every cheerful holiday adornment..."where are MY grandchildren!"

Last night I went to a dinner party with my "normal" friends and their husbands. Or, I should say, my friends who turned out normal. We all smoked pot together in the creek and stole gum and hair gel from the local drug store when we were 13. But some of us made healthy decisions to do normal things like marry nice, appropriate men and buy lovely craftsman homes and compost their garbage and...well, procreate. The scary thing is that I've willingly adopted the role as the unattached, self-deprecating single who can make wise cracks and say the wrong thing because I don't have a partner to keep me in check and find my quirks lovingly irritating...I'm not saying it's a healthy role to adopt, it's just easier than crying over the Merlot about my intimacy issues and attachment disorders in front of people who have found happiness (and because I love them, I'm pleased to see them happy...if I didn't love them, it would be another story...).

God, I'm starting to bore myself.

Just for today, I can indulge myself on the holidays.

I just got back last night from a whirlwind trip up North visiting my fam...I didn't write much because I was so busy whirling around. Here are some highlights (imagine you're listening to "Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire," except it's the hip salsa/electronic re-mixed version...or choose whatever drippy Christmas song you like, just make sure it's remixed...). So, here goes...

1) Tamale Day - Every year the women on my mom's side of the famiily spend a day making tamales. For the first time this year, I helped "cook" tamales. My participation consisted of taking a spoon and spreading dough on a corn husk while drinking Mimosas and sharing my views on God (not hard). Anyway, the conversation got heated over the topic of God and even MORE HEATED (no pun intended) over the degree of "hotness" (is that a word?) of last year's tamales.

2) Bikram Yoga Class with Dad! - I invited my father to a Bikram yoga class (yoga done in a 100 degrees) on Christmas Eve despite the fact that I myself had never experienced this Draconian new age exercise, made ever more distressing by the 80's style aerobics girl prancing around with her ear microphone. Not only did I have to watch myself in a mirror sweating bulletes in my Ross yoga pants (cute yoga outfit is next on my list of purchases...) but I almost killed my dad! I looked over at him at one point and his head was bright red. "Drink water! Drink water!" was all I could shout, forgetting that he's a grown man and that we all had the choice to leave the room (there's something about tortuous yoga classes that make one forget that they are voluntary).

3) Christmas Dinner Discussion Over How Many Years I Have
Left to Bear Children - See blog below for my feelings on this.

Just for today, I can enjoy the holidays.

In 2007, I want to...

1) Do less cleaning and more lovin' (and if you have ever been to my apartment, you know what I'm talking about...the clean part, that is).
2) Spend less time in stores asking the dressing room girl if the item of clothing is "me" and more time with friends.
3) Worry less about what other people think of me and value more my instincts and intuition.
4) Take actions that dredge up the fear of death, God, and my mother's negative opinion (not necessarily in that order), but that will inevitably move me closer to fulfilling my life's purpose and heart's desire.
5) Accept people for who they are and not spend one iota of energy trying to change them.
6) Avoid using the words and phrases, "But...", "I can't afford it...," "I can't...," "I'm not....," "It won't..." "Woe is me...," and "Damn, this TV show is good!"
7) Watch less TV (note to self: cancel HBO....What? Nooooo! Woe is me!)
8) Have rich experiences that defy all notions of what my life can encompass.
9) Love irrationally...
10) Help someone grow into a happier person.
11) Let someone help me grow into a happier person.
12) Tell people that I love them with regularity.
13) Eat more food that is made with love (without astutely measuring it's sugar, flour, non-organic, or dairy content).
14) Maintain my five hugs a day quota.
15) Embrace all that is mysterious and unknown in life.
16) Give generously, both spiritually and financially.
17) Notice people, even the ones I want to avoid.
18) Risk looking like a fool on a daily basis (in way of honoring my true self...not for the sake of just looking stupid for no reason).
19) Blog my heart out...
20) Eat high quality chocolate.

Happy New Year! Thanks for reading my blog and being part of my life! I love you all!

Just for today, I can envision 2007!

I brought in the New Year with champagne and the Beastie Boys at a friend of a friend's party. I think two Asian lesbians might have been hitting on me (one kept freak dancing me and the other brought me a strong drink...you decide). This morning I had lunch with a friend and showed her my Vision Board (a collage of pictures and words of things I want to manifest in the year). We waited half an hour till a waiter took our order. By his attitude and the size of the hickey on his neck, I could see that he had better things to do than to bring me a vegetable soup. This afternoon I went to yoga and jabbered on with a friend about how excited we are for 2007 to bring us things like joy, prosperity, and a sex-life.

I'm really excited for 2007.

Just for today, I can bring in the New Year!

In all honesty, despite my written diatribes to the contrary, I'm really over the pursuit of coupledom for the mere sake of not spending corporately manufatured holidays alone (except for Christmas). The beauty of being single is that I can have male friends who I consider adorable, yet, don't think would make an appropriate match for various reasons (see blog below), without feeling guilty. In this way, being single rocks.

Today, I got a text message from my adorable salsa partner/friend/inappropriate dating possibility #55. Let's all be honest and just admit that text messaging is the hottest form of communication on the market (why do you think hormonally-laden teenagers do it all day?). I'll put it this way, I'm not going to text message my girlfriends (unless they're across the country). Why? Because I don't communicate with them in short, succinct direct messages. Oh, no, quite the opposite (a new study found that when women talk they release the same chemicals they experience during orgasm...so, considering where I'm at, I need to talk as much as possible). No, I exchange text messages primarily with guys...like my salsa partner.

