One month!

Croatia is one month away! So much to do. I have a feeling the trip is going to be hilarious. I pride myself on my travel smarts but you're also talking about the girls who took a road trip to California in college and went in circles just trying to get out of Phoenix. When we finally got to California we ended up changing into bathing suits in the car and crashed random house parties along the beach, finally driving to Los Angeles around 3 a.m. only to find all hotels booked. We were able to sleep for 2 hours in the most disgusting smoke-infused room before we went to a Jay Leno taping early the next morning.

I received a text message invite to go to Australia in October. Flights are cheap. I could hang there, with the kangaroos.

Home

I am tired.

It's been a quick weekend, one filled with last minute presentation tweaks, late night flights and cab rides on moonlit highways, crowded airport terminals. The hum of the airplane and Washington, DC spring sun warming my face. The sweet smell of fresh-cut grass in the suburbs, the feeling of wind on my face as we drove with the top down; I caught the horses grazing on the rolling hills as the car bobbed in and out from the outstretched arms of the trees. Late night drinks and memories of diapers and whimsical childhood fancies like lime popsicles and tag. A weekend of familiar faces, the downpour of the April rains that fell like candy from the sky. Lost umbrellas at metro stops as strangers gathered to help someone too sick to ask themself. Quiet metro rides where I sat propped with a book while I let my jeans dry and changed my soaked sandals, pulling back my wet hair into a ponytail before running out in to the DC rain yet again. A weekend of one too many hazelnut lattes, jet lag, cautious peeks into my past.

After 15 years, I can go back to a place and still read it as though it were a map scrawled in the palm of my hand. So much has gone unchanged. A few new housing developments here and there, but the blue baptist church still sits, active, off of Jones Lane Road. The elementary school hosts ghosts of children on the playground. Turkey Foot Road is still lined with trees and if I close my eyes I can see the autumn, how we would drive and be showered in red, gold and yellow. The homes of my childhood friends stand proud, just now a bit quiet. No longer are there crowds of kids outside running from home to home to wake up their best friends by calling up to bedroom windows on hot summer nights.

I don't think they sell corn anymore off of Route 28. The door on the home where I grew up is painted an ugly green; it doesn't match the rest of the house. The back deck is new. The hill on the side of the house that I used to sled on looks like it's tiny. When I was little, that hill was an adventure.

Next stop: Chicago.

Off to Washington, D.C.

Tomorrow I am off to DC. I can't recall exactly but I figure I haven't been back in at least eight years, so I'm long overdue. Friday morning I have a business meeting and then I'll be exploring the city, and stay Friday and Saturday night in the 'burbs with an old friend. I'll see the house that I grew up in. I hope to eat some Maryland crab cakes and go on a car ride through the hills and the old neighborhoods. I want to see the cherry blossoms as they flutter and decorate DC with signs of spring.

If my life were stored away in an attic...

Here's a peek inside the items that line my shelves. My life has been stored away in leftover attic space and the occasional turret of a dreamy castle. What's left, it's in pantries, giant white-washed pantries that are a chef's dream, a Martha Stewart's vision and a child's hide-and-seek playground. A rainbow of dried up fine point sharpies lie scattered on the floor; half of them are missing their caps. Jars of sticky strawberry jam and rotten tangerines. Mr. Ted, dust balls of golden hair and mounds of tissues that take on the essence of marshmallows and whipped clouds, globs of melted chocolate ice cream splash the walls and antique Nancy Drew books (the pages are lined in blue pen with notes and drawings and mysterious symbols), bullet cases, chalked-up hiking boots and dusty golf-hats with sweat-stained rims. Sparkly tubes of lip gloss that went un-used, cassette tapes of the oldies but goodies, summer splinters found in tiny fingers and barefoot toes from humid east coast days, trashbags of fresh cut grass and crunchy orange-red fall leaves not yet turned to dust, a witch costume in pristine condition, chipped beer glasses from Big Ass Beer Night, vases with wine corks spilling over the sides, faded photos curling at the edge of a smiling blond, seashells with smoothed ridges, fizzy lotions and sensual oils, satin pillows, pine cones that smell like new, a piano a bit out of tune.

What else?

A boogie board with sand caked to the edges (at what age did I become afraid of the deep ocean waters?), sugar scrubs with a rich vanilla-lavender scent, stacks of business cards with various titles and degrees of responsibility, foam popcorn that goes in packing boxes floats down like crunchy raindrops. Marketing books about ROI and email sit beside books of dreams and intuition and history and philosophy. A cake pan with greasy crumbs, oil paints in ochre and azure tubes, a faded Nike shirt with paint stains on it from the time we painted my room a pale yellow. A pink and white polka dot raincoat and matching umbrella, a New Kids on the Block bracelet, a trash bag of old flip flops and goodwill goodies, crinkled concert tickets, blankets, some soft and fuzzy and others with stains on them from outdoor concerts and late night wanders. A scrabble board and all of the shiny letters with spellings from the last game played, pico de gallo and guacamole mounds smell lime-fresh, a hookah with cherry-lemon smoke, tupperware lids and egg shells. Sunscreen (SPF 30), maps used once and then forever lost, travel guides with black ink notes in the margins. Old report cards that have seemingly lost their meaning, crusty art projects of construction paper and barely-there glitter. A navy blue sling, cracked ski goggles, povi crust that Walter hasn't found yet and Aldila golf tees.

And now, a shiny red beach cruiser to add to the mix.

9 Months!

Tomorrow is my 9-month anniversary at work. The 5th was my 9-month anniversary of the day I moved. I can't believe I've almost hit the one-year mark! A year in Los Angeles....And it's been an amazing one so far.

