1) Take clothes to dry cleaner (don't forget coupon).
2) Get eyebrows done (don't take Eyebrow Ladies' comments about your skin personally, remember, it is her job to make you acutely aware of your imperfections).
3) Paint kitchen (remember to ventilate this time. Note to self: if you feel faint, go outside.)
4) Go to work Christmas party (note to self: don't forget to make awkward, self-deprecating chit-chat about your single, childless status).
5) Talk to your therapist about why you feel compelled to make awkward, self-deprecating chit-chat about your single, childless status.
6) At therapist's suggestion rent the first three seasons of Sex in the City, create an altar to Miranda, and write letter to Oprah about peer pressure on women in their 30's.
7) Get hair cut and highlighted (note to self: don't dwell on your conformity to beauty standards. Assume confident posture in sell-out mode.)
8) Have children (note to self: don't forget husband).
9) Meet husband (note to self: make sure you REALLY like him).
10) Fall in love with husband (note to self: try not to have children first).

Dear People of the Earth,

I just thought I'd take this time to say hello and introduce myself. I have never addressed you all as a group before and I thought that it might be a good community-building action (though, I'm sure there's a good chunk of you who can't read this...sorry about that). I'm not quite sure how many people I'm reaching, but boy, it must be a lot! Anyway, I thought I'd take this time to make a statement about the condition of the world. I haven't read the newspaper lately (because I have issues with depression that seem exacerbated by bloody pictures on the LA Times), but I'm pretty sure there are a lot of problems and issues out there. If things are OK, just ignore this letter. However, in the likely chance that there are some less than optimal conditions out there, I'd like to say, first of all, that I really care. I may not know the specific facts, but I do care about humanity. Secondly, I believe that we can change the world if we all believe in ourselves. There. I'm done.

I hope I've given you something to think about.

BFF (Best Friends Forever)

Stella

Dear CBS,

I am writing this letter to let you know how I feel about the fact that you won't air MoveOn.org's Bush in 30 Seconds winning ad during the most widely watched television event of the year (aka, the Super Bowl).

How do I feel? I feel sad. I also feel exactly like I did when I was a little girl and my father told me that I could only have one piece of candy after dinner. So I had my one piece and he stuffed his face with my Halloween candy. And when I said, "but that's not fair." He took a second from chewing and said, "Life's not fair." And those words have rung in my ears ever since.

What I've learned is that, basically, life is unfair. But it is unfair in a different way than how we're used to thinking of unfairness. Sure, it's unfair that those who disagree with the decisions of the Bush administration should be unable to express their views at the Super Bowl. However, it's also unfair that vulnerable, confused, human beings who like football should have advertisements shoved down their throats that glorify alcohol abuse, and mysoginy. That we should be taught to numb out and desensitize those feelings that say, "Hey, wassup?! Something feels largely amiss in a world spending billions on a war with no reason when sending my child to a public school feels like child abuse."

CBS execs, I encourage you to feel the fear and do it anyway. Remember your cushy jobs, cars, and suits don't mean anything if can't let go of the fear.

Let go and let God, CBS. I swear, you'll feel better, and you'll make this a better and more fair world for everone.

Sincerely,

Stella

Dear Michael Banana,

I am so sorry to hear about the death of your late father, Reverend Canaan Sondindo Banana, former president of Zimbabwe, who died in November. I am also honored that you would think of me as a partner to assist you in securing the release of the $24,200,000 USD that your father put in a European account. Your offer of 10% for my assistance is very generous, and I will certainly keep your offer purely confidential. My only question is, how in God's name did you find me? And why did you choose me? I mean you don't even know my name and I have to say that I don't know the first thing about international finance. I also don't know why you would trust an anonymous stranger with that kind of money. It's just a little suspicious. I'm learning to say "No," and I think right now is a good time to practice. So, Mr. Banana (nice name), I respectfully decline.

If you don't find the person the person you're looking for, remember, let go and let God.