Today my salsa partner texted me:

What do you want from me this Valentine's? A. nothing B. hug C. kiss D. roses E. sex F. money

I texted: r u talking to me? (Notice how hip I am to the impending erosion of the English language).

He texted: Yes. Who else? Just kidding. But out of curiousity what would u pick?

I texted: Salsa dance and a hug (Hugs are free, not to mention, I'm far behind in my quota of five hugs a day).

He texted: Good answer.

It doesn't really get any sweeter...at least, not in any recent relationship of mine.

Just for today, I can enjoy text messaging with my guy friends.

I remember when I was in elementary school and would buy those packs of Valentine's Day cards. Even then, I knew better than to pick the ones with the big goofy Holly Hobby or Strawberry Shortcake or whatever asinine character that was all the rage in the world of ten-year-olds. I tried to find something tasteful, like, your standard generic card covered in hearts. I was such a saintly child that I made sure to hand write a card for each kid in my class and, because of the public school system, I sometimes had to buy TWO packs to make the 31 or 32 kid quota. And then I was up all night personalizing my card with a hand-written "Happy Valentine's Day!" And then maybe I would risk a token "Your Friend" for whoever was the object of my affections (I've been boy crazy since the first grade). I'd go to school the next day and exchange all my valentines and come home with 32 tacky cards with my name scrawled on. What a thrill! Those were the glory days of Valentine's Day. 31 to 32 freakin' Valentines...who cared if they were of Winnie the Pooh? In my youthful exuberance, little did I realize that it would be down hill from there.

Just for today, I can celebrate Valentine's Day.

I celebrated the 4th of July at a party that was a throwback to my college days. At least, I acted like a freshman at her first keg party...with slightly less dignity. I'm not someone who believes that drinking and dancing mix, (because I take my salsa very seriously and it's really hard to spin with a buzz), but as soon as I caught glimpse of the porta-potties, kegs, and make-shift backyard dance floor that was soon sardine-packed with people, I realized that this was no regular salsa night...That combined with the fact that in the past week at least five people have told me that I seem to stressed out and need to loosen up, led to a night that may just be the beginning of my long overdue drinking problem. I have to say, in my stressed-out, over-worked, over-shopped, over-salsa-ed mode, I had totally lost touch with the beauty of getting wasted. Not to mention, I get why people drink and dance. It may not look good, but it's way too much fun...

However, the night did not come without collateral damage, which included: even more trashed salsa shoes (don't ask me why I walked home in them), one even more bruised toe (the same injured toe got nailed four times), the loss of my cute little jacket (my boss said that you know you had a good time when you lose something...), some grains of dignity (at this point, I don't care...besides, does dignity come in grains?), and a lot of inappropriate comments that I hope people were too drunk to remember (I told Relentless Salsero what I call him...he doesn't seem to mind, but he is changing his tactic and claiming that he was joking all along...whateva!).

Just for today, I am free to act like a twenty-year-old.

I like Halloween. I'm into candy, ghosts (actually, I like talking to dead people all year long), and the opportunity to conduct a work meeting with fake blood dripping down my chin. However, lately it seems like the general creativity of the holiday has begun to degenerate into (yet, another) excuse for women to dress up like wannabe porn stars (except, to actually be dressed). The costume stores are proliferated with "sexy" (slutty) costumes (i.e., sexy police woman, doctor, etc). Whatever happened to dressing up like an interesting historical figure or a clever inanimate object? Sure, it's hard to be a sexy Queen Elizabeth or Rubix cube, and you're not going to get the same kind of attention as the sexy nurse...but I'm talking about dignity, ladies...!...(I must be getting old...that or I ate WAY too much chocolate today).

...while I'm on this chocolate hangover tirade, I have to say, I think we've seen enough pirates to last the rest of the decade...

Tomorrow, I'm going to be a project manager whose been raised by the dead...no costume necessary.

Just for today, I'm annoyed on Halloween.

I told Super Evil Flash Programmer today that I am very interested in talking to the dead these days. Not scary ghosts, but the people who cared about me who might offer me some insight and guidance on my life. I figure they have a much broader perspective seeing as they're dead and don't have to worry about things like the cable bill, cutting down on sugar and caffeine, and emotionally unavailable men (or maybe they do...I've never been dead, so I don't know...perhaps they have platonic relationships and eat clouds...). My hope is that maybe they can give me a sign that'll help me get out of the rut of self-defeating behaviors without all the trial and error...I need a winning lottery ticket on Life Direction (are you listening, Grandma?).

I told my therapist the other day that my life feels like the movie Groundhog Day (starring the beautifully pained Bill Murray). In case you haven't seen it, the character lives the same day over and over again until he gets it right on a spiritual level. Similarly, every week I'm presented with the same choices over and over again, including but not limited to:

Do I waste my time listening to Super Evil Flash Programmer explain why he can't fix Issue #43,891, or do I adopt my Holly Hunter in Broadcast News persona and risk being a cold-hearted bi-otch (as opposed to a regular bi-otch...who everyone loves)?

Do I accept the invitation to dance with Creepy Toothless Man (insert your favorite David Lynch character) or wait for a good dancer with healthy dental hygiene? (actually, he wasn't a bad dancer...just the teeth thing...).