I realized I don't have to be here

I did dinner with a good friend this past Thursday night at a fabulous joint in Hollywood called Citizen Smith. Old school tunes rocked the room, spun by a DJ in the corner, and our server ignored us half the night, but beyond that, it was a great find. Oh, and I also have to ignore the fact that their credit card machine was down that night and my friend had to drain his wallet of cash to support our gluttonous desires. We split a bunch of different dishes: BBQ shrimp on toast, fried chicken and waffles, jalapeno mac 'n' cheese. We had ourselves some soul food!

And a soulful conversation! My friend is an explorer like me and we frequently talk about what's on our "LA List of To Dos" as well as our favorite cities and latest travel adventures, where we want to go when we're done with LA. He knows I have an inkling to explore and that I'm open to new career opportunities so he said to me, "Why don't you explore outside of LA for those opportunities?"

That amazingly simple thought had never occurred to me. I just sort of figured I'd be here a while, but I also figure I won't be here in the long term. That single statement has opened up so many doors of ideas and dreams and thoughts! I've got nothing to stop me.

Now, I just have to figure out what I want...if only that were easy. Choices in life are wonderful to have but they make the decision-making process difficult.

But, as my friend said, "Jo, if that's your problem, then that's a fantastic problem to have."

I suppose he's right.

Hike and Bike

My work friend and I hiked Temescal Canyon today. This is the same hike I did with Roomie and Brentwood friends a few weeks ago; a pocket of nature and trails and GREEN just 15 minutes from my apartment. It was a perfect day since it wasn't too hot, it was just enough, and a cool breeze came often enough to soothe us. After, we grabbed tacos at Wahoo's. Can you tell I'm in Los Angeles?

Another LaCA thing to do: Yesterday Roomie and I bought beach cruisers at a place in Culver City called Chubby's Cruisers. Her boyfriend tagged along to help us pick out our latest mode of transportation. I chose a shiny red cruiser and her bike is pale blue. They are completely identical other than the colors, and we both have matching black baskets, matching helmets and locks. This will be our means for arriving at the beach and lunches and quick errands, maybe even the bars on occasion. Beach cruisers are a very LA thing and it seems like it's either them or a street bike in this city; the average bike won't do. Roomie and I threw the bikes in the back of her SUV and since I was the shortest of the three of us, I got stuck riding in the back with the bikes, one leg tangled up in the mess of spokes and handle bars, my other leg propped up on top of the hardware, my head resting on a pedal. The happy couple up front snagged a photo of me in all of the metal bike mess, but since I don't look too happy at the time, I'm not posting it! =)

SF Excursion Part II

So I've finally decided to post some pictures from San Francisco. I am sorry to say that I can't find any pictures that were taken during the day that occurred when we were not drinking. Wait. I take that back. We took a cab down Lombard Street (too lazy to walk, this was on Sunday) and I have quite a few clumsy shots taken from the back seat of the cab. Every other photo is of my friend and I drinking margaritas down by the pier, at the bars at night (I say that we blended in with the locals in an extraordinary way; my friend says I'm never able to do such a thing and that I stand out, probably in an obnoxious manner, TBD).

View of the city as we drove along the curves of Lombard:

A quick recap. I must make it quick since it's been a week since I've returned from SF and there's other things to write about, and other posts to move on to. That Friday night my friend and I arrived and promptly took the train the wrong way into the city. That is, we were not going into the city at all but heading towards ghetto Richmond. After we got that little mistake fixed, we soon found ourselves in our hotel; bypassed the annoying concierge--this guy who wanted to get us into a VIP party on Saturday night with 2,000 other VIPs--and we showed up at a restaurant my foodie boss recommended 30-minutes late. The restaurant was Town Hall in SoMa. We stayed for a few hours and drank a bottle of wine and ate seafood and caught up on the last 8 months of our lives. I caught a busboy on my way out and asked where we should go and ended up around the corner at 83 Proof, a bar with no name above the door and the entire place reeked of weed and the bartender looked exactly like Stanford from Sex and the City. We did rounds of shots with the bartender and others, and by the end of the night my friend was making the bartender a birthday card out of napkin (it really was his birthday, or at least I hope so) and I was taking crazy pictures with anyone willing. Bar tab at the end of night: $14.

Moving on. Saturday we shopped and walked all day long until late afternoon where we found ourselves on the touristy Pier 39 area drinking margaritas bigger than my head. We were halfway done with our second frosty treat when my friends called me and said they were coming to pick us up. I convinced the bartender to give me a to-go cup for my margarita, but management caught him before he could pass off two sippee cups and straws my way. Out the door we went to the curb where my friend found a fork in her purse. We paused for a moment; we have no idea where said fork came from, but later that night my friend gave the fork to a girl in a 5-star hotel in Union Square "as a birthday gift." (Is there a birthday theme happening here?)

But I digress. Three friends plucked us up and off we went to Pac Heights where I had a 7:00 ghost tour scheduled. I repeat: a ghost tour. We took a three hour stroll through Pacific Heights at night with a spooky-looking fellow who was our guide. He came complete with a lantern. We brought wine along the tour and afterwards we ended up at a dive bar in the Marina playing pool and wearing spooky ghost pins, courtesy of Tour Guide. The night ended with us on top of the Sir Francis Drake in Union Square looking at the stars and views of the city. After, we sang songs with a homeless man who threw a dollar at us and then found ourselves drinking shakes in an all-night diner.

Old college friends. I'm not sure who that is in the way back behind me:

Me and the Ghost Tour Guide: