It's funny the secrets that people will allow themselves to pour out in a writing class such as mine. Since it's a personal essay class, every thing we write about is essentially true. Knowing this, a group of people can get close pretty quick. Tonight, for example, I had to critique a classmate's 15-page essay on his obsession with porn...which was...quite graphic. I wondered, as I scribbled comments and edits in the margins, how this essay might be perceived by another classmate, who in the first month admitted to having a sexual addiction problem. And what would Seth, another classmate, who said on the first day "Seth likes sex!" be thinking? Or the woman who is all about Jesus and always sits in the corner?
It truly is like therapy. A safe room where we can tell anything, or nearly anything, to each other.
Anyway, I'm feeling like a fatty post-Thanksgiving. I know I've reached a certain point when I suggest to my roomie that we need to hit the gym. But the weekend was fantastic, filled with just the right amount of food, classic family potty humor, rest and beautiful weather.
"Joanna, when you putt, you look like you're sitting on the toilet."
Ah...family!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
One more thought
A friend told me that when you're with someone, you can imagine your whole life with that person. You just do.
But when it's over, suddenly you feel like you have a world of opportunities open to you. So many doors.
It's true.
But when it's over, suddenly you feel like you have a world of opportunities open to you. So many doors.
It's true.
Gobble Gobble!
Thanksgiving is just a few days away. I always thought Christmas was my favorite holiday but Thanksgiving is coming up a close second. Can a holiday get any simpler than just giving thanks and being with your family and friends? No need for the materialism and stress that Christmas may bring: just eat and reflect on what you're thankful for this year. Awesome!
Tomorrow I'll be leaving work early to hop on the crowded I10 with a friend to head east to Arizona for the feast. This is my first time driving home since moving to Los Angeles so I'm sure it'll be an interesting...and long...ride. I've already charged my iPod in preparation for the six plus hour drive. If we're lucky it'll be six...so I'm sure to be sleepy and achey tomorrow night, ack.
This past Sunday Roomie and I hosted a successful pre-Turkey Day celebration for 17 Brentwood friends. We'll...90% of them were from Brentwood and at that point, who cares. The turkey came out golden brown. This is after Roomie and I once again struggled to hold that slimy bird down and pull out those guts. There was screaming again. And that neck...pulling out the neck. Horrid!
Anyway - I'm still not sure how we managed to squeeze that number in our little apartment....or, for that matter, how we managed to even find the space on our 1960s-style kitchen counters for the insane amount of food, but we did. Another victory: none of our cheap wine was spilled throughout the night. We also ended up bonding in some odd way with our remarkably formal and sweet upstairs neighbor. We weren't sure what age she was (we guess anywhere from 5-1o years old, given her poise and manners), but she's actually younger. You just sort of want to shake her to see if she'll get sort of wild. But she came in handy, allowing us to use her oven to warm up side dishes.
Tonight I've got to pack and run errands and make it to writing class. I've got one week to come up with a clever longer piece to share with the class and to be critiqued. Yikes. Any ideas on what I should write about?
Happy Thanksgiving!
Tomorrow I'll be leaving work early to hop on the crowded I10 with a friend to head east to Arizona for the feast. This is my first time driving home since moving to Los Angeles so I'm sure it'll be an interesting...and long...ride. I've already charged my iPod in preparation for the six plus hour drive. If we're lucky it'll be six...so I'm sure to be sleepy and achey tomorrow night, ack.
This past Sunday Roomie and I hosted a successful pre-Turkey Day celebration for 17 Brentwood friends. We'll...90% of them were from Brentwood and at that point, who cares. The turkey came out golden brown. This is after Roomie and I once again struggled to hold that slimy bird down and pull out those guts. There was screaming again. And that neck...pulling out the neck. Horrid!
Anyway - I'm still not sure how we managed to squeeze that number in our little apartment....or, for that matter, how we managed to even find the space on our 1960s-style kitchen counters for the insane amount of food, but we did. Another victory: none of our cheap wine was spilled throughout the night. We also ended up bonding in some odd way with our remarkably formal and sweet upstairs neighbor. We weren't sure what age she was (we guess anywhere from 5-1o years old, given her poise and manners), but she's actually younger. You just sort of want to shake her to see if she'll get sort of wild. But she came in handy, allowing us to use her oven to warm up side dishes.
Tonight I've got to pack and run errands and make it to writing class. I've got one week to come up with a clever longer piece to share with the class and to be critiqued. Yikes. Any ideas on what I should write about?
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
A lifetime of faces
My email on my incredibly modern computer keeps locking up and crashing, so I thought I'd write a little. Only the finest, most modern tools for the employees at my company, I tell you!