Do I consider Relentless as a relationship possibility or continue to gracefully decline and (again), wait for someone who doesn't gross me out?

Cream or soy milk?

Gratitude or resentment?

Mac or PC? (yeah, right...as if that were a choice...).

Trader Joe's on Pico or Trader Joe's on Washington Blvd (further, but more room)?

Thong or granny-style?

Sleep in or be (even more) late to work?

Love or hate?

Revenge or forgiveness?

Halloween candy or stale Halloween cookies?

My therapist pointed out, though, that in that movie Bill Murray actually makes tiny changes every day, so by the end of the movie he is in essence a different person. In his case, he loses his attachment to fulfilling his own needs in deference to being of service to others (let's not go crazy or anything...).

Maybe my grandmother can tell me what she thinks I should do...

Just for today, I can celebrate the Day of the Dead.

In the end, I'm not really vain enough to be motivated by the sight of my thighs and butt in yoga pants.

No, the incentive to cut out the daily intake of flour and sugar (starting with scones in the morning and ending with Halloween candy that was probably inedible when it came out of the manufacturing plant back in May, and least of all now...), is my chronic sinus problems. I don't know if that makes me a better person or anything, but sometimes when I look down at my back thighs during Warrior I, I think to myself, "this flab makes me more human and, therefore, more lovable..." As much as I've internalized the self-help babble puked forward by every other person in West LA, there's something perverse about taking pride in the result of my addiction to junk food...is Madonna less lovable for having a flab-free body?

One things for sure, Madonna would certainly not wait for a health issue to plague her before she cut out anything that wasn't pure organic vegan food of the Gods. [I have a friend, Chrissy (this is her joke), who leads her life according to the WWMD (What Would Madonna Do?) principle...I confess to doing the same]. Regardless, the truth of the matter is that Madonna would not put a bite sized Nestle crunch piece of chocolate in her body (let alone five) if you paid her whatever she netted out for her last recording and touring deal (something in the kajillions).

The bottom line is if I cut down even a quarter of Halloween and Trader Joe's candy that calls my name all day long, I'll look and feel better.

Just for today, I'm saying NO to putting crap in my body.

Naturally, grateful for the normal things, that are important but boring to list, like my health, my apartment, food, the health of those I'm close to...etc....I am also grateful for tangerines, antibiotics, lip liner, oxy nasal wash, the $.99 store, people who signal when they turn, Peete's coffee, salsa music, hot salseros who ask me to dance, Netflix (even though my latest movies seem to have never arrived), public libraries, Macintosh, dental floss, my high school Spanish teacher, friends who listen to my neuroses, chocolate, all the ex-boyfriends who broke up with me (thereby, doing me giant favors), the guys at webstrikesolutions who respond to my angry emails, my nerdy accountant, my friends who let me leave gyno-related messages on their voice mail, my Super Fun Chica Salsera Friends, and, my blog,

The there are the more abstract things like...

...the ability to feel.
...the ability to feel love.
...the ability to feel the pain that makes the love that much more palpable.
...the ability to have enough consciousness of the fleeting nature of life and moments that I don't spend it completely at shopping malls obsessing over $15 eye shadow.
...the ability to know when I need to go to therapy (pretty much every week).

Just for today, I am grateful on Thanksgiving Day.

I'm kind of enjoying the Holidays so far (hey, what's not to enjoy about Target?!). Maybe it's the lack of structure in my life right now, but I think I'm getting a little too into it. While in the past I've been known to call it The Annual Exchange of Crap, this year I've gone so far as to consider buying my therapist a Sigmund Freud action figure. Seriously, what use could she possibly have for a gag toy? Somehow, I don't think it would mesh with the Matisse print in her waiting room (not to mention that odd tray filled with sand and rocks...still unclear about its purpose). I have to say, I do get off on finding The Perfect Gift, even amidst the storm of crying children, banging shopping carts, and obligatory spending.

I have to say that my Christmas Tree goes down as one of the most adorable pieces of life cut before it's time to enter my apartment (it's staying till March).

Just for today, I can enjoy the holidays.

Starting with what I had to drink tonight...

Geez, there's nothing like basil and tamarind flavored absinthe to take the sting out of an aging childless woman (Ok, so at $75 a bottle, it's not ghetto, but it also wasn't mine...). I spent the evening sipping this stuff with two people who've known me since I was 12 and who happen to be Genuinely Happily Married Couple. We reminisced about everyone we knew in those hormonally challenged days (a state highly exacerbated by other chemicals) . One fellow is in jail for life [thankfully my taste in men has since improved (I think), although, that's not saying much].

The ghetto part of my Christmas was my budget. Like the $.99 wrapping paper I bought from Target (Targae). Let me just say that it's better to spend the extra $2.00 for paper whose color doesn't disappear when it's folded (cuz you gotta crease wrapping paper). It makes for some pretty ghetto Christmas presents.

I'm so glad I told everyone at my father's holiday party that I'm writing a book based on my blog...(what's a career, husband, kids, and house when you have a BLOG to talk about at holiday parties...I don't think Nixon did nearly the amount of explaining I feel strangely obligated to do once a year...I should just wear a sign that says "No, I'm not married.").

I hope this stuff doesn't give me a brutal hangover (it probably will).

Just for today, it's a very ghetto Christmas.

