Sometimes it´s important to get away from the life we know in order to see it more clearly. Just for today, I can be grateful that I have been able to take a wonderful tropical vacation on an island in the Carribean. Amidst fresh fish, mangos, a hot sun and clear swimming pool water, I am able to contemplate my life. It´s funny though how my co-dependent issues follow me around the world. Despite being miles from home I still attract stray broke pot-smoking musicians. How do they find me? I must have a vacancy sign flashing ¨CO-DEPENDENT VACANCY.¨Sigh. I guess just for today I can still practice saying ¨No.

My traveling partner Krista has been waking up with a black tongue every morning. I think it´s due to the pepto bismol that she´s taking to avoid geting sick from the water. She fears that it´s some mysterious tropical disease whose only symptom is a black tongue. I´m learning that it´s important not to laugh at other people´s fears. Just for today, I can respect other people´s neuroses, just as they respect my own.

I am having so much fun on my vacation, I can´t believe I´ll have to go back to a
dreary office life. After various adventures in local bathrooms on the island (including my own), I have made a new commitment to stay away from any salsa or ceviche. However, despite these trials I was able to spend a wonderful day snorkeling among a reef filled with beautiful tropical fish and barricudas. A fourteen-year-old boy proved a great guide for me and my traveling partner as we floated along the reef amidst a slightly strong current. Despite his attempts to cop a feel more than a few times, Krista and I tipped him well for cooking us a delicious lunch of barbecued fish. Just for today, I am grateful for a world filled with so much beauty and deliciousness.

I am learning that people from other countries do business differently than they do in the United States. For instance, in Mexico, vendors don't have "prices," so much as an idea of how much you are willing to pay. If you happen to ask them for a "price" and pay it you might end up spending your budget on a tiny trinket. However, if you offer a price that is seen as to low, you are likely to feel wracked with guilt for being a cheap American who cares nothing for the trials of families in third world countries. In the end, I have decided to accept that my purchases are in part a donation to the wonderful culture of this country. Just for today, I can haggle in peace.

Sometimes coming back from vacation, means coming to reality. It's interesting how nothing changed in my life while I was gone. All of my problems are still waiting for me. The only difference is that now that I am rested, I can see my problems more clearly, in all their glory. Sometimes coming back from vacation is hard. Just for today, I can have compassion for myself for living in reality.

I just find monolithic resorts kind of sad. It's like vacationing on a slave plantation. However, for the sake of my own need to erase my life of my own fears and pressures, I can temporarily block out the fact that all the maids and waiters and bar tenders are dark skinned and look Indian, whereas the great majority (let's just say all) of the tourists are Lily white. But there is always an insidious feeling of....the word "inequality" comes to mind as a gross understatement.

My only solace comes from the knowledge that non-Americans live in a world of considerable less spiritual dissolution, and at the very least, aren't burdened with the constant pressure to consume.

My greatest fear is that I'm the worse type of American - worse than ignorant naive Americans who don't know better and weren't raised bi-racially in a liberal hot bed - because I'm a GIANT hypocrite. I need to remind myself that hating myself for the state of the world doesn't change anything...except my mood.

Just for today, I can accept my hypocrisy and enjoy the monolithic resort I'm staying in (and the fact that I frequently end sentences with a preposition).

#1: I showed up at the Qantas check-in counter and announced to the ticket agent that I was on a plane leaving to Melbourne. Flight number? What? Itinerary? What? Visa? What? Hotel name? Details, details...it always works out and it did.

#2: My fifteen hour flight flew by in a flash, and I didn't even have to pop a Xanex..so what if I was drooling? People who travel with me always resent my ability to curl up into a ball and sleep like a baby on any moving mode of transport.

#3: There's something about jet lag that reminds me of getting high in junior high school. It's disorienting, alienating, but strangely fun.

#4: Oh, and I almost forgot the most important thing... the guys are REALLY cute!

#5: Internet cafe's are kind of intense.

