Why everything is wonderful:
1) We're starting to drink at work at about 3:30. Catered Halloween fete complete with beer and wine and delicious, fattening treats!
2) I'm seeing Ray LaMontagne at the Wiltern this weekend!
3) Roomie and I roast our first turkey (stress on the "first" part) next week! We're dressing up as pilgrims and Indians, too.
4) I brought home a bundle of beautiful lilies from work last night
5) Brunch plans in WeHo this weekend, plus a hike!
6) It rained last night
7) Someone brought in pumpkin flan to my pilates class this morning
8) I don't travel anywhere (via plane) til Thanksgiving (but might hop down to San Diego to see mon frere)
9) Went to dinner last night at one of my favorite restaurants in Santa Monica with my favorite dinner date
10) Did I mentioned it rained last night!?
Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Apparently, I have the humor of a 60-year old man
It’s Book Club time (aka “Excusetodrinknumerousbottlesofwine night”) and the girls and I are gathered at my friend’s place in WeHo, snacking on cheese and dips and desserts in our comfy clothes and socks, curled up on couches and sprawled out across the floor. It’s gotten to the point in the night where we shift into Goof Mode and we’re all several glasses of wine in, telling stories and jokes.
“Wait! I have a joke!” I said. Everyone turns to look at me.
“Okay,” my friend says. She sorta rolls her eyes.
“No, really! I have a JOKE!” I say.
“Okay, Joanna, tell the joke,” Roomie Deux says. She might as well say: Get it over with.
“Okay, okay,” I grin, and take a breath. “There are two brooms hanging out in the closet…”
Everyone moans and laughs at the same time.
“What? It’s a great joke!”
“I know it!” Roomie Deux says. “You tell all the same jokes my Dad does. I know this.”
“You’re comparing me to your Dad? Your Dad’s jokes?”
“Well, you and him tell all the same cheesy jokes.”
Fantastic.
“Wait! I have a joke!” I said. Everyone turns to look at me.
“Okay,” my friend says. She sorta rolls her eyes.
“No, really! I have a JOKE!” I say.
“Okay, Joanna, tell the joke,” Roomie Deux says. She might as well say: Get it over with.
“Okay, okay,” I grin, and take a breath. “There are two brooms hanging out in the closet…”
Everyone moans and laughs at the same time.
“What? It’s a great joke!”
“I know it!” Roomie Deux says. “You tell all the same jokes my Dad does. I know this.”
“You’re comparing me to your Dad? Your Dad’s jokes?”
“Well, you and him tell all the same cheesy jokes.”
Fantastic.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
As we approach Thanksgiving...
Sometimes all it takes is a single email to change your perspective for the day. I logged into my work email this morning and within the hour received this:
My uncle had a heart attack last Thursday and died on his flight home from Reno…It is weird how the saying “it happens in three’s” always seems to be true…. My dad’s friend had a heart attack two weeks ago and my mom’s aunt passed away a week and a half ago.
It’s also ironic that last night on the long plane ride from the east coast back to Los Angeles I couldn’t sleep. I have a slight fear of flying so it’s not strange that as I was cruising 22,000 feet above ground that I thought about death. I brooded and ruminated the night away in my half-awake mode as I looked out into the darkness beyond my airplane window, at the lights and city streets far below that looked like electric veins, or a million little Vegas strips dotted across the land.
I thought about how we’re both stronger than we realize and vulnerable and weak, too.
I thought about how we complain about taking the stairs but shouldn’t we be grateful that we have legs that are healthy and work that we can take the stairs with?
I thought about how we love our quesadillas and our pizza and the thousand other dishes that are terrible for our bodies but when it comes down to a single moment, or a heart attack, it’s too late.
I thought about grouchy days and phone calls ended without an “I love you,” or a “Thank you,” or those simple humble words: “I’m sorry.” How silly those moments are.
In the shower this morning I towel dried myself off and thought, “I can do this myself. Isn’t that amazing?” I can move my arms and reach around my back and bend my legs--and I took note that I recognized that perhaps one day I won’t be able to. Hopefully I will be an old, old woman when and if that days comes.
I thought about how we take moments, seconds, for granted. Feeling the wind on our face, the sun on our arms. The sip of a good cup of coffee. The voice of an old friend. The kindness of a stranger.
We’re approaching the season for being thankful. For being grateful for our health and our families and our friends and the hundreds of other things that create a happy and healthy life.
Be thankful. Be kind.
My uncle had a heart attack last Thursday and died on his flight home from Reno…It is weird how the saying “it happens in three’s” always seems to be true…. My dad’s friend had a heart attack two weeks ago and my mom’s aunt passed away a week and a half ago.
It’s also ironic that last night on the long plane ride from the east coast back to Los Angeles I couldn’t sleep. I have a slight fear of flying so it’s not strange that as I was cruising 22,000 feet above ground that I thought about death. I brooded and ruminated the night away in my half-awake mode as I looked out into the darkness beyond my airplane window, at the lights and city streets far below that looked like electric veins, or a million little Vegas strips dotted across the land.
I thought about how we’re both stronger than we realize and vulnerable and weak, too.