Take care,

Stella

I love the word rhombus.

That's all I have for today.

Yeah, yeah, I know all the complaints. Everyone has a freakin' blog, and what sort of person parades around her innermost thoughts and feelings for the world to peek in on. Do you want to know who? Well, I'll tell you.

Who Blogs

1) Me. (That's who).
2) People blessed with an excessive amount of "realness" whose expression can't find an outlet in a society fixated on the pursuit of joyless perfection as defined by some white dudes who drink too much and have more money than God.
3) People with too much time on their hands (I'm not saying that's me, but I can see how that could happen).
4) People who screw around at work (I'm not saying that's me, either, but sometimes I do blog at work, yes...and that's helpful to my overall productivity...so I have read).
5) People acting out against members of their dysfunctional family of origin (definitely me).
6) People whose souls want to be heard (definitely me, when I have access to it).

Why I Blog

1) Because I don't want to grow up and squeeze myself into a life that seems (to me) to be a little box whose sides are called "Wife," "Mother," "Daughter," and "Insert Profession," and which is taped up with "Volunteer Work" and "Cable TV" and "Weekly Hair Salon Appointments" and "Sale at Williams Sonoma" (yech). Given the choice that my "Black and White Thinking" gives me, I'd much rather be the inappropriately confessional writer who dreams of one day making more money than God through her blog (which is interesting, because I didn't think God had to pay for very much...maybe just coffee once in a while).
2) Because it takes me a while to think of come backs and by then it's just waaaaay to late!
3) Because if I don't, I end up filling up little pieces of paper in my purse with random sentences and thoughts like "Crazy Angry Man at 12 Step Meeting" or "Did I know John in a past life?" and it takes me about five minutes to remember the origin before I realize that there is no where else this thought would be relevant...except in a blog!
4) Because my soul begs to be seen and sometimes I find my soul when I'm writing.

Just for today, I am empowered to blog and I can ignore all the critics who would like to silence me (why do they care anyway?...can't they just not visit my site?)

When I find myself whistling "I'm All Out of Love," by Air Supply it's a good sign that my love life is on the downswing. Conversely, I know things are good in that department when I'm humming "I Never Knew Love This Before" by Stephanie Mills. I know that I'm not really having fun talking to someone when I have "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by the Clash in my head. I know I'm feeling inspired and healthy when I burst out "I Sing the Body Electric" in my car. And I know I'm at work doing web design when I'm belting out "Dreamweaver" (which happens about once a week).
I know I'm feeling guilty when I find myself singing the version of the "Our Father" that I learned from Sister Anne when I was seven. It goes, "...and lead us not into tempta-a-tion, but de-liver us from E-e-vil." We had to sing the word "Evil" over and over again to get the notes right. In the end, it sort of seemed like a song about Evil, but almost in a way that made Evil sound good. Especially when sung by a bunch of seven-year-olds about to make their first communion. Twenty-five years later I still can't get the lyrical sound of the word "Evil" out of my head.

Just for today, I can pay attention to the songs that the voices in my head are singing.

Name: Stella

Age: Forty minus eight in counting (32)

Relationship Status: Techincally Single (Currently separated from endless pattern of nebulous, ill-defined relationships)

Food Choice: Anything that will clear sinuses

Previous Occupation: Unpaid Professional

Residence: Mac OS 10

Phone: Purposely Unlisted (formerly the number of celebrated gay male escort Dean Cooper...please see web site for new listing).

Font Family: Comic Sans MS, Courier New

Five Year Plan: Shed the last vestiges of fear and guilt so as to better chanel love and hope into our disconnected society...then I want to have a couple of kids. Manifest money, house, relationship, travel, and unawavering love with powerful vision board made out of pictures cut out from magazines.

Have you every been arrested?: Not in my skill set.

Special Skills: Guessing at content of Korean e-mails, catching grapes and M & M's in my mouth, singing office Karaoke quietly enough so as not to disturb office-mates.