#1: I'm having some serious coffee issues. I'm used to drinking jet fuel in the morning. The local idea of coffee is a shot of mild espresso. I have to ask for five of these in a cup with no milk and even that tastes like de-caf to me. Now I am resisting the urge to go the Starbuck's here because I find it unfortunate that American culture spreads like wild fire, or cancer. It's not that I don't like Starbuck's or "The Simpson's" or "Star Wars," or the "The Eagles," but why do I have to hear "Hotel California" blaring out of a bar on every remote corner of earth? I think I should write a movie about a woman who tries to find a society untouched by American culture and ends up going insane because she has traveled to a far away indigenous mountain culture in Northern Brazil and hears Brittney Spears coming out of someone's hut. The world has gotten so small, there's just no escaping the barage of Americanaism (to coin a new word).

#2: There must be something in the air here, or in the food or the athleticism, but the guys are so good-looking (and the women, but I mostly notice the guys)! There are no fat people like the giant extra-large-french-fries people in the US.

#3: We haven't seen any aboriginal people in town. They must live in the outskirts. Why are dark skinned people oppressed all over the world? When are white people going to be oppressed?

#4: Nothing makes me as crazy as a bad internet connection.

I'm an ignorant American. Clearly, I am, because I thought that Australia was all kangaroos and leathery skin. Little did I realize that the local hip bohemians wear clothes designed and manufactured here in Oz that far hipper and fabulous than the cookie cutter designer labels or the just plain weird outfits I find in Los Angeles.

I had no idea how much I had internalized American imperialism. Not only are the ladies more fashionably dressed, but every intersection has a buzzer sound when the green walk light goes on. And, of course, as in every country, everyone knows more about my country than I know about theirs. Who's your prez? Hmmmm, interesting.

Just for today, I can accept that I am an ignorant Ameircan.

One things for sure, Americans aren't winning any popularity contests. In case I had any doubts, it's pretty crystal to me now that the world is not feeling very pumped about the U.S.

Not that I blame anyone in their vitriol. If you ask me Jack in the Box (or, as it is called in Australia, Happy Jack), Pizza Hut, and McD's are coercive, if subtle, forms of terrorism. Forget about the food, they're just scary to look at. And I think there's an insidious oppressiveness in formulaic Hollywood movies where all the character's have neat little revelations and the plot ties up into a perfect package, when all the revelations in the world don't seem to tie up the loose ends of my life (and, boy, do I have revelations...like right now). And watching American sit-coms that aren't well-written is just watching abusive relationships with no awareness (or recovery).

I can deal with living in America because I have a hard shell of cynicism to protect me. It's OK, for me. I'm vaccinated against the effects of a fast food, truth-bending, media blitzing culture, I can tune it, out and process it, like flour. But imagine if you grew up in a more gentle, creative, culture, that embraced the notion that we live in a vast, mysterious, and diverse world?! Then it would be really terrifying. How would you deal with Ronald McDonald or Barney? You might really get their freakishness in all it's glory. It's sort of like the effect of sugar and alcohol on Native American and Aboriginal populations who never experienced it in their diet, when they did it was devastating...

Still, it's kind of a bummer to feel that I'm somehow part of a culture that's wrecking thoughtless havoc on the world. I suppose I can take more political action to ease my guilt, but in the end, I have to own that I have some thread of American arrogance in me...how could I not?

Just for today, I feel slightly bummed about being an American.

My boyfriend and I drove to Santa Barbara to see the God of satirical writing, David Sedaris, speak. Although we didn't have quite the degree of people worship mojo necessary to wait an hour in a book signing line, we were both very inspired by his awesomeness.

As for Santa Barbara...well, it felt a little odd to be in a town where perfect strangers will strike up conversation with you on a street corner or in a restaurant as if it's normal. In Los Angeles people only speak to you when they're strange and scary. Likewise, if you decide to randomly strike up conversation with the cashier you (I) simply accept the designated vibe of "strange and scary person." However, in Santa Barbara people who speak to you on the street don't seem to see themselves as anything but social animals. One nice guy with a beard and dreadlocks actually approached us and asked us if we were lost and then spoke to us for ten minutes about his chill vibe . We decided he was extrememly lonely, but admired his well-groomed beard (I'm still recovering from my boyfriend's unkempt beard that he recently shaved...thank God).