I thought about how we complain about taking the stairs but shouldn’t we be grateful that we have legs that are healthy and work that we can take the stairs with?
I thought about how we love our quesadillas and our pizza and the thousand other dishes that are terrible for our bodies but when it comes down to a single moment, or a heart attack, it’s too late.
I thought about grouchy days and phone calls ended without an “I love you,” or a “Thank you,” or those simple humble words: “I’m sorry.” How silly those moments are.
In the shower this morning I towel dried myself off and thought, “I can do this myself. Isn’t that amazing?” I can move my arms and reach around my back and bend my legs--and I took note that I recognized that perhaps one day I won’t be able to. Hopefully I will be an old, old woman when and if that days comes.
I thought about how we take moments, seconds, for granted. Feeling the wind on our face, the sun on our arms. The sip of a good cup of coffee. The voice of an old friend. The kindness of a stranger.
We’re approaching the season for being thankful. For being grateful for our health and our families and our friends and the hundreds of other things that create a happy and healthy life.
Be thankful. Be kind.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Not just any guy
I'm in New York. I'm having a great time on my company's dollar, and while I'm enjoying the city (and the wine! and the food!) I'm more excited about tomorrow than anything else. Tomorrow I am seeing someone who is very special to me. I haven't seen him since I was here last year and I'm just thrilled that he can make it into the city to see me.
Nope, he's not anyone I'm dating. He's not a romantic interest in the least. Not an ex-boyfriend or business friend.
He's Josh. One of my closest and dearest friends from college.
Josh and I were best friends instantly. Like any good story, I can remember the night we met. We were both working part time at this call center at ASU our first year there. He was corny and raunchy and completely inappropriate. His hair was dyed pseudo blonde and it didn't suit his tan skin and skinny face. He made passes at me and within weeks I put an end to it. "Cut that shit out! I won't be friends with you if you keep up that crap."
And he did cut it out. And we just became the best of friends. He and I started hanging out all of the time. We'd go to see plays together and I went to watch him perform in several skits. That year, he was the only guy my overly protective boyfriend didn't mind me hanging out with. I brought him home to my parents' house several times for dinner. I helped him move. We'd find each other on campus among the crowds of people and just give each other a hug and then bitch to each other about our day. We would stroll in silence with coffee in hand, complete understanding of the others' mood.
As the years went on in college, some friends dropped in and out of my life but Josh stayed. The night I broke up with my boyfriend of nearly four years, it was Josh who I called first and foremost, before anyone else.
"It's over," I started sobbing into the phone.
"Hey, Jo. You want to come over? Sure, that's cool."
"No, it's over."
"Sure! Come over!"
"No, Josh!" I started laughing through my tears, in pure exasperation. "It's OVER. O-V-E-R. I broke up with him."
And then we both just started laughing so hard on the phone that we couldn't speak. To this day, we still joke about it.
We've spent several Valentine's Days and New Year's Eves together. He's been my surrogate boyfriend so many times I've lost count. I remember one Valentine's Day he came over to my apartment and I dyed his hair in my sink, of all things to do! We dyed it black and he dirtied all of my towels. And then we went out to dinner, just the two of us, and then to see a romantic comedy.
Josh might as well be a girlfriend to me. I would call him moaning about cramps and he'd bring me food. I once went bra shopping with him. He'd spend the night at my parents' house after dinner parties and would even put up with the dog occassionally humping his leg (sorry, Walter!).
After college he moved to Scottsdale, within a mile of me and it was often that I'd find him at our local sports bar. I'd meet him for a beer on a random week night and we'd eat greasy food and catch up on life. Things were just that simple.
He moved to Jersey just a month after I moved to Los Angeles. We don't talk nearly as often. We certainly hardly ever see each other. But we send each other random emails and texts of adoration.
"Josh, I miss you!"
"Jo, I miss you more than Britney Spears misses her hair."
And that's my Josh.
Tomorrow at 1:00 I'll be done with my business meetings. I won't check my email. I won't take phone calls. I'll be hanging with Josh.
Nope, he's not anyone I'm dating. He's not a romantic interest in the least. Not an ex-boyfriend or business friend.
He's Josh. One of my closest and dearest friends from college.
Josh and I were best friends instantly. Like any good story, I can remember the night we met. We were both working part time at this call center at ASU our first year there. He was corny and raunchy and completely inappropriate. His hair was dyed pseudo blonde and it didn't suit his tan skin and skinny face. He made passes at me and within weeks I put an end to it. "Cut that shit out! I won't be friends with you if you keep up that crap."
And he did cut it out. And we just became the best of friends. He and I started hanging out all of the time. We'd go to see plays together and I went to watch him perform in several skits. That year, he was the only guy my overly protective boyfriend didn't mind me hanging out with. I brought him home to my parents' house several times for dinner. I helped him move. We'd find each other on campus among the crowds of people and just give each other a hug and then bitch to each other about our day. We would stroll in silence with coffee in hand, complete understanding of the others' mood.
As the years went on in college, some friends dropped in and out of my life but Josh stayed. The night I broke up with my boyfriend of nearly four years, it was Josh who I called first and foremost, before anyone else.
"It's over," I started sobbing into the phone.
"Hey, Jo. You want to come over? Sure, that's cool."
"No, it's over."
"Sure! Come over!"
"No, Josh!" I started laughing through my tears, in pure exasperation. "It's OVER. O-V-E-R. I broke up with him."
And then we both just started laughing so hard on the phone that we couldn't speak. To this day, we still joke about it.
We've spent several Valentine's Days and New Year's Eves together. He's been my surrogate boyfriend so many times I've lost count. I remember one Valentine's Day he came over to my apartment and I dyed his hair in my sink, of all things to do! We dyed it black and he dirtied all of my towels. And then we went out to dinner, just the two of us, and then to see a romantic comedy.
Josh might as well be a girlfriend to me. I would call him moaning about cramps and he'd bring me food. I once went bra shopping with him. He'd spend the night at my parents' house after dinner parties and would even put up with the dog occassionally humping his leg (sorry, Walter!).
After college he moved to Scottsdale, within a mile of me and it was often that I'd find him at our local sports bar. I'd meet him for a beer on a random week night and we'd eat greasy food and catch up on life. Things were just that simple.
He moved to Jersey just a month after I moved to Los Angeles. We don't talk nearly as often. We certainly hardly ever see each other. But we send each other random emails and texts of adoration.
"Josh, I miss you!"
"Jo, I miss you more than Britney Spears misses her hair."
And that's my Josh.
Tomorrow at 1:00 I'll be done with my business meetings. I won't check my email. I won't take phone calls. I'll be hanging with Josh.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Writers, Cessnas and Brooklyn, oh my!
I have to laugh, just in anticipation of New York. The friends I am seeing in New York are quite an eclectic bunch and I suspect good times will be had. Two of my good girlfriends are there, and the interesting thing about them is that although I went to high school with them, we didn't become close until mid-college. Another friend, from Jersey, is one of my closest and dearest friends from college, a dude. But he knows me so well and we are so close that if I could stuff him in a bridesmaid's dress one day I would.
Anyway, last time I was in New York, it was post-breakup, a year ago. My one girlfriend in the city was busy working three jobs at the time. She had just moved there a few months prior, having moved there to become a writer, brave girl. The other one was so entrenched in the advertising world at the time that she was busy that weekend with photo shoots and commercial filming. That left me to hang out with my friend's older boyfriend. We had quiet breakfasts together in Brooklyn before I would grab my coat and go off alone. I got a manicure from a Philippine woman. I exchanged business cards with the owner of a wine bar in the West Village (I hope to see him again, this trip!). I went to MoMA by myself in the rain on a Friday night. It was fabulous.
This trip will be different. The guy is coming in from Jersey on Saturday to see me. The writer girl...well, she's writing! And for none other than the New York Times, damn it! And the advertising chick is now a Publishing Chick and she's got much regular business hours. Her boyfriend is now a licensed pilot and she wrote me this morning to see if I wanted to fly this weekend.
He wants to know if you have any interest in going flying...we would have to go to Morristown, New Jersey. It takes about half a day to do. It would be in a small Cessna. Feel free to say no. He is so excited about flying in general he wants to take everyone...it is cute!
I started laughing when I read this, because I envisioned myself in a teeny Cessna flying to God-knows-where on the east coast. Of all things to do during a trip to New York! And for many, that might be unusual or seem strange, but for myself and these friends, not really.
Anyway, I don't really have plans when I am there. But I'm excited to go. And to see these friends, this eclectic, funny bunch that I love so much.
Anyway, last time I was in New York, it was post-breakup, a year ago. My one girlfriend in the city was busy working three jobs at the time. She had just moved there a few months prior, having moved there to become a writer, brave girl. The other one was so entrenched in the advertising world at the time that she was busy that weekend with photo shoots and commercial filming. That left me to hang out with my friend's older boyfriend. We had quiet breakfasts together in Brooklyn before I would grab my coat and go off alone. I got a manicure from a Philippine woman. I exchanged business cards with the owner of a wine bar in the West Village (I hope to see him again, this trip!). I went to MoMA by myself in the rain on a Friday night. It was fabulous.
This trip will be different. The guy is coming in from Jersey on Saturday to see me. The writer girl...well, she's writing! And for none other than the New York Times, damn it! And the advertising chick is now a Publishing Chick and she's got much regular business hours. Her boyfriend is now a licensed pilot and she wrote me this morning to see if I wanted to fly this weekend.
He wants to know if you have any interest in going flying...we would have to go to Morristown, New Jersey. It takes about half a day to do. It would be in a small Cessna. Feel free to say no. He is so excited about flying in general he wants to take everyone...it is cute!
I started laughing when I read this, because I envisioned myself in a teeny Cessna flying to God-knows-where on the east coast. Of all things to do during a trip to New York! And for many, that might be unusual or seem strange, but for myself and these friends, not really.
Anyway, I don't really have plans when I am there. But I'm excited to go. And to see these friends, this eclectic, funny bunch that I love so much.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Monday Schmonday
So I’m back in Los Angeles. I was away in Phoenix for a long weekend. It was supposed to be a normal weekend but I kept adding on the days and then it just turned into one long weekend. I needed it.