I deserve to be sent to blogger jail for the pathetic amount of entries published in the month of December (the month in which I have been unemployed and, therefore, had nothing better to do than the one thing I tell everyone I'm doing), and, especially, over the last week. The only blog I posted (other than this one) was written while under the influence of an "after dinner drink" (absinthe), a substance I have since discovered has the highly dangerous effect (for me) of making one feel that everything she says and writes is nothing short of genius (I'm, clearly, not responsible enough to blog in such a condition, as I just re-wrote the post below that I do recall thinking was high-larious)...God, only knows what kind of political babble I spewed out to my friends (thankfully, they knew me in my Mall Bangs and Make Up days and so nothing I do now could really ever shock them).

I can only blame myself, the pervasive experience of food coma, and my strange new level of relaxation during this month of Post Corporate America Detox. Now, that I'm not working, I have no idea how I managed to function in such a chronic state of stress (salsa). I can't believe how plugged into the matrix I was. I'm sorry, but no amount of pedicures is worth feeling like an orange being cut and squeezed into a juicer for every last drop....I guess there's a reason why people take vacations.

Just for today, I can relax during the holidays (and still maintain my commitment to blogging).

I spent a good part of the day in Wireless Coffee Shop Land with my very articulate friend, Professional Communicator. [She's so good at communication (it's actually her job) that one time I had her write an email to an old boyfriend. She told me to rewrite it in my own words, but I just sent what she wrote because I liked it better.]

Anyway, This Is My Day Job guy was working behind the counter (I've never actually spoken to him but have decided that he's the bass player in an indy blues band from Minnesota...). Yes, flirting with guys who make minimum wage...(how have I stayed single so long?)...

Enough with the sarcasm, time to list the highlights of my trip home.

Highlights of 2007 Holiday Trip Home

1) The absinthe (read blog below).

2) Watching Fozzie Bear in the dummy sketch (Muppet Show Season 2) with my mom and sister (I have a big crush on him).

3) Telling my dad that my issues with him can't possibly be a projection of my father issues of him because he is my father.

4) Witnessing the creation of delicious tamales (since I didn't really do that much, I can't really take any credit).

5) Giving the exact same scarf to my aunt that she gave to me (we think alike).

5) Eating lots of good food and drinking lots of wine (absinthe is not wine).

Just for today, I can enjoy the holidays.

I think it's the time of year. All I can think about is what to eat, chocolate (related to the first and, yet, deserving of its own category), and the passage of time (sort of in that order).

Just for today, I'm low on inspiration.

I like throwing away things whose time has past...your basic crap, like, old magazines, lotions, weird gifts (or, I can regift), and clothes. Usually, clothes are the most liberating since I believe clothes carry the energy of the experiences I had while wearing them. That black sweater is so Boyfriend X, or that dress reeks of my best friend's wedding where I felt like a single freak, and so on (great for my shopping habit). Anyway, the point is that when things are old and done, I'm not one to hang on to them for sentimental reasons.

And that's why I'm so happy to say good-bye to 2007. I can try to build on what was good and chuck the sucky parts, but whatever I do 2007 is never coming back.

Happy New Year's!

Just for today, I can bring in the new year.

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.

Do I sound cynical?

That's just because I'm tired. I had really bad insomnia two nights ago and after one hour of sleep I woke up to the sound of drilling at 8:00 am. When do people drill outside of my apartment? Apparently, only when I've had one fucking hour of sleep. I woke up thinking that God clearly hates me.

So, lo and behold, it's Valentine's Day and another perfect opportunity to feel depressed and victimized by the ungenerous forces of the universe.

However, in truth, I'm not really bothered by it and am looking forward to seeing There Will Be Blood (because blood is red and it is Valentine's Day) with a friend, and celebrating this Free From Assholes Day (yes, I am cynical). I've spent most of the day rehashing my previous relationships with my friend in Coffee Shop Land. Probably not healthy, but certainly fun.

Just for today, I can celebrate Free From Assholes Day!

I hope everyone enjoyed Yet Another Excuse To Get Drunk Day. I'm sure puking by the beach is what our forefather's had in mind when they established this holiday. Cynical? A little. That's what ten years of 4th of July's on the beach will do to a person (though, I suppose, a small price to pay for the year-round benefits).

4th of July makes me wish I had a big boyfriend who, while kind to me and those he cares about, has no problem punching drunk lewd men who swarm the beach areas on national holidays. I'm seriously considering taking up boxing. I'm not tall or big, but, really, how much force do you need to take down a drunk guy? All you have to do is get him off his balance, and let his defunct motor skills do the rest.

I'm starting to understand how skinny little guys feel.

Just for today, I can ponder tempered violence.

Happy Obligatory Dress Up Day...

I'm traditional. I want to think about ghosts and spirits and dead people on Halloween. Not grown men dressed up like a product sold in seedy liquor stores.

Nonetheless, I stuck a green leaf in my hair, and I'm Nancy Botwin (Weeds). High-concept, low-production value.

I'm also trying to stay away from the Pumpkin cookies...

Just for today, I can celebrate Halloween.

The best thing about the Holidays is eggnog. In fact, eggnog is the best thing about December. However, I can't say eggnog created with the intention of being consumed in large quantities because after a quarter of a cup you're good until next Christmas. So, whatever you do, don't drink a whole eggnog latte.

Target, in December, is the worst place in the world. It's like a stampede at an Indian Hindu temple. What was once a sacred place of worship, becomes sullied by the selfish needs of the masses (my needs are never selfish). Whatever you do, don't go to Target!

I sent a Facebook message to a classmate who I hadn't seen in at least 15 years. For some reason, when I started writing the message, my teen-aged verbal skills re-emerged.

"Hi! How are you?! OMG! So weird! I can't believe it! It's so good to see you!!!"

Have I evolved at all since I was 16?

If you want to stay sane, best not to spend too much time on Facebook around the holidays as Facebook Overwhelm Syndrome is likely to exacerbate normal holiday stress.

Just for today, I can avoid feeling crazy.

I hate the stupid holidays!! (Ok, that felt good...).

I hate shopping (unless, it's for me)! I hate stupid office holiday parties attended by over-worked, emotionally shut-down, drunk employees who make fun of the cheap-o white elephant gifts, and then go back to work (not kidding)! (But the wine wasn't bad...) I hate buying overpriced organic soap for relatives I neither really know nor understand because I can't think of anything else! I hate chocolate! No, wait...I love chocolate! I hate that I can't stop eating it! (I can't love things in a rant). I hate that I can't love things in a rant!! I hate the cold! (There we go...back on track). Why is it cold in Los Angeles?! I moved here so I could roller-blade on Christmas day!! Not work in a ski parka...

Ok, I've exhuasted my hate...

Just for today, I can hate the holidays in 80's Dennis Miller rant-style.

I spent the day going through my closet and trying to get rid of clothes that I don't wear or have "bad energy." I'm already trying to exorcise 08 out of my life (and closet).

2008 was sort of like one of my father's backpack trips to the Sierras. A lot of hauling of equipment and food up a giant mountain, only to arrive at a location infested with mosquitos. A the end of the trip, of course, we all felt like we had accomplished something, but would be hard pressed to say what that was.

I hope that 2009 is easier on everyone.

Happy New Year!

Just for today, I can say good-bye to 2008.

I celebrated V-Day (Vagina Day) by getting my body scrubbed by a large Korean woman in her underwear. It proved not quite as romantic as I had hoped for, but I did come away feeling clean and exfoliated. Really, what else can a girl do to celebrate the fact that she's managed to clone the exact same flavor of dysfunction in a relationship for the past twenty-three years, but study balls of dead skin as they come off her body with a big bucket of water (really gross). If only I could get a scrub on my taste in men.

Just for today, I can celebrate Valentine's day.

"I don't want to send a holiday card," said my friend E. "What am I going to write in it? Parents getting sick, we're getting older, still no kids."

"That's why I don't send cards. Who wants the easy-reading version of my life?"

That, plus the fact that if I'd much rather prefer a phone call or e-mail from a friend to a generic family holiday card that skips all the juicy details. Sure, you got a new puppy, but what about rehab? Sure, the kid is starting a new school, but what about marriage counseling? What do I care about your trip to the San Diego Zoo?

I would keep mine brief.

I left my job in the worst economy of my adult life. Bad idea. Happy Holidays!

Just for today, I can not send a holiday greeting card.

It was hard to feel warm Christmas cheer, and terror that I'll never work again at the same time, so I decided to abstain from the family Christmas this year.

But I started to think about Christmases in the past. All that I hate about the holiday season as an adult, is what I loved as a kid. The lights, decorations, sweets, overabundance of food, indulgent over-the-time Christmas decor, and lots of family. I think what made it more fun as a child was the lack of money, as well. I remember twenty some people crammed into my aunt's one bedroom apartment, eating, laughing, and playing charades. My uncle broke down "Feliz Navidad" into "Feel Lizard Naval Dad" and everyone went to midnight mass, came home after 1:00 am, ate tamales, and went to sleep at 2 or 3. And the next morning we opened our stockings first and went one by one around the room, so everyone could open one present at a time and it wasn't over until 1 in the afternoon, so Christmas was sort of a 48 hour period.

Just for today, I can remember Christmas as a child.

I made the acquaintance of tequila on New Year's Eve. I never understood tequila before. I thought it was alcohol. Nobody explained to me it's liquid goodness. I wouldn't drink it every day, (maybe just on the weekends), but I had to say good-bye to 2009 with a bang.

What happened in 2009? What did I do that made it so hard?

1) Quit job. (The "recession" is not a myth.)
2) Contracted swine flu. (I'm pretty sure, I didn't get it in Mexico, though, I did travel there weeks before the epidemic began.
3) Attempted to write a book. (There's a reason why writers have, historically, drank and smoked themselves to death).
4) Fell in love with "the wrong type of guy." (This has happened in past years).

Would I have done anything differently?

Yes. No. It's too late, anyway. It's now 2010. Hello, new age. Please be kind.

Just for today, I can celebrate a new decade.

In past years, I haven't given a moments thought to it. But for some reason, yesterday, the fake Hallmark hype of Venereal Day prompted a shame spiral down the mental staircase of self-doubt. "How embarrassing to be single," I thought and even contemplated NOT going out salsa dancing as it would be a testament to the world (people who don't give a crap whether or not I sleep alone), that I, in reality, have no secret boyfriend who waits for me at home. I did concoct a story about how me and said pretend boyfriend broke up right before the holiday, and this has, actually, happened to me years past. But then I realized that the only thing worse than going out alone on Valentine's day is not going out because you care about what other single people think about you to such a degree that it dominates your life and decisions.