We eventually succumbed to the pace of this small town and spent hours in a coffee shop watching people stroll by as if there were no such thing as traffic to sit in and Cost-co lines to stand in...

Just for today, I can slow down.

Last Friday I entered into a risky travel venture, also known as flying on Delta Airlines (if you have stock, either keep it for a few more decades, or sell it NOW!). I flew from Los Angeles to Atlanta, Georgia to make a very simple connection to Albany, New York. Now, I've never worked in the airline industry, but it's my guess that one needs three essential things to get a plane off the ground: a plane, a gate, and some pilots. After re-routing what appear to have been many cancelled flight on this fateful day, the Delta agents (or whatever master-mind works behind the scenes and laughs at the false hopes of those who still believe in the viability of connecting flights) could not manage to bring these three items together at the same place and time. After seeing our flight dissappear completely from the monitor several times (as if that would somehow make the issue go away and we'd just forget about flying and think, "Hmmm...maybe I'll go bowling instead of reaching my destination"), the posse of Flight 245 was sent to three different gates. At one point, the Delta agent (I don't know how she held up) raised our hopes when she announced, "We have the plane and gate, we're just waiting for our pilots..." (Two out of three! In my bedraggled state, that sounded like plenty. Who needs a pilot, anyway?!) Alas, the hope proved false as we were soon sent migrating over to Gate D, the sound of luggage wheels banging on the floor was deafening. Once at the new gate,our pilots finally showed up and stood around with us drinking coffee and looking equally confused. Now we had pilots and a gate, but where was our plane?! Details, details...(these people actually run an airline?!).

After talking for hours with people whose flights had been completely cancelled and who were planning on camping out on the lovely airport carpets, I hung onto the hope that I still technically had a flight. Finally, seven hours after arriving, I boarded the plane, still unconvinced that our pilots wouldn't suddenly realize they were supposed to be on the plane flying to Pensacola. I was so tired, I had to stop my bonding with the other passengers.

I got in at two o'clock in the morning, safe and embittered. I know there are far worse things that could happen to me during air travel, but I like being bitter.

Just for today, I recommend staying clear from connecting flights in Atlanta, Georgia and Delta Airways.

I arrived back in LA yesterday after spending four days in the Berkshires of Massachussetts where I did manage to recover from my traumatic layover long enough to have a a really nice vacation. I arrived at noon and went straight to work like a proper martyr. However, I kept thinking, "something doesn't feel right." Deoderant? Check. Heaven by The Gap? Check. Bra? Check. It felt like everything was in place, but for some reason I just felt really, really... gross. And that's when I realized that I was wearing the un-holy stale film of Airplane Skin.

I had thought that the bath the night before would suffice me throughout following the day, but alas I had forgotten the realities of being thousands of feet above the ground for 6 hours in a tiny space occupied by about 150 bodies breathing the same stale recycled oxygen. The post-flight film that sets over me after flying feels unlike any other kind of dirtiness that I've ever experienced - as if my pores have imploded beneath a thin layer of wax. I can't quite explain it, but those of you who fly might agree that it's pretty nasty.

I think I felt fresher after spending a week backpacking with my father (against my will...as if I need to qualify) in the Sierras where we polluted mother nature's purity by using her as an outdoor latrine. I felt fresher after spending late nights in the cigar, stale beer-infested fraternity houses that I inhabited on weekends when I was 18 (embarrassing? Yes, more on that later...). For nothing, nothing feels grosser than airplane skin (have I made my point clear?...I know there are more important things to write about...but this was fun!).

Just for today, I can bathe after I fly.

I'm in Lake Tahoe taking a desperately needed break. It feels like I've been driving for an eternity, listening to the sound of silence or The Rolling Stones, depending on what thoughts are passing through my mind. There's nothing like driving Interstate 5 to make a person take stock of life, if only because there's absolutely nothing to look at on this stretch of freeway. I'm convinced that there's a patch of freeway on I5 that begs for silence because every time I drive through there (where? not sure...somewhere after the cows) I turn off all music and simply absorb the utter lack of scenery that pervades this part of central California. By the time I'm just about to reach 580 I'm usually in some kind of driving coma with the mantra "...almost at 580..." running through my brain like a trucker's affirmation. Anyway, needless to say, I did arrive to my mom's house and am now in Lake Tahoe.

Just for today, I can be on vacation.

I'm enjoying my meta-vacation today by not getting out of bed. I arrived in Lake Tahoe two days ago and yesterday I went running, boating, swimming in the lake, and bike riding. Such meta-vacationing (if you understsand what I mean by this, please inform) has been pretty tiring. But, as you can see, it's insanely beautiful here. The scenery cuts into my self-absorbtion like a knife. I'm staying with my Cool Rich Aunt. Not only does she have a big house and two boats on the lake, but her self-help library rivals mine and I can talk about every nuance of my recovering life without her ever giving me a skeptical look and saying things like, "Don't think so much." We're kindred spirits, minus the wise investments and substantial equity (unfortunately, I think I'm missing the entreprenurial gene...but I do have a blog that earned me $.27 last quarter).

Counting both sides of the family I have six aunts and no blood uncles (that sounds weird...not related to me). All of these women have given me something or modeled some way of being a woman in the world. This particular aunt has done things like helicopter ski in virgin territory and make a killing in real estate, all while maintaing her feminity. While none of my aunts fits any stereotype (and I repeat...ANY stereotype), I am grateful to this particular one for really showing me how to embrace my own life.

Just for today, I am grateful for my Cool Rich Aunt.

I spent the New Year in Mexico recovering from the worst flu of my life and desperately trying to breathe in the relaxed vibe that is Mexico. Mexican culture is so chill. Everyone from the taxi driver to the guy cleaning the floor outside our condo seems to have more peace than the average American. Coming back to the United States from Mexico is like pressing the fast forward button. No sooner did I arrive back into Los Angeles 2006, than I received tickets to a self-help weekend seminar (cult #429). It has something to do with how to attain wealth and power. The tickets have a picture of an eyeball mirroring money next to a guy walking on dollar bills. The website also mentions something about meaningful relationships (I guess they thought they'd throw that in)...I was thinking about not going, but then I thought of the material I'd be misssing...

Just for today, I appreciate American culture.

I've been in NY for five days visiting my sister at NYU and friends from college. Even as a visiting tourist I feel compelled to walk quickly and with a purpose. This is a fantastic city, but I have to say I'm a California hippy at heart. My natural speed is significantly slower...and I live in LA (not exactly a sleepy town). I'm not sure exactly where in NY I can go to express that part of me that wants to speak in non-sequiters and stare into the ether (do any Pisces actually live in NY?)...but if there is a place, it's definitely below ground in the subway.

Last night a guy got on my car and announced that he was from outer space and was here to save us by playing a song on his trumpet (he was quite good). After his song he told us that he was going to take George Bush away and asked for a collection to support his mission. At which point I, and most people handed over some money.

Just for today, I heart NY.

I'm in this very strange part of the country where the air is really clean and there are lots of tall wooden things with green stuff on them. Yes, I have actually forsaken the urban jungle to commune with nature. Do you realize that there are places on God's green earth (and they happen to be green places) where there is not only no Internet or cell access, but no cable TV (shudder)...?!!!!

In truth, it's very lovely and majestic here (Lake Tahoe) and much better now that I have decided to stay in my aunt's home (which is very civilized and wireless), instead of the rustic family cabin a few miles away where my dad and brother are roughing it (NO WIRELESS OR CELL ACCESS???!) with spiders....yes, I said spiders.

Did I mention that I woke up this morning inside the rustic family cabin to find that a spider had BITTEN MY EYE?! My eye looks like I got into a fight with someone who threw a non-commital punch. It's "not that bad" as my dad and aunt and everyone keeps saying while they roll their eyes at my "drama queen" pleas for sympathy. Sure, it's no big deal to them. They didn't wake up to look on their pillow and find pieces of dead spider all over and soon realize that last night a spider was on their face BITING THEIR EYE!