I got my hair cut by a lesbian named "Robin" last night with crazy spiraled hair (straight out of the 80s) and a voice that could be Hugh Grant's sister's. I was happy that the event lasted three and a half hours (record-breaking!) so that I could listen to that accent, soak up the conversation. She had unusually large eyes, kind eyes, and a dark olive skin passed down to her through her half English, half-Jamaican bloodlines. She was passionate about hiking (yah, LA is not all about Hollywood, she said). She went on a rant, naming six or seven trails I could do by myself and I wondered, as she sliced through my hair quick with her scissors, if she realized just how out of shape I am. I told her I was going to her mother country this spring, and that when I come back to see her after the holidays for another slice-fest, that I'd bring a notepad and she'd have to tell me where I should go in London. Funny the things you can find out about your hair lady, eh?
Another update - So I sent my ex boyfriend (not that one, you fools! an ex-boyfriend from my college days) an email yesterday. He goes to law school at USC. You can tell we're great friends now when I can email him to tell him that I'm newly single and that he'll have to introduce me to his cute law school friends. He wrote back promptly and agreed, and I was touched by his sweet note. He was really nice about the whole thing, asking when we could get together, that his friends will really like me, etc.
I'm reminded, when I receive notes such as those, why I do stay in touch with just about everyone. I still talk to the girl I used to live next door to in Maryland when I was 12 and under. I email my sophomore-year college professor who taught me about writing reflective essays. I'll write a note to a friend I went to school with in seventh grade, "How's your new job treating you?" and give advice to the girl I used to ride bikes with in sixth grade, or cry with her over dinner when she tells me about the death of her father, after not having seen her in more than two years. I wonder why I seem to hold on so much; does a part of me live in the past? And when the Maryland kids moved in around the corner from me in Brentwood, I didn't just run into them at the market, I knew they were coming...because I had been in touch this whole time, with these old, familiar faces that I used to wait with at the bus stop back east.
And how strange is it that my first date "post-Chris" was with a guy just a few houses over from my parents' home in Maryland? And he tells me stories from high school and I say, "Oh, I remember them, I remember him," but when he tries to tell me the street names, how the road curved a certain way, or about a housing development a few miles down the road, that is where I get lost.
I just remember the faces and the names.
I got my hair cut by a lesbian named "Robin" last night with crazy spiraled hair (straight out of the 80s) and a voice that could be Hugh Grant's sister's. I was happy that the event lasted three and a half hours (record-breaking!) so that I could listen to that accent, soak up the conversation. She had unusually large eyes, kind eyes, and a dark olive skin passed down to her through her half English, half-Jamaican bloodlines. She was passionate about hiking (yah, LA is not all about Hollywood, she said). She went on a rant, naming six or seven trails I could do by myself and I wondered, as she sliced through my hair quick with her scissors, if she realized just how out of shape I am. I told her I was going to her mother country this spring, and that when I come back to see her after the holidays for another slice-fest, that I'd bring a notepad and she'd have to tell me where I should go in London. Funny the things you can find out about your hair lady, eh?
Another update - So I sent my ex boyfriend (not that one, you fools! an ex-boyfriend from my college days) an email yesterday. He goes to law school at USC. You can tell we're great friends now when I can email him to tell him that I'm newly single and that he'll have to introduce me to his cute law school friends. He wrote back promptly and agreed, and I was touched by his sweet note. He was really nice about the whole thing, asking when we could get together, that his friends will really like me, etc.
I'm reminded, when I receive notes such as those, why I do stay in touch with just about everyone. I still talk to the girl I used to live next door to in Maryland when I was 12 and under. I email my sophomore-year college professor who taught me about writing reflective essays. I'll write a note to a friend I went to school with in seventh grade, "How's your new job treating you?" and give advice to the girl I used to ride bikes with in sixth grade, or cry with her over dinner when she tells me about the death of her father, after not having seen her in more than two years. I wonder why I seem to hold on so much; does a part of me live in the past? And when the Maryland kids moved in around the corner from me in Brentwood, I didn't just run into them at the market, I knew they were coming...because I had been in touch this whole time, with these old, familiar faces that I used to wait with at the bus stop back east.
And how strange is it that my first date "post-Chris" was with a guy just a few houses over from my parents' home in Maryland? And he tells me stories from high school and I say, "Oh, I remember them, I remember him," but when he tries to tell me the street names, how the road curved a certain way, or about a housing development a few miles down the road, that is where I get lost.