I got up at 4:30 this morning to catch my flight so I’m just barely hanging in there right now. I’m buzzed from the hazelnut coffee.
It’s hard to come back to Daily Crap Grind after a nice long weekend away. It’s difficult to drive through the morning LA fog to the office where politics await and management is all jittery and anxious over profits being down. I feel like I’m in that movie Groundhog Day. I ate at the same restaurant down the street for lunch as I did last week. I ate with the same people. I ordered the same thing. I’m even having repeat conversations with The Equation.
It’s hard to focus, I won’t lie.
So I’m not.
Instead, I’m going back and forth with my friend over a business venture. (Details to come!) I booked a trip to Austin. Ever been? I haven’t. It’s been on The List for a while so it’s about time. I hear there’s good music there, good food. Heck, they even have ghost tours! Yeeee Haw!
In two days I sneak away to New York for a bit. I’ll see friends there, yes, but not until Friday. Wednesday night I’m looking forward to exploring the city solo. Perhaps a little shopping. Maybe some wine. A good book and a long walk. Thursday and Friday I’m in meetings for the most of the day but Equation and I are going to see Phantom of the Opera so that’ll be good.
Not hard to sit in the dark, eh? Excel sheets, they can’t find me there.
I got up at 4:30 this morning to catch my flight so I’m just barely hanging in there right now. I’m buzzed from the hazelnut coffee.
It’s hard to come back to Daily Crap Grind after a nice long weekend away. It’s difficult to drive through the morning LA fog to the office where politics await and management is all jittery and anxious over profits being down. I feel like I’m in that movie Groundhog Day. I ate at the same restaurant down the street for lunch as I did last week. I ate with the same people. I ordered the same thing. I’m even having repeat conversations with The Equation.
It’s hard to focus, I won’t lie.
So I’m not.
Instead, I’m going back and forth with my friend over a business venture. (Details to come!) I booked a trip to Austin. Ever been? I haven’t. It’s been on The List for a while so it’s about time. I hear there’s good music there, good food. Heck, they even have ghost tours! Yeeee Haw!
In two days I sneak away to New York for a bit. I’ll see friends there, yes, but not until Friday. Wednesday night I’m looking forward to exploring the city solo. Perhaps a little shopping. Maybe some wine. A good book and a long walk. Thursday and Friday I’m in meetings for the most of the day but Equation and I are going to see Phantom of the Opera so that’ll be good.
Not hard to sit in the dark, eh? Excel sheets, they can’t find me there.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
A letter
I wasn't sure if I wanted to write this. I didn't want to give the event weight; I didn't want it to be a significant part of me, define who I am. But I figure--it's only what I make of it. It is what it is. And it's over.
Dear Ex Boyfriend,
A year ago today I woke up in the morning feeling as though I'd been punched in the stomach. My body was having a physical reaction to the fact that we had just broken up the night before. I lost my appetite and couldn't sleep.
At the time I was preparing to go to New York for business and I was overwhelmed. Since I couldn't focus during the day, the week prior to my trip I was up 'til three in the morning each night. I felt as though I was in over my head, didn't know what I was doing--at work or in Los Angeles.
That lasted a week. It was one crappy week. That's all.
This past year is incredible to me in so many ways, and I do believe that I will hold this year sacred, forever. For many years, I had talked about all of the things I wanted to do with my life, all of the places I wanted to live and go to, where I wanted to travel and what I wanted my career to be. But I was scared, and largely because of you, I ended up in Los Angeles, finally took that leap. Thank you.
In the time since we broke up, I've been twice to Chicago and DC. I've been to Vegas, several times to San Diego, to Dallas, Philadelphia, San Francisco and, of course, back home to Phoenix often. I finally went to Croatia and crossed that one off my life list. I went wine tasting, my first time doing so without you. And now I'm preparing to go to NYC once again, just like I was doing this time last year. Only this time, I'm prepared. I know what I am doing and I am ready and confident and relaxed.
And it dawned on me, when I was driving home the other day, that Los Angeles is no longer strange to me. I know my way around. Even more, I'm a part of the community. I'm not simply a stranger in a big city. I remember driving home one night in Arizona, months and months before I moved to Los Angeles, and telling you that I was scared I was never going to find a loyal and loving group of friends in LA like the group I had in college. But I did. And now the weekend rolls around and my calendar is always full. And when I go out to the grocery store, or to a bar, or on a jog, I pass by people I know and I wave. I am a part of a neighborhood, of the city. I'm a part of a writer's community, volunteer community, professional community. My roots have taken place; when I feel like reaching out to someone, I have so many to reach out to. And for that I am grateful. Thank you.
I have done more things in Los Angeles in the way of appreciating the city and exploring its many corners than you have in your numerous years living here. I have "my hike," a trail that I love and know. I've gone to several museums and festivals and farmers markets and other events. We loved live music when we were together and I love it still and continue to discover new stages to look upon, new music to hear. I'm buying a ticket package to Pantages Theatre, going on an art walk downtown next month. I've been to the Griffith Observatory. All the things we talked about doing and never would have done, I have done and am doing. Thank you.