The sad, interesting, and brutal irony is that way back in the late 70's I went on a camping trip with my father at which we slept outdoors and at which I also woke up with a swollen eye. Again, it was "no big deal" until I went to school and my Kindergarten teacher sent me home and told me to go to the hospital (ISN'T THAT WHAT "CONCERNED" PARENTS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO?).

As you can see, I'm having a lot of feelings about parents, nature, and spider-bitten eyes (why do they go for my eyes?!!). I can't wait to see my shrink on Friday...

Just for today, I can survive a family vacation.

I went up to Joshua Tree for the weekend and stayed at a dear friend's rented house. I loved it. I can't find words to describe how the beauty of the desert makes me feel. But I'm a writer, so I'll try. It's like the space between my brain and my heart. It's like empty beingness with a purpose or the faraway look of someone you love who you desperately wish would pay attention to you...( Ok, so I tried).

Supposedly, the Joshua Tree area is a vortex of energy. Something to do with the fault lines and God knows what...whatever it is, it had a tangible effect on me. That and the full moon going on gave me some kind of cosmic jolt that made me do crazy things like drive all the way to the store to buy a toothbrush and then leave it there. I also left my keys in J.Crew, but that's when I was shopping at the outlets (which, by the way, would make anyone crazy, but that has nothing to do with energy vortexes...at least I don't think).

I know why artists and writers go to the desert to create. It's the silent empty space before everything...

Just for today, I can retreat to the desert.

I arrived in New York this afternoon after a harrowing day. Ok, so the plane didn't crash or anything [although I did spend most of last night imagining an improbable emergency ocean landing in which all passengers survive the impact...However, many don't know how to swim, EXCEPT for me, who spent all summer in the pool (until my sinuses imploded in August) and because of what fabulous shape I was in two months ago, I am able to perform heroic feats that are caught on video...At that point, I became concerned about the untethered nature of my connection to reality). HOWEVER, this day did present me with several stress challenges and I did have a gratuitous freak-out when the metal detector wouldn't let me pass (it's tough being a jangly silver jewelry person in airports) and I had to get felt up by an 18-year-old girl (if it had been the guy, it might have been a different story).

Now that I'm here and immersed in all the busy, cold, holiday energy and had a fabulous Italian dinner with Pinot Noir and a chocolate brownie, I can stop being a victim and life has hope and possibility again [minus the fact that another holiday has rolled around and I'm "STILL" (if there were SUPER-SIZED quotations, you would see them here)...(three giant sighs followed by a prayer) S.I.N.G.L.E.

Which is not to say that I'm not fabulous, grateful for my life and health, and, most importantly, fabulous...

Just for today, I'm grateful to have arrived safely in NYC.

This is such a great city. Not only are there a plethora of fabulous restaurants, stores, and theaters, but it seems like there are a lot more single thirty-something men. If I stay single any longer, I just might have to move here.

Then I had dinner with my old comedy friend who used to live in LA. We talked about how the men in LA are enabled to act like teenagers for their entire lives (which I can attest to since I live in the Land of the Middle Aged Single White Man). However, she assured me that the men here are just as stunted underneath, they just disguise it better here (all the scarves and warm jackets). Still...it seems more promising.

Just for today, I'm considering my move to NYC.

...because if I've seen one mountain, I've seen them all. I managed to come away from my ski trip with all my limbs intact despite one major backward-back-sliding, snow-up-my-back-and-down-my-pants, face-to-face intimate moment with the snow. To be fair, it was a black diamond run. But still, there's no denying the dose of humble snow pie that comes with eating it (no pun intended). Other than that, my only ailment has nothing to do with skiing. I have some eye fungus that I got from cheap mascara (don't ever buy 2 for 1) that has made my lids red and itchy and kept me from wearing any make-up. It's either that or allergies. Anyway, I am walking the world sans make-up for the first time since I was 11!

Humility is the word for the year so far.

Just for today, I accept my humanity.

I was in Santa Barbara (a town that seems to be on a permanent vacation) for a few days spending time with my dad and brother. Just the feel of hotel sheets brought tears to my eyes. It was kind of a tease because all it did was bring to light just how tired I really am.