I just remember the faces and the names.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Banana Man
Things are really busy but it's good. Tonight Roomie and I have lots to do for our Roast of the Virgin Bird come Sunday. Tomorrow night we're hosting a Book Club - the first meeting ever. But we both have never read the book (haven't even purchased it!); neither have half the girls we've invited.
And my friend Grant is showing up at my turkey fest on Sunday in a banana suit and turtle neck/sweater-vest combo; a collage of his Halloween outfit and classic Turkey Day attire. You'd think he is joking...but I really think I'll open up the door on Sunday to find a Banana Man standing on our new doormat. I'll let you all know how that one goes. I just wonder if he'll get hot in that banana suit. And how will he go to the bathroom? Even for a guy, that's gotta be tough. The day will be interesting.
"Is that a cup of smiles you're drinking?"
"No, it's a vodka tonic."
And my friend Grant is showing up at my turkey fest on Sunday in a banana suit and turtle neck/sweater-vest combo; a collage of his Halloween outfit and classic Turkey Day attire. You'd think he is joking...but I really think I'll open up the door on Sunday to find a Banana Man standing on our new doormat. I'll let you all know how that one goes. I just wonder if he'll get hot in that banana suit. And how will he go to the bathroom? Even for a guy, that's gotta be tough. The day will be interesting.
"Is that a cup of smiles you're drinking?"
"No, it's a vodka tonic."
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Adventures in Hollywood
This weekend was an interesting one. A friend was in town so I suppose there was that sort of pressure, in a way, to go big. I told her that I felt like I was a sophomore in college again, like we were roommates again, where we'd be studying and just look at each other from across our hallway and say, "Want a drink?" That sort of nostaligc sense of doing anything just to do it, just because you're alive.
After her plane landed on Friday an old friend of ours came over and the three of us had a bottle of wine. Then we took his banana boat to Santa Monica, laughing the whole way. "Field trip!" he'd shout. We ate greasy quesadillas at the Library Alehouse on Main; He ordered the most strange sounding beer he could find on the menu. We then ended up in Venice at the Other Room, a beer and wine bar where good looking guys hang out at night and the girls seem normal, not so much make up, not so overly done up. We squeezed into a dark corner of the bar where we were lucky enough to find seats because everyone else thought it to be VIP and huddled down for a good conversation. It was at this point that Old Friend started to order cokes instead of beer, and I insisted that he sleep on my couch in the Brentwood Chateau so he ditched the cokes quick. Later, we went to the Brig down the street, braving the cold ocean air for the chance of something new. The red-orange glow of the Brig illuminated the hippies and ex-band members, artists and scarf-clad crowd (although - it's not yet THAT cold in LA) and that's when I was told I was drinking a cup of smiles.
It was "FIELD TRIP!" again at 7 a.m. when we had to drive Old Friend back to his car in Venice. I could see the beach and I saw that it was empty; I told my friend we should go there. We rolled up our pajama pants and let the ocean water hit our toes. We felt lazy as a group of about 100 marathon runners in training passed us, our faces blocked by large sunglasses, messy hair in pony tails. After a full day of shopping we tagged on to a group of girls going to Geisha House in Hollywood. We sat on the cold plastic-ish chairs there, munching on udon noodles, sushi and chicken skewers. A limo picked us up outside Geisha and we blasted music and drank vodka redbulls. The best part of the night was that I didn't plan a thing - the whole evening was out of my hands.
Although I enjoyed the lights of Hollywood and the crazy night, the girls in too-short dresses and the guys who tried way too hard -- I think I'm much more at home in a dive bar with a beer (ok...wine).
Roomie and I cooked the Bird tonight. Test Bird. I had to pull out the disgusting INSIDES - the liver and heart and I-don't-want-to-know-what-else. Gross. She held the slimy thing down in the sink, felt that Bird all over, making sure it was really thawed out. We screamed the whole time, jumping back as though we could get pecked, right then and there in my Brentwood Chateau. I thought to myself how I could never have lived on a farm in a past life, I just know it. We threw any herb that sounded good into a bowl with olive oil and brushed it all over that 9 pounder. And I wondered, then, if I would always remember having my first turkey in my little Brentwood place, with this girl I didn't know just five months ago. My first turkey.
It was really great.