And then I spoke to a friend who was mad at her husband, and, suddenly, remembered how horrible Valentine's Day can be when you are in a relationship and hate the person you're with. And then I remembered bad moments in relationships with a variety of people, and suddenly, being single felt like a huge accomplishment. And so I decided to celebrate Freedom From Fucked Up Relationship Day, and felt really good about myself.

Just for today, I can celebrate Valentine's Day.

I loved this holiday as a little girl. It was almost as good as Christmas. I got to wear a Mexican dress, put on lipstick AND blush, and dance the Mexican hat dance in front of my parents. And then eat a lot of high glycemic foods. How could the day possibly go wrong? I don't remember Cinco De Mayo as a big excuse to drink five margaritas day. I'm sure my parents had nothing against downing five margaritas, but they didn't use this holiday as an excuse.

I just think we keep heavy drinking wear it belongs...daily (until that day when we arrive at AA) and leave holidays for children (and adults) who have a birthright to walk around in costumes related to their cultural heritage. Yes, me and the Civil War Re-enactment freaks can get our inner-year-round Halloween craving out of our system...and then go drink.

By the way, Cinco De Mayo is not, actually, Mexican Independence Day, anyway. It commemorates the victory over the French at the Battle of Puebla. And I know that because I just looked it up on Wikipedia. Thank God for the Internet for allowing me to put some weight behind my self-righteousness.

Also, by the way, (notice I don't use BTW? Yes, I'm doing my part to preserve the integrity of the English language)...I'm writing this on May 6th...hey, I never said I was punctual.

Just for today, I can reminisce about Cinco De Mayo.

I'd be lying if I said that I loved the part before Thanksgiving dinner when someone (mom) announces that everyone must share something they are grateful for. Thank God, it usually gets seconded, but then voted down by the hungry masses led by someone's kid screaming "I'm hungry! When are we eating?!" I know I'm grown, but I'm sorry, I jut get uncomfortable when people get teary eyed in front of the cranberry sauce. Therapy prior to massive emotional eating? Doesn't make sense. Best to cry after the pie and too much wine, and then go home and call your therapist's answering machine. Of course, by then you can't remember your name through the food coma, let alone why you felt like a loser (only single person at the table). But nobody listens to me.

However, while, I'm not one for public displays of emotion I am not a complete ingrate.

I am grateful for....(in no particular order)...

1) plumbing. (Have you ever been to a third world country?)
2) that weird moment between when someone says something unexpectedly funny and people laugh.
3) that my emotional scars yield a never ending flow of creativity.
4) In n' Out.
5) firemen.
6) childhood friends.
7) the spellcheck on my blog. (Though, clearly, it can't save me).
8) terrible relationships for teaching me what not to do.
9) the Facebook like button.
10) inspirations and ideas that come to me when I'm doing mundane things like sweeping.
11) the endless amount of dirt in my apartment that needs to be swept.
12) family and friends who know when something is wrong without asking me.
13) psychic premonitions and instincts that I pay attention to.
14) psychic premonitions and instincts that I don't pay attention to, but that remind me in gentle and not so gentle ways to pay attention to my psychic premonitions and instincts.
15) my six aunts for teaching me so many different ways to be a woman in this world.
16) avocados.
17) my mom for always knowing when I need her.
18) amazing dances, dance partners, and music.
19) Peete's. (The coffee and the shop).
20) Guy friends who try to kiss you on the lip, but settle for the part just outside your lips. (Sorry.)

Just for today, I am grateful.

Unless you're making homemade wreaths and white floral displays with Gwyneth Paltrow, I don't think I'm alone in saying that I've been having some difficulty getting excited about Ghetto Holiday 2010. Between Obama's codependency issues, the sounds of Kenny G's Holiday Muzack collection at Peete's (not a bad reason to go to Starbucks) and the fears of job search rejection, I was ready to boycott any and all eggnog lattes until Santa Claus brings me job, a Baby Daddy and an exterminator for my apartment building. Not to feel sorry for myself, as my heart goes out to families struggling just to pay bills, let alone buy gifts...but it's been a rough year for a lot of people, myself included.

However, after pulling out my collection of $.99 Store ornaments I started to crave the sight of lights reflected on shiny magenta tin on top of a green bushy plant-like object. I figured at the very least can support the people who work in the Christmas Tree Lot industry. So, I drove my ass to an Xmas Tree Lot, stood in the rain, and tried to commune with the spirits of a dozen eviscerated trees.

"You can save $5 if you don't get the stand," said Xmas Tree Lot Guy.

"But won't it will dry out...?"

"It's going to die anyway.."

Gee, way to sell your product. Can't you just pretend that we're not standing in the midst of tree genocide? I got so depressed I left.

I woke up the next day still wanting a tree. So I drank a really strong cup of coffee, got possessed by the ghost of Christmas Better Economy, and bought a tree from a stoned 19-year-old who had a breakdown when he failed to use the cash register correctly.

I came home and put up my tree. It looks awesome.

Just for today, I feel the Holiday spirit.

If there's one thing Christmas (I know it's completely outdated to say the word "Christmas," but I just don't celebrate "Holidays") teaches me each passing year it's this: I need kids.

There are a few reasons:

1) Unconditional Selfless Love (sure, why not).
2) Egocentric Need to Impose My Idea of How People Should Live On A Blank Slate (just admit it).
3) Perfect Excuse For Extricating Myself From Obligatory Social Engagements and Long Work Nights (definitely).
4) (And most importantly) Give Mom An Age Appropriate Person To Discuss Santa's Comings and Goings With (very bad grammar here).