Just for today, I can fill out applications honestly.

The Honda dealership called to tell me that there was an insect nest clogging my air conditioning and that's why water was leaking inside. Gross.

Fortunately, there's no charge.

God bless the Honda dealership.

I think Mr. Texas Holdem is in need of some attention, folks. I think it's safe to say that someone is not getting his needs met. As a society I think it's important that we turn to this human being and give him (or her) the love that he (or her) deserves.

I'd really like to know.

First stock up on pretend healthy low fat foods. For example, blue corn chips and salsa, pistachios, and, my favorite, dairy-free ice cream sandwiches from Trader Joe's (Cuties...and they are). Then get a high-speed cable internet connection that will allow you to quickly entertain any curiousity that flies through the Useless Information Synapses of your brain. For example, what are the lyrics to SoHo's "Hippy Chick?" What was the actor's name who played Long Duck Dong in "Sixteen Candles? (Gedde Watanabe)" Make sure to surf the Internet looking for only totally irrelevant information that couldn't possibly help your life outside of scoring points at the next Cranium Party. Next, check your bank account and fret for approximately 45 minutes. At this point, take a break and journey to the refrigerator for some pistachios. Upon return, find a celebrity in crisis and read up on her/his life (a celebrity who has just published a book about his/her traumatic childhood will do just as well). This will allow for some perspective and will eat up more time that could be spent writing.

Please feel free to add any suggestions. I'm not a pro at it yet, but I have to say, I'm pretty good.

Just for today, I have skills.

The thing about Trader Joe's taquitos is that, try as you might, once you open the container, you just can't eat any of the remainders. They become like little burrito shaped bricks. Why does it not say this on the package? Why do I have to go and have the experience of eating taquito shaped rocks before my life will work?!

Just for today, I wish life was easier.

BAD NEWS = Verizon Wireless Bill

Sure, everyone is entitled to "make mistakes," but is there any compensation for the heart attack I almost had when I checked on my upcoming verizon wireless bill (via the heartless voice automated system)?!! We cleared it up and got it down to a measley $136, but I just don't think "whoops...the system didn't calculate your bill correctly," really cuts it...My breathing just got back to normal a few minutes ago.

GOOD NEWS = Good Skin

I had lunch with my friend Al yesterday and he commented on how good my skin has been looking. I responded with, "Oh, yeah, it's a new skin remedy called Not Working." As it turns out, despite the financial stress, waking up at odd hours, going to yoga for two hours a day, and staying away from neon lighting is a great remedy for dry, puffy, acne ridden skin (do all these go together? On me, they do).

BAD NEWS = Mysoginy in Improv Comedy

I watched an improv show last night in which a young improviser was cast as a "slut," a mute wife, and the woman banged by a prison security guard in the same show. I think Larry Moss said it best when he said that, "It is harder for women (in acting), but the better they are, the better the men are." As a burgeoning improviser, I am working on ways of refusing to cave in to the endemic mysoginy in the improv community. Unfortunately, the representation of female characters in humiliating life circumstances emits laughter from most audiences. Who's to fault? The actors or the audience?

GOOD NEWS = Good Therapist Relationship

Things are going well with my therapist. I'm not annoyed at her for talking so much...(just for today).

Just for today, there is good news and bad news.

I went to my friend Char's house last night and ate pizza and chatted up an endless stream of mindlessly delicious fare. She's the kind of friend you can say things to like, "Brad Pitt is hot" and still feel like an integrated human being with depth and everything. Topics ranged from how lavender and lime-green will eventually be dated colors for the interiors, to how well Jennifer Aniston is aging. I came away feeling like my soul had been oxygenated and that my mindless, chatty media-bludgeoned self had been seen and fully accepted.

That's what real friends are for.

Just for today, I have real friends.