I went on a hike with my father and now that he's 64, I can almost keep up with him. I remember when anyone who knew him refused to hike with him because he inevitably led said victim off the trail into a all-day-and-night quest. This time we managed to get back to the car before it was totally dark.

Just for today, I can take a short family vacation.

I'm detoxing in Mexico right now. Not my body, but my brain. My synapses are fried from sending out too many corporate-speak emails. Below is an example of the average email I sent.

Hi -

What's ETA on deliverables?

thank,

No articles, and very few verbs. I call it Emailish, not quite English.

Anyway, the fact that I'm in a foreign country and on vacation and blogging about work emails, says it all.

I think I'm getting a massage tomorrow.

Just for today, I need to detox.

I'm recovering from corporate america in San Miguel de Allende, land of aging Gringos. The town is like one big retirement community supported by Mexicans. I've never seen so many old people in my life. I realized that in Los Angeles I don't see old people. I guess they stay indoors. Here, they're everywhere. The woman I'm staying with says that the male/female ratio is 1/10, so the Gringo Grandpa's are getting it on.

Still, I understand why older people move to Mexico as the pace of life is slower and gentler. I love the stronger sense of community among Mexican people. Anyone person's problem is everyone's problem. The other night, we were driving a couple home and the car hit a rock on the sidewalk and got stuck right outside of their house. The Gringo Grandpa we were giving a ride home shouted orders while walking to his front door. Meanwhile, a group of Mexicans got together and literally lifted the car off the rock.

Today, I let a 25-year-old give me a ride to town on his motorcycle. I don't ride motorcycles in the states, where the law requires people to wear helmets. Why I chose to ride on one in a town filled with cobble stone streets and no stops signs or traffic lights, without a helmet, is a question to ponder before I do it again tomorrow. I guess, when in Rome...

Just for today, I can chilax in San Miguel de Allende.

Some of the old gringos keep asking me out and while I have nothing against cross-generation dating, I'm just not quite at 60...just, yet. I just barely started accepting 40-year-old men as part of my dating pool.

So far, I have only met four Salseros: the salsa teacher, the DJ, a local, and a guy I met last night. After he asked me to dance and his girlfriend left in a huff. It's good to know that salsa drama exists all over the world. I feel her pain, but all I'm looking for is a good dancer. It's like a Salsero desert in this small town, and anyone who knows a few moves will do. When it comes to salsa, I'm a junkie who will hang out with anyone just to get my fix.

Just for today, I'm keeping my salsa up in Mexico.

When I first came to Mexico I felt like an empty shell. I still feel like my soul has been permanently damaged by the insidious influence of American consumerism and general culture of greed - and I admit I can be as bad as any jet-flying corporate exec (except my jets are weekly pedicures and overpriced hair and skin products). However, my tainted soul is feeling a little more chill.

What'd I do in Mexico? Shop. Eat. Sleep. Shop. Same things I do in LA...just done a lot more slowly.

Just for today, I feel well rested.

When I first came to Mexico I felt like an empty shell. I still feel like my soul has been permanently damaged by the insidious influence of American consumerism and general culture of greed - and I admit I can be as bad as any jet-flying corporate exec (except my jets are weekly pedicures and overpriced hair and skin products). However, my tainted soul is feeling a little more chill.

What'd I do in Mexico? Shop. Eat. Sleep. Shop. Same things I do in LA...just done a lot more slowly.

Just for today, I feel well rested.

Joblessness, fear, freeways, writer's block, anxiety, crazy drivers, compulsive shopping, fear...it was time to leave the freeway pit and visit Super High Powered Aunt (aka, Rich Tahoe Aunt). Lake. Check. House on lake. Check. Boat. Check. Sun. Check. Firemen. Check. (We made them dinner for them). A place to crash. Check.

My father used to bring me to Tahoe every summer when I was a kid. For years I had no interest in Tahoe because it just reminded me of being ignored and long, endless hikes in tortuous heat. It reminded me of loneliness. And sun. And some fun, too.

But I realized that it's ridiculous to ignore a perfectly awesome vacation destination for a few lame ass memories.

Just for today, I'm so happy to get away.