It's not that I don't love being the object of Santa Claus' attention. (Ok, that sounded dirty). Let me try again. It's not that I don't love my stocking. I love that Santa shops at Long's and always gives me a pack of almonds and a tangerine (although, I just realized a horrible thing...I didn't get a tangerine this year). I even love the tradition of "you may not like it, but you will take it home with you and keep it in a drawer for six months" culture of presents that my family embraces. But let's face it, my relationship with Santa passed weird ten years ago. Ok, twenty. In the absence of grandkids or my younger sister, my mom is showering her Xmas love on me.

If I don't have my own kids by next year, I'm going to find me some. In fact, I may start a program of placing orphan poor children with people suffering from a lack of grandparentism. It just doesn't make sense to have so much spirit showered on a single middle-aged woman overidentified with her inner-child.

Just for today, I need kids.

2010. Damn. Can I get off now? 2010 was a roller coaster ride to hell, fun for a moment, and then the person in the car ahead of me puked. At the very least, I wasn't alone.

2011...be kind.

Just for today, I'm happy to bring in the New Year.

I spent Halloween with my friend and her two daughters, giving out candy and attempting to bring back the innocence I once associated with this day. Halloween's fall from grace began sometime after the French Maid (or Playmate) costume began popping up (I want to say 2004) and has since landed somewhere near Stripper Appreciation Day. Halloween (as celebrated in LA) now manages to demean both strippers, professional women, and the very notion of a "dressing up." I'm no prude, but I do know the difference between a costume and lingerie. And I know that female policewomen, nurses, and even leprechauns never wear bustiers...

One year, after I first moved to LA, I and some friends dressed as piñatas. Ok, maybe a little strange considering what people do to a piñatas, but the emphasis was on creativity and ingenuity. We fulfilled the function of this weird holiday and went to a party confident in our clever use of paper mache. Fifteen years later (ok, a few more) hundreds (possibly thousands) of women throughout Los Angeles deprive themselves of the opportunity to excavate their imaginations and resources because some salivating over-sexed guy paid tribute to their sexy doctor costume.

Just for today, I miss the old Halloween.

"I'm going to make pies for Thanksgiving," I told my Mom on the phone tonight.

"Good," she replied.

Only it sounded more like "Good!" as in "Finally!" or "It's about freakin' time!"

Of course, a pie is not a grandchild. But at least I'm moving in the right direction. Strong nurturing women make pies. They have kids, too. But we're settling for pies right now.

"What do I do first?"

"Buy Libby's canned pumpkin pie and read the instructions..."

Somehow, I thought it would be a little more complicated and "foody-ish."

"Buy a Marie Callendar's pie crust..."

"Why don't I just buy a Marie Callendar's pie?"

I, clearly, suck at making pies.

Just for today, I can plan for Thanksgiving.

I ran into an old boyfriend (or something like that) at Trader Joe's on the day before Thanksgiving.

"My wife's pregnant again!" he said immediately upon seeing me.

I guess he's gotten over me.

For years his memory kind of haunted me, as it was filed under Stupid Things You Do In Your Twenties. (Not a short list). When we met I had just broken up with someone and in between arduous tormented relationships. Ok, so I was "rebounding." But what could I do? I didn't want to be alone and he had a hot English accent. Interestingly, he still has it. (I wouldn't change it, either). We began dating a few months before Thanksgiving and so when the holiday rolled around, he invited me to spend it with his peeps.

While I'm hardly qualified to write a book about dating, it's probably not rocket dating science to say that spending a family holiday with someone you hardly know when you're hardly interested in a relationship is not a good idea. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. It was just dinner and he really wanted me to meet his friends! It would be fun! Since he wasn't raised in the US, I figured the holiday felt like Christmas to Jewish people. Being the codependent that I am/was I couldn't say the one monosyllabic word that would set me free..."no."

A very, very, very, very...VERY uncomfortable Thanksgiving ensued. (I want to say "awkward" but that word has reached a saturation point in the zeitgeist). I remember l feeling the eyes of his friends upon me all night. They could smell my lack of interest. I looked at my watch and waited for the pie. Thanksgiving never felt so wrong. (Yes, it has...but this time I felt wrong).

A few days later I told him it wasn't going to work out. He gave me an appropriate amount of guilt and hate. Two things that work like a charm.

Nonetheless, he survived. I did not scar him for life. I probably didn't even create a scab. He seemed happier than any man I'd ever seen while showing me pictures of his children. I felt so much relief.

Just for today, I'm codependent no more.

I used to have this very bratty attitude about the holidays. Basically, it came down to something like this: Until everyone behaves how I would like them to, I refuse to enjoy presents, people, and amazing food.

Occassionally, the sheer goodness of festivity would cut through my resolve for misery. Ok, so the food my mom has made is delicious. Fine. I'm still mad about that comment about [insert gripe of the moment]. Ok, so it's nice to just chill out with friends and family, drink good wine, and forget about life's troubles. You think that's going to make up for my childhood?

So juvenile.

However, two holiday seasons in a row without employment have successfully kicked the last vestiges of that brat out of me. One of those was spent feeling sick and alone. I get it now.

It's the freaking holidays! If you're not dead, enslaved, on the street, or being smacked around, enjoy...damnit!

Just for today, I love the holidays.