One thing my mom and I like to talk about is movie actors. However, invariably this conversation turns into a discussion on the issue of men's growing heads. According to my mother, men's heads grow with age. The reason why Tom Cruise isn't as cute as he once was is because his head grew. While women have to contend with changes in their skin, men have the unfortunate plight of facing the ongoing expansion of their head and features. I don't know if this is true because I've never never measured a man's head who I've known for any length of time. But according to my mom, this is a problem worthy of multiple conversations. While I agree that some men and women age better than others, I never thought that this was a byproduct of Big Headedness. Perhaps this is an illusion that only my mother see's through her own "fractured prism" (my new favorite cliche), but I suppose we're all entitled to create our own fears of the aging process.

Just for today, I allow my mother space to worry about men's growing heads.

(Note: If anything, I'm REALLY beginning to understand why I am the way I am...I love you mom ;-)

I'm one coffee-date short of a nervous breakdown. My life is so packed that I have to schedule in the stoplights at which I can put on my make-up (Arizona and Pacific). I don't even have time to return my Trader Joe's walnuts (they were like, rotten, and I had to spit them out...very unlady-like). My laundry bag is so compacted it's turning into a piece of furniture (I put my outfits on it).

What's up with working almost full-time?! It's like The Man is trying to keep me down! I don't have time to write about my latest bladder episode! At this piont, I'm giong to have to blog less and make them count more! I might even have to start writing about something important!

Just for today, I'm too busy.

Attention, Friends! Due to cell phone minute constraints I will no longer be available for extended chat sessions between the hours of 8:00 am (I think) and 9:00 pm....UNLESS, you're a Verizon carrier. All others, it's not that I don't like you, it's just that I foolishly thought I could live on 900 minutes a month (ridiculous!). Please be patient, as I am planning to upgrade to the next level of minutes next month. However, if truth be told, the only plan it seems that would appropriately work for me would be one with an allotment of minutes that exceeds the actual number of minutes in any given month(more than 2,678,400). It seems that I have an allergy to the very idea of limitations (and caffeine), and am helpless in my attempts to lead a life without them.

Please bear with me. Thank you for your patience.

Just for today, I can accept my own limitations.

1) I don't care what anyone says, I'm watching "Places in the Heart" at 11:00 pm.

2) Food for thought:

"The only men who want to get married are those who miss their mommies."

- Samantha, Sex and the City (LOVE THAT SHOW!)

Mind you, this was in the first season and she was speaking of "marriage" - not a committed relationship. But still...

3) Is it bad luck to open up a window of your advent calendar before December because you crave chocolate really bad?

Just for today, it's OK to not be able to form a coherent thought.

I'm sending a business letter out tomorrow and I did two things to it (the letter) to try to insure that its repurcussions are positive: I asked my grandmother's spirit to bless it and I graced it with a "Muppet" stamps.

I can't tell you how happy I was the day I discovered that the U.S. Postal Service had (finally) created "Muppet" stamps. I don't care what anyone says, the original Muppets are the greatest creative inspiration of the twentieth century. These characters represent all my character flaws, from my narcissism (Ms. Piggy), to my self-delusion (Fozzie Bear) (...in another life I would write a disseration on this...)

Anyway, I put the stamps featuring "Animal" on my letter to symbolize my raw animal instinct.

Just for today, I can embrace my inner-Muppets (the original ones...not the knock-offs).

P.S. I just want to put out an amends to my little sister for telling her that she looked like a Muppet. You don't look like a Muppet. It was just the way you laughed that one time.

I've been so insanely busy with work (just so you know, I do do things besides pick up Tom Hanks' leftovers...like figure out where the opening and closing div tags go...you know, important stuff) and the general holiday madness (it's just a really good excuse to go to malls and walk around like you have a MISSION) that I haven't had a chance to really blog...I mean REALLY BLOG. Like, sit here and stare at the computer for an hour and then write about...I don't know...the existential emptiness that comes between the exhale and inhale. I mean, like, really blogging!