After her plane landed on Friday an old friend of ours came over and the three of us had a bottle of wine. Then we took his banana boat to Santa Monica, laughing the whole way. "Field trip!" he'd shout. We ate greasy quesadillas at the Library Alehouse on Main; He ordered the most strange sounding beer he could find on the menu. We then ended up in Venice at the Other Room, a beer and wine bar where good looking guys hang out at night and the girls seem normal, not so much make up, not so overly done up. We squeezed into a dark corner of the bar where we were lucky enough to find seats because everyone else thought it to be VIP and huddled down for a good conversation. It was at this point that Old Friend started to order cokes instead of beer, and I insisted that he sleep on my couch in the Brentwood Chateau so he ditched the cokes quick. Later, we went to the Brig down the street, braving the cold ocean air for the chance of something new. The red-orange glow of the Brig illuminated the hippies and ex-band members, artists and scarf-clad crowd (although - it's not yet THAT cold in LA) and that's when I was told I was drinking a cup of smiles.
It was "FIELD TRIP!" again at 7 a.m. when we had to drive Old Friend back to his car in Venice. I could see the beach and I saw that it was empty; I told my friend we should go there. We rolled up our pajama pants and let the ocean water hit our toes. We felt lazy as a group of about 100 marathon runners in training passed us, our faces blocked by large sunglasses, messy hair in pony tails. After a full day of shopping we tagged on to a group of girls going to Geisha House in Hollywood. We sat on the cold plastic-ish chairs there, munching on udon noodles, sushi and chicken skewers. A limo picked us up outside Geisha and we blasted music and drank vodka redbulls. The best part of the night was that I didn't plan a thing - the whole evening was out of my hands.
Although I enjoyed the lights of Hollywood and the crazy night, the girls in too-short dresses and the guys who tried way too hard -- I think I'm much more at home in a dive bar with a beer (ok...wine).
Roomie and I cooked the Bird tonight. Test Bird. I had to pull out the disgusting INSIDES - the liver and heart and I-don't-want-to-know-what-else. Gross. She held the slimy thing down in the sink, felt that Bird all over, making sure it was really thawed out. We screamed the whole time, jumping back as though we could get pecked, right then and there in my Brentwood Chateau. I thought to myself how I could never have lived on a farm in a past life, I just know it. We threw any herb that sounded good into a bowl with olive oil and brushed it all over that 9 pounder. And I wondered, then, if I would always remember having my first turkey in my little Brentwood place, with this girl I didn't know just five months ago. My first turkey.
It was really great.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Peace
Another gray Friday in LACA. Where has the sun gone? Lisa comes in tonight and we're going to do it up big. Lester will be in town as well. I can't wait. We'll probably stick to the westside tonight and then hit Hollywood tomorrow. Who knows. All I know is that I LOVE my friends and I can't wait to see them!
Happy! This is such a great time of year. I have so much to be thankful for this year. I'm alive, aren't I? I can get up in the morning and walk and breath on my own. I have a great job (well, that depends on the day, but you know what I mean). It's challenging, I can say that. I can afford to travel and do interesting things, take my writing class, enjoy nice dinners. I have a family who loves me and supports me, friends who are like family (I would do anything for my friends; I just love them so much). I've lucked out to have quirky, fun neighbors and it seems like every day I meet another person, another face to know in Brentwood, someone else to run into on San Vicente and along Wilshire. I'm living in this cool hybrid of city meets ocean, this strange place where you put on flip flops to go out to a steak dinner, wear uggs in summer, wake up each morning to feel the cool air coming through your window. I'm grateful that I've reconnected with old friends here, who I once thought were lost, but I suppose they never were. But I look at their faces when we laugh together and I think to myself -- and told them, too -- "You make me feel like I'm at home." I'm lucky because I know who I am at the core of me, and I am so much at peace with that.
In fact, I suppose there's no other way to describe how I am feeling right now in life other than PEACE. I know this is where I should be, and I know who I am. It doesn't matter that I don't know where I am going because I'll find my way, just like I've always done.
Happy! This is such a great time of year. I have so much to be thankful for this year. I'm alive, aren't I? I can get up in the morning and walk and breath on my own. I have a great job (well, that depends on the day, but you know what I mean). It's challenging, I can say that. I can afford to travel and do interesting things, take my writing class, enjoy nice dinners. I have a family who loves me and supports me, friends who are like family (I would do anything for my friends; I just love them so much). I've lucked out to have quirky, fun neighbors and it seems like every day I meet another person, another face to know in Brentwood, someone else to run into on San Vicente and along Wilshire. I'm living in this cool hybrid of city meets ocean, this strange place where you put on flip flops to go out to a steak dinner, wear uggs in summer, wake up each morning to feel the cool air coming through your window. I'm grateful that I've reconnected with old friends here, who I once thought were lost, but I suppose they never were. But I look at their faces when we laugh together and I think to myself -- and told them, too -- "You make me feel like I'm at home." I'm lucky because I know who I am at the core of me, and I am so much at peace with that.