It felt strange to date after you, and I'll admit: I feel as though I owe the first guy I dated post-Us an apology. I was just too awkward and shy and scared and he probably didn't know what he was getting into. But now I've dated more guys than I care to name. Actually, I can't name them all because I simply can't remember them all. Only a few, I feel, have been worth my time longer than that first date, but I do know this: they have all treated me well, have been kind. There hasn't been anyone that has made me linger like you did, made me stop being so restless--but I do know that eventually there will be. And because of our years together and all the dates in the past year, I know what is worth stopping for, who is worth my time. Thank you.
A part of me wants to tell you: if you knew me now, you wouldn't know me. But of course you would know me! You always will. But I am a happier, more fulfilled, more curious and empowered Joanna. My life has rounded out in a beautiful way. I am more happy in Los Angeles than I could have ever predicted. Thank you.
I heard somewhere that the beginnings are always scary (and it was) and endings are always sad (and it was). And the middle part is always the best (and it was).
I hope you're happy and enjoying life as much as I am.
Cheers,
Jo
Dear Ex Boyfriend,
A year ago today I woke up in the morning feeling as though I'd been punched in the stomach. My body was having a physical reaction to the fact that we had just broken up the night before. I lost my appetite and couldn't sleep.
At the time I was preparing to go to New York for business and I was overwhelmed. Since I couldn't focus during the day, the week prior to my trip I was up 'til three in the morning each night. I felt as though I was in over my head, didn't know what I was doing--at work or in Los Angeles.
That lasted a week. It was one crappy week. That's all.
This past year is incredible to me in so many ways, and I do believe that I will hold this year sacred, forever. For many years, I had talked about all of the things I wanted to do with my life, all of the places I wanted to live and go to, where I wanted to travel and what I wanted my career to be. But I was scared, and largely because of you, I ended up in Los Angeles, finally took that leap. Thank you.
In the time since we broke up, I've been twice to Chicago and DC. I've been to Vegas, several times to San Diego, to Dallas, Philadelphia, San Francisco and, of course, back home to Phoenix often. I finally went to Croatia and crossed that one off my life list. I went wine tasting, my first time doing so without you. And now I'm preparing to go to NYC once again, just like I was doing this time last year. Only this time, I'm prepared. I know what I am doing and I am ready and confident and relaxed.
And it dawned on me, when I was driving home the other day, that Los Angeles is no longer strange to me. I know my way around. Even more, I'm a part of the community. I'm not simply a stranger in a big city. I remember driving home one night in Arizona, months and months before I moved to Los Angeles, and telling you that I was scared I was never going to find a loyal and loving group of friends in LA like the group I had in college. But I did. And now the weekend rolls around and my calendar is always full. And when I go out to the grocery store, or to a bar, or on a jog, I pass by people I know and I wave. I am a part of a neighborhood, of the city. I'm a part of a writer's community, volunteer community, professional community. My roots have taken place; when I feel like reaching out to someone, I have so many to reach out to. And for that I am grateful. Thank you.
I have done more things in Los Angeles in the way of appreciating the city and exploring its many corners than you have in your numerous years living here. I have "my hike," a trail that I love and know. I've gone to several museums and festivals and farmers markets and other events. We loved live music when we were together and I love it still and continue to discover new stages to look upon, new music to hear. I'm buying a ticket package to Pantages Theatre, going on an art walk downtown next month. I've been to the Griffith Observatory. All the things we talked about doing and never would have done, I have done and am doing. Thank you.
It felt strange to date after you, and I'll admit: I feel as though I owe the first guy I dated post-Us an apology. I was just too awkward and shy and scared and he probably didn't know what he was getting into. But now I've dated more guys than I care to name. Actually, I can't name them all because I simply can't remember them all. Only a few, I feel, have been worth my time longer than that first date, but I do know this: they have all treated me well, have been kind. There hasn't been anyone that has made me linger like you did, made me stop being so restless--but I do know that eventually there will be. And because of our years together and all the dates in the past year, I know what is worth stopping for, who is worth my time. Thank you.
A part of me wants to tell you: if you knew me now, you wouldn't know me. But of course you would know me! You always will. But I am a happier, more fulfilled, more curious and empowered Joanna. My life has rounded out in a beautiful way. I am more happy in Los Angeles than I could have ever predicted. Thank you.
I heard somewhere that the beginnings are always scary (and it was) and endings are always sad (and it was). And the middle part is always the best (and it was).
I hope you're happy and enjoying life as much as I am.
Cheers,
Jo
Monday, October 13, 2008
Baby turtles and wine
It's a good week, good week. The 10+ hours I worked this weekend has paid off and today was fabulous. My presentations for New York are done! I actually left work on time! (*gasp!*) And I am loving this fall weather we're having in Los Angeles. It felt so good tonight to be out with Roomie strolling around the B-wood, especially when my ears started to freeze and go numb. God, I love that.