So, the truth is, that whenever I really set aside time to blog, I find that I don't have much to say.

Just for today, I can blog.

As you can well imagine, Los Angeles is a big city. However, once in a great while there comes a day where everywhere I go I run into someone I know. Why today? What magenetic vibes was I sending out?

Today, it wasn't just people I know, but people I have known from years past. People seemed to come out of pavement to stand before me like time has stood still. It's sort of like running into people from high school, except it was the guy you spoke to at that party on the roof of that building nine years ago who also happened to be in a play with your other friend...there's no clear discernible connection. I have to wonder if there isn't some kind of forcefield that bands certain enclaves of people together. Like, maybe we were all giraffes in Africa in a past life...

Just for today, I feel like I know a lot of people.

If I could learn to blog when I'm not bleary eyed with sleepiness, I might someday write something relevant. Maybe I would even write some incisive quip about how dull the Academy Awards were...alas, I'm so tired of them, I can't even hate them. I'm going to sleep so I can be alive on my birthday.

Just for today, on the eve of my solar birthday, I am barely coherent.

I'm visiting my sister at NYU. While in her dorm room I noticed a sticker of a yearbook senior photo of some guy stuck on her radiator. I asked her about it and she replied, "Oh, that's Sticker Steve. The yearbook screwed up his picture and gave him thousands of stickers with his picture on it. We've pasted them all over our home town and even in Europe."

It reminded me of when I was ten and my grandparents gave me thousands of pencils with my name on them. Maybe it wasn't thousands, but it was enough to create a diaspora of pencils over the next few years to the far reaches of my local universe. Without any apparent effort on my part, my pencils turned up everywhere and were often seen in the hands of people with little or no connection to me. One time someone saw the Korean owner of the local corner store near my junior high writing with one of my pencils. Even after I graduated high school, my pencils could still be occassionally found in my aunt's desk. I couldn't get rid of them.

While hearing about Sticker Steve I realized that I no longer own a single one of those pencils and I felt strangely sad. When an era is finally over I always wonder why I was so eager for it to pass?

Just for today, I can own my pencil legacy.

I'm visiting my sister at NYU. While in her dorm room I noticed a sticker of a yearbook senior photo of some guy stuck on her radiator. I asked her about it and she replied, "Oh, that's Sticker Steve. The yearbook screwed up his picture and gave him thousands of stickers with his picture on it. We've pasted them all over our home town and even in Europe."

It reminded me of when I was ten and my grandparents gave me thousands of pencils with my name on them. Maybe it wasn't thousands, but it was enough to create a diaspora of pencils over the next few years to the far reaches of my local universe. Without any apparent effort on my part, my pencils turned up everywhere and were often seen in the hands of people with little or no connection to me. One time someone saw the Korean owner of the local corner store near my junior high writing with one of my pencils. Even after I graduated high school, my pencils could still be occassionally found in my aunt's desk. I couldn't get rid of them.

While hearing about Sticker Steve I realized that I no longer own a single one of those pencils and I felt strangely sad. When an era is finally over I always wonder why I was so eager for it to pass?

Just for today, I can own my pencil legacy.

First thing...

MADONNA TICKETS!!!

I don't care what anyone says (cuz she doesn't either), Madonna rocks in every sense of the word. She did more for my vision of female self-empowerment when I was a teenager than anyone else I can think of. It's not the music, dancing or her kick-as body (which is impressive) so much as her bold confidence and resilience to any criticism of her entrepreneurial prowess. If for any reason, I'm going to her concert to connect with her brand of high-powered feminine mojo.

The other thing I did this weekend that put some excitement (albeit life-threatening) was to get on a motorcycle with someone. Has anyone ever said that people who ride motorcycles are fundamentally crazy? Well, if not, then I'm saying that people who ride motorcycles are #@$ crazy. Rebellious, and fun, yes! But totally insane. I'd like to first say that I did not know this person didn't have a driver's license or car insurance. Secondly, this particular experience (while fun and rebellious) gave me all the more reason to trust my instincts. Without going into excruciating details, I'll just offer the suggestion that if you ever see a motorcycle weaving through traffic and you like having a side view mirror...PULL OVER!!

Just for today, I can experience different kinds of excitement.

This morning my co-worker asked me what I was doing tonight and I answered:

"Either going to yoga or a pagan ritual to celebrate the new moon...not sure. How about you?"

This didn't go over as smoothly as I would have liked it to. He stared at me for a moment before saying, "Wow, you're really a hippy chick." I wanted to say, "Dude, I ain't no hippy chick...just in touch with the spirit world," but I got scared. I normally try to keep that side to myself in order to preserve my quasi-mainstream image to corporate America, but this morning I was plagued by some perverse desire to be myself.

Just for today, I have the courage to be myself.

What if Brad and Angelina's baby looks like a prune face?

Why does my hair look the best when I stick it underneath the hand dryer after I swim? And can I have one of those installed in my apartment?

Do I like those shirts that flair out because on some unconscious level I'm pretending to be pregnant?

Are the clothes at Forever 21 really made by little kids in China, and if so, am I evil for being happy that jackets were on sale for $10 a piece? (Do I really need to even ask this one?...this is not an official question).

Does it mean I'm not fit to be a mother if I refuse to ever clean up anybody's puke, not even my own child's?

Is forgetting that there was an election today a sign of my degeneration?

Do I need to read anymore? (Cuz I've read enough...it's starting to be redundant).

Do I need a vacation really, really bad? (I think we know the answer...).

Just for today, I can ask questions.

I guess I'll have to just spew out the innards of my psyche in lew of my normally finely crafted blog (don't laugh). I know I've been very remiss regarding my blog lately. I've actually been having some health challenges that involve my female anotamy (which I won't get into because the thing that starts with a "P" that more than half the population of the world deal with on a monthly basis is considered "inappropriate" by the other part of the population - which is less than half - and I care far too much about what people think to be that much of a free spirit...for today).

ANYWAY... I've decided to take off my Married Man Magnet (actually, I didn't know I had it on). It's not that I'm interested in married men, but it just seems like there are a lot of very friendly married men Out There who take my time up at parties and other social gatherings (my therapist tells me that it's me who is playing "safe," but WHATEVER...I'm getting a little tired of her little "analysis" and what all..I mean, who does she think she is telling my my bidness?). Either way, the point is, married men are a GIANT waste of my time (did you hear that?). And if you're a married woman reading this and thinking "Why don't you get yo own damn husband?!" (except, minus the ghetto accent) I'll quote Jennifer Aniston (or the character she played) in "Friends With Money" (which was OK, except for this line) and say, "I would if I could!!" (cuz I'm not tryin' to steal yo man...!) I mean, I know I'm supposed to be married (or close to it) by now, but I'm missing the normal gene, or forgot to put it on my "To Do" list or something, but I'm working on it...Boy, I really need some sleep!

Just for today, I can spew forth into my blog.

I already broke my promise to blog every day. See, that's the problem with commitments...you have to commit to them.

I have sort of a good excuse. I had a very strange, surreal, slightly traumatizing and oddly nurturing day yesterday. After a terrible night of sleep on Friday, I woke up late on Saturday morning. All I could think about was how much money to spend on shampoo, whether I should get my eyelashes dyed, and if I really have to buy the book for my new acting class. I flew out the door in a flurry of last minute crazies to rush to my meeting with the intention of putting my make-up on in my car. At the intersection to take a left, I was so distracted with making sure I had put my MAC eyeshadow in my swim bag, that it took me a while to realize that all the cars had moved ahead. I had no sooner stepped on the gas pedal than I saw the car in front of me collide with an oncoming SUV that then went on to do four flips and land 100 feet away. It just went on and on and on...and I just sat there and thought, "Am I watching someone lose their life?!" It was like watching a car chase in the movies...except it was horrifyingly real. I held my breathe (forgot to breathe), called 911, and since there were about forty people rushing to the scene I turned left (very slowly), saying a little prayer for both parties (the car of the guy making the left was relatively unscathed), and drove on at 20 mph.