In fact, I suppose there's no other way to describe how I am feeling right now in life other than PEACE. I know this is where I should be, and I know who I am. It doesn't matter that I don't know where I am going because I'll find my way, just like I've always done.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Moving on up!
This is a very gray week in Los Angeles. My roommate is dying of the cold, I can tell. I come home to find her bundled up in blankets and socks. Me...I just walk around icey cold hands 'cause I'm tough like that. And by tough I mean trembling.
A few updates: Got my things back last night from the ex. It was tough but it went okay, as well as it can go. Now I don't have to think about it anymore, that I have reclaimed my jammies , perfume, and crock pot. That's right: no more slow cookin'! I'll need that crock pot for our roast of the Virgin Bird, anyway.
Also - there was a pepper spray incident at work last night. This will give you all an idea of the healthy work environment here. I was not around for said spraying, but according to my co-worker, she accidentally sprayed a bit of it - one itsey bitsy spray - toward a co-worker last night. "Goofing around," "assault" -- whatever you want to call it. Anyway - before she knew it, everyone in our huge area was coughing and getting sick. She was mortified. One of the VPs came out and told everyone to go home - evacuate! So - between the occassional pepper spray and sewage leaking down cube walls, I'd say I'm just a few steps shy of the corner office! This is all very ironic given the fact that my writing class read an essay last night by Hunter Thompson about his experiences at the Kentucky Derby in the 70s, where he sprays the drunken crowd, the "beasts," with mace.
A few updates: Got my things back last night from the ex. It was tough but it went okay, as well as it can go. Now I don't have to think about it anymore, that I have reclaimed my jammies , perfume, and crock pot. That's right: no more slow cookin'! I'll need that crock pot for our roast of the Virgin Bird, anyway.
Also - there was a pepper spray incident at work last night. This will give you all an idea of the healthy work environment here. I was not around for said spraying, but according to my co-worker, she accidentally sprayed a bit of it - one itsey bitsy spray - toward a co-worker last night. "Goofing around," "assault" -- whatever you want to call it. Anyway - before she knew it, everyone in our huge area was coughing and getting sick. She was mortified. One of the VPs came out and told everyone to go home - evacuate! So - between the occassional pepper spray and sewage leaking down cube walls, I'd say I'm just a few steps shy of the corner office! This is all very ironic given the fact that my writing class read an essay last night by Hunter Thompson about his experiences at the Kentucky Derby in the 70s, where he sprays the drunken crowd, the "beasts," with mace.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Cheers!
It's Friday! It's a misty morning here in LA but it should burn off in a few hours. After a crazy last few weeks of preparing for presentations, traveling and just pure exhaustion, I am ready for the weekend.
On a random note: You know when you're working a bit too much when you get up from your toilet at home and wait for it to flush automatically (like the ones at work do). What's that say? On an even more random and gross note...the bathrooms at work are not working on our floor, so everyone must use the ones on the ground floor. Which is all fine and dandy, but my manager just told me she heard that there was a leakage into someones CUBE on Floor 1! Sweet Jesus! How sick is that!?
On yet another note - I am in a great mood despite the sewage issues at work. I am going through this Post Breakup Re-invent Self Mode. It's fantastic. I am writing more than ever, like the old Jo would. It's feels great to focus on myself - what I want to do, my writing class, enjoying the amazing friends I have out here, and next week: golf lessons perhaps. I told an old friend of mine that I feel just excited about LIFE. It's like I am in the best part of a movie and it got paused...so I can't wait to see what happens next. Or like a great book that I just can't put down. And in the spring - a trip to London and Croatia (my mother country!) This is my time to be me, to be selfish.
On a random note: You know when you're working a bit too much when you get up from your toilet at home and wait for it to flush automatically (like the ones at work do). What's that say? On an even more random and gross note...the bathrooms at work are not working on our floor, so everyone must use the ones on the ground floor. Which is all fine and dandy, but my manager just told me she heard that there was a leakage into someones CUBE on Floor 1! Sweet Jesus! How sick is that!?
On yet another note - I am in a great mood despite the sewage issues at work. I am going through this Post Breakup Re-invent Self Mode. It's fantastic. I am writing more than ever, like the old Jo would. It's feels great to focus on myself - what I want to do, my writing class, enjoying the amazing friends I have out here, and next week: golf lessons perhaps. I told an old friend of mine that I feel just excited about LIFE. It's like I am in the best part of a movie and it got paused...so I can't wait to see what happens next. Or like a great book that I just can't put down. And in the spring - a trip to London and Croatia (my mother country!) This is my time to be me, to be selfish.
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