We stumbled upon a baby turtle on our walk. I almost stepped on it and then literally hopped out of the way. I think I startled Roomie, but as I stepped back to reveal that there was a baby turtle in the walk way, she leaned down and said, in a baby voice, "Ohhhh. Baby TURTLE!". I told her to kick it to see if it was alive and she looked at me like I was Ultimate Asshole. But then she kicked it and we realized it was a mere lost Turtle Toy. Plastic. It was only 10 minutes later, as we're walking back to our homes, that I told her, "Not once did we stop to think that there aren't turtles roaming about Brentwood naturally. We fell for that crap."
I'm writing this as Roomie Deux and I are having our Wine and Smut TV night. I've gotten used to the way she talks to the television. The first few weeks I was thrown off, not quite sure if it was me or the Gossip Girls that she was talking to. But now, as I write and she randomly shouts at the TV and joins in the TV dialogue, it's all becoming quite like white noise to me.
We've decided to roast a turkey once a week leading up to Thanksgiving. Each time we're making different side dishes and desserts and hosting a different group of friends. The greatest thing we have in common is a love for food and recipes and mysterious kitchen gadgets. When we're in that teensy tiny kitchen, we're like two sailors on a ship. We shuffle around, spill flour on the floor, and occassionally utter a "Taste this," or a "Right behind you," or an "I got it!". We scoot back and forth and contort our bodies so that when cabinets are open above and the fridge door is open below we still manage to shuffle and shift and get the job done. It's wonderful.
I've been lucky here in Brentwood, in all aspects, but--especially--when it comes to roommates.
We stumbled upon a baby turtle on our walk. I almost stepped on it and then literally hopped out of the way. I think I startled Roomie, but as I stepped back to reveal that there was a baby turtle in the walk way, she leaned down and said, in a baby voice, "Ohhhh. Baby TURTLE!". I told her to kick it to see if it was alive and she looked at me like I was Ultimate Asshole. But then she kicked it and we realized it was a mere lost Turtle Toy. Plastic. It was only 10 minutes later, as we're walking back to our homes, that I told her, "Not once did we stop to think that there aren't turtles roaming about Brentwood naturally. We fell for that crap."
I'm writing this as Roomie Deux and I are having our Wine and Smut TV night. I've gotten used to the way she talks to the television. The first few weeks I was thrown off, not quite sure if it was me or the Gossip Girls that she was talking to. But now, as I write and she randomly shouts at the TV and joins in the TV dialogue, it's all becoming quite like white noise to me.
We've decided to roast a turkey once a week leading up to Thanksgiving. Each time we're making different side dishes and desserts and hosting a different group of friends. The greatest thing we have in common is a love for food and recipes and mysterious kitchen gadgets. When we're in that teensy tiny kitchen, we're like two sailors on a ship. We shuffle around, spill flour on the floor, and occassionally utter a "Taste this," or a "Right behind you," or an "I got it!". We scoot back and forth and contort our bodies so that when cabinets are open above and the fridge door is open below we still manage to shuffle and shift and get the job done. It's wonderful.
I've been lucky here in Brentwood, in all aspects, but--especially--when it comes to roommates.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Get ready for the stream
of consciousness.
What can I say? Except that there's not that much to say. I have nothing to say. Riveting, I know.
The week was good. Work hard, play hard. Got my drink on Friday night with Maryland crew and others. (God, I love the Maryland Crew!) It was a fantastic night in Santa Monica. Read to kids on Saturday morning for a volunteer thing. Second graders. So adorable that I could eat 'em up. Had a dinner party tonight. I made that cream of tomato soup that Gay Date told me about. It was the best tomato soup I've ever had. Better than Spago. Not to toot my own horn or anything (Toot! Toot!) but it was just....delicious.
Yeah. Nothing much to say. It was and is a weekend of simple pleasures. Afternoon coffee and chit chat with Roomie Deux. Loungin' and workin' in the 'ole PJs. Cooking with good music and even better wine.
It's cold here now. Well...not cold, but you know. High of 60. We had a fire tonight. I wore a sweat shirt when we ran up to San Vicente at 11 for a movie.
I've been lighting lots of candles.
I'll be a witch for Halloween.
I've decided I'm addicted to yogurt and granola parfaits.
I'm good.
That's all. For now.
What can I say? Except that there's not that much to say. I have nothing to say. Riveting, I know.
The week was good. Work hard, play hard. Got my drink on Friday night with Maryland crew and others. (God, I love the Maryland Crew!) It was a fantastic night in Santa Monica. Read to kids on Saturday morning for a volunteer thing. Second graders. So adorable that I could eat 'em up. Had a dinner party tonight. I made that cream of tomato soup that Gay Date told me about. It was the best tomato soup I've ever had. Better than Spago. Not to toot my own horn or anything (Toot! Toot!) but it was just....delicious.
Yeah. Nothing much to say. It was and is a weekend of simple pleasures. Afternoon coffee and chit chat with Roomie Deux. Loungin' and workin' in the 'ole PJs. Cooking with good music and even better wine.
It's cold here now. Well...not cold, but you know. High of 60. We had a fire tonight. I wore a sweat shirt when we ran up to San Vicente at 11 for a movie.
I've been lighting lots of candles.
I'll be a witch for Halloween.