...can lead to a holiday depression. It sort of sneaks up on you. One minute I'm enjoying my cream cheese frosted red velvet, and the next I've got black mascara dripping down my face . (Sidenote: cupcake baking is the business to be in. Ten cents to make, 2000% profit...why do I not have those business skeeels?!)

I don't want to feel sorry for myself. All I'll say is that I almost killed my tree with my overheated apartment. Fortunately, I was able to resuscitate it with a my hedge clips and water. Poor thing. All it wanted was a temperate place to shine some X-mas spirit.

Just for today, I can get through my holiday depression.

I think the holidays would be more fun if people gave gifts to people they never really see or talk to (and I don't mean relatives). And I don't mean strangers. I mean people we sort of bumped into for a period of time...at work or in zumba class, and exchanged a passing soulful conversation or survived a miserable job together.

I bought my high school Spanish teacher a box of chocolates. This man inspired me like no other...although I'm not sure what he inspired me to do. I'm super lazy when it comes to Spanish (though my accent rocks). He once kicked me out of his class for being late, but that didn't help my life-long lateness problem...Mr. Schrump was just this very loud, very gay, opera singer, actor, compulsive smoker and punner who totally got me. He's probably pushing 80 now.

Just for today, I feel aligned with the spirit of giving.

After TSA legally robbed me of my silk infusion hair oil (I guess the agent had a case of winter frizz), and I got on the plane, I found myself sitting across the aisle from the actress who read the lead in my play. We kept staring at each other casually until it began to feel like a Seinfeld episode. Neither one of us wanted to be the weirdo who asks, "Do I know you?" and then when the answer is "No" has to feel the embarrassment of having revealed the emotional tangents of her mind. The interaction inevitably leads the to some form of the thought "Are you that desperate for human connection?" (Uh...yes).

Thank God the flight attendant came by and we were forced to look each other in the eye. She said she had initially noticed my New Yorker magazine and was jealous that I was reading something for my brain instead of a beauty magazine hell bent on terrorizing the reader into spending half her savings on treatments.

Coincidentally (fortuitously, ironically, mysteriously...however you choose to file away such occurrences), I was working on the play that she read.

I took the whole event as a sign. For what...I don't know.

Just for today, I believe in a higher power.

My mother has an iron will. It could smooth the crease in my forehead (and I'm sure she'd oblige). Nothing will stop her from celebrating Christmas. Not even ten degree weather. I have to admire that kind of commitment. However, for me (emphasis on the words, "FOR ME"...as in "NO JUDGEMENT HERE, JUST A DESIRE TO SIT IN THE WARM HOTEL AND DRINK A HOT ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE") no Christmas display could possibly be worth becoming a human ice cube. The problems began when I didn't cop to this upfront. Life lesson from Christmas #39: Communication is paramount to personal happiness.

I did enjoy mass, though. However, the church should fire their costume designer. The star costumes made the kids look like members of the KKK.

Just for today, I can speak my truth on Christmas.

Attention: Family....I love you, but you can stop sending me presents. I know you're just being generous to the younger generation, but I'm going to be 40. I swear, I won't feel slighted. Dad, in particularly, please...no more ethnic jewelry. I don't know what to do with my arsenal of large, necklaces with big pendants from around the world. It's not that I don't find a necklace made from recycled coke bottles an inspiring gesture of ecological resourcefulness. But I don't wear large necklaces. Quite frankly, I don't have the rack for them. I'm monogamous with a silver chain.

Just for today, I can speak my truth about gifts.

Good thing TSA doesn't scan for corn husks. If so, the packet of frozen tamales my mom gave me would surely be gone.

She also gave me a tin of homemade cookies. It doesn't matter how much I tell my mom that I don't eat sugar or flour (total lie) she will employ her CIA tactics to get me to ingest anything. (She didn't really work for the CIA...but she should). The process goes something like this:

"Would you like a cookie?" she asks innocently.

"No, thank you Mom. I'm trying to cut down on sugar."

"Are you sure? I made them...."

"Mom, sugar is a drug that leads to an addictive process," I reply. I attempt to educate her.

"Oh, ok...But they have [INSERT DELICIOUS INGREDIENTS] in them."

"No, Mom. I said I'm not eating sugar!"

"Oh, Ok."

Silent pause. [NOTE: This is part of her tactics].

"They also have [INSERT SOMETHING HEALTHY...EX. RAISINS]."

"No, thank you."

She eats one.

"These came out really good."

"Fine! I'll eat a cookie!"

I tell myself that I have no choice while enjoying my [INSERT HIGH CALORIC DESERT] and that my metabolism processes food made from my mother faster while retaining more nutrition.

And then I have three more.

Just for today, I can eat my mom's cooking.

I get it. Time passeth me by....

I spent the New Year weekend (after Saturday) allowing my hair to regain it's natural oil balance (i.e., no shower). It's great once you get past the homeless person phase. Unfortunately, I had to go to work today and, thus, introduced chemicals back into my hair.

I went to a party on New Years where we wrote down what we wanted to let go of on biodegradable helium balloons and then released them to they sky. I wrote some really boring items to let go of on my card, like "Fear" and "Lack of faith." So unoriginal.

Fortunately, the balloon I actually released contained a message I needed to hear, "Let go of negative self-talk and resentment." At midnight we let go of all the balloons and watched them fly up into the sky. It was beautiful.

Just for today, I can release the old.