After my meeting I was telling my friend about the accident, still feeling quite shaken, when a red balloon suddenly emerged out of nowhere (we were on a balcony). She handed it to me as if I were meant to have it. The rest of the day was spent obsessing about salsa shoes (a perfect remedy for any emotional trauma). Later on, I went to Trader Joe's and the check-out guy asked me (for the second time that day) if I wanted a balloon.

One car accident and two balloons later (and a pair of salsa shoes), I arrived home to find some semblance of peace.

Just for today, I can slow down.

Such is the nature of commitments...they aren't always fun and exciting.

Just for today, I keep my commitments.

I had to turn my comments off because I was being inundated with a hail storm of spam that triggered my inner-victim and made me want to cry. However, now that I realized that I can configure my publishing platform to approve or deny comments (hello!), I am receiving much less...so, uh...(shuffle)... what I'm (ahem) saying, in case you haven't guessed it already, is...would you please leave me a comment? It's kind of lonely to look at all of those 0's!!

Just for today, I can ask to get my needs met.

I'm so busy keeping up with social networking trends, I haven't had time to blog...first Friendster and MySpace...now I'm being pulled onto Facebook and LinkedIn...WTF?! With all this time and energy spent we could all be attending weekly parties in real time. I'm ready to pull the plug on all of it. I'm tired of enabling people to create the illusion of a social life. If you want me in your life, ask me to coffee. If you want to feel connected in a meaningful way, leave the US and join a tribe in Africa (or any third-world country). Otherwise, accept the fact that we are isolated American who bond over television shows and spend your social networking time doing something more productive for society (like blogging about your feelings of rage towards the deterioration of human relationships) or yourself, for that matter. I recommend salsa dancing, but I imagine there are other activities that require face to face communication...(being a salsa addict, I have difficulty thinking of examples...).

The termites haven't returned. I guess they found someone else to torment. That, or they were some kind of pre-Halloween appetizer (great timing). Super Evil Flash Programmer decided to erect a ten foot skeleton pirate doll directly behind his cube. He claims his wife refused to let him hang it up in their house because she has no holiday spirit. I think he has some Hamlet-like (English Major Alert) issue with his father...how much you want to bet it stays up there till Easter?

Jewish American Salsera asked me if I had ever gone on a date with someone I met on Halloween. She says that Halloween is a bad night to go out because the guys you meet are never as cute as they seem when they're dressed up like Johnny Depp...

(giant sigh)...I think the fires are getting to me.

Just for today, I'm all over the place.

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

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

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

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

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.

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...

I can't seem to blink these days without wondering if I'm doing something that's bad for my health. There's currently a fly in my apartment that's landing all over my kitchen and laying eggs and puking and spreading semonela, everything in my refrigerator has too much acidity, and the crappy air and car exhaust of Los Angeles is floating into my apartment. So stressful being paranoid...

I'm thinking of getting a mindless part-time job that will allow me to not exhaust my brain in the Rat On Steroids Race and, therefore, finish my book. However, it's so expensive to live in LA, a less skilled job will probably also not allow me to roam the aisles of DSW with boxes of shoes. I just don't want to spend any more precious minutes of my life letting The Man suck me dry until I'm a pathetic puddle of frayed nerves half-heartedly searching the Internet for something she forgot five seconds prior to noticing the lovely Google design of the day.

I'm also drinking some magical water that has been filtered through a $4,000 contraption. What makes it magical? Probably the fact that the filter cost four grand. If it was a filter I could buy at Targae, it would probably only be mildly beneficial to my health. See how cynical I've become?

Giant sigh.

Just for today, I can be alive on a Monday.