I've decided I'm addicted to yogurt and granola parfaits.
I'm good.
That's all. For now.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
A perfect match
"I'm making soup tonight. I'm undecided between two recipes. One is a traditional cream based, and the other uses bell peppers to add a certain twist."
And so began my second date this weekend. I went on two dates. One went really well (the first) and I had a great time. But "well" is boring. So I'll talk about the second date.
While the second date went equally as well as the first, I am pretty sure the guy is gay. If he isn't gay, he's extremely metrosexual and--let's just face it--eventually I'll either scare him or he'll just annoy the hell out of me. It won't go anywhere.
We went to this joint by the ocean in Malibu. I have to give him points for his planning skills, because it was a great location. How can you beat this? Mid-70s, sipping mojitos on a deck overlooking the ocean, lounging on huge white seaside ottomans in the sun. At one point, we even stopped chatting for a good five minutes to admire the dolphins' swimming pattern in the water.
We talked food the entire way to Malibu. I knew, by the time the 15-minute ride was over, that it wasn't going to work but I relished in our discussion of tomato soup and summer squash. I was tickled. Knowing it wasn't going to work, I sighed and stretched my legs out from beneath my white sundress in a relaxed manner, adjusted my sunglasses and grinned. We got out of the car and I immediately pounced on his shoes--Where did you get them? I love them!--and I could tell by his facial expression that he marinated within the current of the compliment. Macy's. A 60-percent off sale. Plus, they were mismarked in price so I got an even better deal.
And there it goes. The begining of our story, a match. Only not a romantic one.
He criticized the mojitos. Normally, they crush the mint. It appears they compensated the no crushing by adding an extra handful of leaves. If you crush the leaves with your straw, Joanna, it should help. He was making grilled cheese to go with his tomato soup that night and wanted my advice. What sort of cheese do you typically use? I'm thinking swiss. He inquired after the grocery store in my neighborhood. Should I go there to pick up supplies? What do you think of it, pretty nice or no?
And all the while, I swam through the conversation in glee. I laughed and he laughed right along and I saw myself smiling back at me in my reflection within his Gucci sunglasses.
We analyzed restaurants. He went on about some French-American fusion place he went to on Friday night. I ordered the house cocktail, a gibson. And then we had poached quail eggs and...and I swam, and swam just like the dolphins in his words.
A success? I think so.
After the date, I spoke to my parents on the phone.
"Did you get a lot of work done today?" my Dad asked.
"No! I had some cocktails in Malibu and I think my date is gay, but--"
"Gay!? Why is he gay?"
"I just think he is. But nevermind about that, he's my new foodie friend."
"Jeanne!" Dad called across the house to Mom. "Hear this? Joanna went on a date with a gay guy and has a new foodie friend!"
And I couldn't be more happy about it.
And so began my second date this weekend. I went on two dates. One went really well (the first) and I had a great time. But "well" is boring. So I'll talk about the second date.
While the second date went equally as well as the first, I am pretty sure the guy is gay. If he isn't gay, he's extremely metrosexual and--let's just face it--eventually I'll either scare him or he'll just annoy the hell out of me. It won't go anywhere.
We went to this joint by the ocean in Malibu. I have to give him points for his planning skills, because it was a great location. How can you beat this? Mid-70s, sipping mojitos on a deck overlooking the ocean, lounging on huge white seaside ottomans in the sun. At one point, we even stopped chatting for a good five minutes to admire the dolphins' swimming pattern in the water.
We talked food the entire way to Malibu. I knew, by the time the 15-minute ride was over, that it wasn't going to work but I relished in our discussion of tomato soup and summer squash. I was tickled. Knowing it wasn't going to work, I sighed and stretched my legs out from beneath my white sundress in a relaxed manner, adjusted my sunglasses and grinned. We got out of the car and I immediately pounced on his shoes--Where did you get them? I love them!--and I could tell by his facial expression that he marinated within the current of the compliment. Macy's. A 60-percent off sale. Plus, they were mismarked in price so I got an even better deal.
And there it goes. The begining of our story, a match. Only not a romantic one.
He criticized the mojitos. Normally, they crush the mint. It appears they compensated the no crushing by adding an extra handful of leaves. If you crush the leaves with your straw, Joanna, it should help. He was making grilled cheese to go with his tomato soup that night and wanted my advice. What sort of cheese do you typically use? I'm thinking swiss. He inquired after the grocery store in my neighborhood. Should I go there to pick up supplies? What do you think of it, pretty nice or no?
And all the while, I swam through the conversation in glee. I laughed and he laughed right along and I saw myself smiling back at me in my reflection within his Gucci sunglasses.
We analyzed restaurants. He went on about some French-American fusion place he went to on Friday night. I ordered the house cocktail, a gibson. And then we had poached quail eggs and...and I swam, and swam just like the dolphins in his words.
A success? I think so.
After the date, I spoke to my parents on the phone.
"Did you get a lot of work done today?" my Dad asked.
"No! I had some cocktails in Malibu and I think my date is gay, but--"
"Gay!? Why is he gay?"
"I just think he is. But nevermind about that, he's my new foodie friend."
"Jeanne!" Dad called across the house to Mom. "Hear this? Joanna went on a date with a gay guy and has a new foodie friend!"
And I couldn't be more happy about it.
The G Word
It's a cool Sunday morning in Los Angeles. The sun is out but the air is brisk and it reminds me of winters in Arizona, a sunny sort of cold.
I spoke with a close friend this morning and we said goodbye. Goodbye. We don't know how long it will be before we talk again. This person used to be my version of a live journal of sorts, my human diary, a human reservoir that could hold my outpourings of life and hope and fears and sadness and wants and dreams. A challenger and poet and Believer in the Good.
They say, "A reason, a season, a lifetime," and I have yet to discover which jar I shall categorize this friend in, years from now when I am graced with the perspective and wisdom to make that decision.
We are leaves floating in the river and I've been pulled away by one current, and my friend, another.
You are strong and mighty (like me) and you are weak and vulnerable (like me) and in those ways we are forever linked.
I spoke with a close friend this morning and we said goodbye. Goodbye. We don't know how long it will be before we talk again. This person used to be my version of a live journal of sorts, my human diary, a human reservoir that could hold my outpourings of life and hope and fears and sadness and wants and dreams. A challenger and poet and Believer in the Good.
They say, "A reason, a season, a lifetime," and I have yet to discover which jar I shall categorize this friend in, years from now when I am graced with the perspective and wisdom to make that decision.
We are leaves floating in the river and I've been pulled away by one current, and my friend, another.
You are strong and mighty (like me) and you are weak and vulnerable (like me) and in those ways we are forever linked.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Distracted
Our nights here in Los Angeles have transcended, become crisp yet heavy and chilled; a cold soup, like air which hovers over a cool pond; my dog’s wet nose. Somewhere in the serene and wild desert of Arizona the temperatures might be falling to ninety-something. And there, across the great Midwest, the Indian summer is waning and wilting in Chicago; and in New York City the winds might be sweeping Manhattan and all of the people of Manhattan, like tiny flustered ants, might be clutching their pumpkin lattes in a panic.
Tonight, I’ll need a jacket. And tomorrow I’ll require an umbrella. The first storm of the fall is due to Los Angeles and it is in that rain that I’ll be slushing about; and it is indoors, warm and dry, that I’ll feel safe and content while the water splashes and pouts at the window.
It’s Friday. It’s been a strange day. I’m ready for the weekend.
Tonight, I’ll need a jacket. And tomorrow I’ll require an umbrella. The first storm of the fall is due to Los Angeles and it is in that rain that I’ll be slushing about; and it is indoors, warm and dry, that I’ll feel safe and content while the water splashes and pouts at the window.
It’s Friday. It’s been a strange day. I’m ready for the weekend.
Note to Fern
My brother sent me an email this morning.
Subject line: Fernando (His name for me. Don’t ask).
What’s up? You’ll never believe what happened to me last night.
I can’t, of course, tell you what happened to him last night since it is not my place to share. But I’m just sorta on Cloud 9 knowing, of all the people in the world he could tell, he decided to share his experience with me.
*grin*
Subject line: Fernando (His name for me. Don’t ask).
What’s up? You’ll never believe what happened to me last night.
I can’t, of course, tell you what happened to him last night since it is not my place to share. But I’m just sorta on Cloud 9 knowing, of all the people in the world he could tell, he decided to share his experience with me.
*grin*
Thursday, October 2, 2008
The good stuff
Today is a good day.
I have time to breathe at work. I have decided to put in a load of work on a Saturday (boo) but the upside is this week has now turned into a fantastic, much less stressful week.
I got my eyes examined today in Westwood and wandered around the village area. I admit – I was looking for Dee Dee Reese’s cookie shop – but failed to find it.
My car is now squeaky clean.
Tonight I feast on tapas or gourmet Chinese food (game time decision) with one of my nearest and dearest friends here. Wine, wine!
It’s supposed to rain this weekend. I’m pretty excited about it.
The team and I at work just took an hour break to go eat Pinkberry.
Couple dates coming up.
I am sore today from pilates. Hurts to move.
Tomorrow is Friday!
Weekend plans include working, massage (courtesy of work), possible hike, afternoon cocktails at a seaside bar in Malibu, a birthday celebration in Venice and reading.
Today is a good day.
I have time to breathe at work. I have decided to put in a load of work on a Saturday (boo) but the upside is this week has now turned into a fantastic, much less stressful week.
I got my eyes examined today in Westwood and wandered around the village area. I admit – I was looking for Dee Dee Reese’s cookie shop – but failed to find it.
My car is now squeaky clean.
Tonight I feast on tapas or gourmet Chinese food (game time decision) with one of my nearest and dearest friends here. Wine, wine!
It’s supposed to rain this weekend. I’m pretty excited about it.
The team and I at work just took an hour break to go eat Pinkberry.
Couple dates coming up.
I am sore today from pilates. Hurts to move.
Tomorrow is Friday!
Weekend plans include working, massage (courtesy of work), possible hike, afternoon cocktails at a seaside bar in Malibu, a birthday celebration in Venice and reading.
Today is a good day.
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