G is for Grateful

After a month of too much work and too little Joanna Time, Friday night I ended up at the Maryland apartment where we had a few drinks. Then just one Maryland friend and I went to our local Brentwood watering hole. He bought me a drink and then we did a lap around the bar, and he proceeded to launch into how he won’t meet any girls because it looks like we’re together, yadda yadda yadda. I stopped him as we were going down a flight of stairs.

“Matt, can’t we just have FUN?”
“Huh?”
“Let’s just have FUN tonight. Can’t we just do that?”
“Oh, okay, yeah, Jo.”

We sat up at the bar, but when he went to the bathroom eventually, a guy appeared on my right and we got into a long conversation about life and work and dreams. I was supposed to be holding the chair on my left for Matt, as well as watching his drink, but when I turned around, too late, there’s a black guy in the seat and I thought, “Gee, that doesn’t look like Matt…” and there’s an empty beer glass. I tapped the guy on the shoulder.

“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, girl?”
“That’s my friend’s chair. You don’t have to move now, but you might have to move when he gets back. I don’t want to be mean about it, but I’ve been a bad friend. I was supposed to watch his chair.”
“Oh okay, yeah no problem.”
“Another thing…”
“Yeah?”
I point to the empty glass. “Did you drink my friend’s beer? You can tell me. I won't be mad.”

He denied it. I believed him. I bought Matt another drink but didn’t really buy him a drink because I put it on his tab.

I owe him a few.

Saturday I went in to work but I never made it up to the fourth floor, to that Flavia Machine, to my notebook. I didn’t have the right pass that would get me through the 9 million security checkpoints, and I failed at charming the security guard into letting me up like I've done the last few weeks. But I didn’t fight it. Destiny didn’t want me to work on Saturday, I suppose. If my foot was feeling better, I would have been at the ocean, feeling the sun on my face.

The day was a treasure, a summer day that came early, like a movie sneak preview. It was a day for naps on sand, farmers markets, barbeques, flip flops and sundresses and crisp salads and shrimp and iced coffees. It was a day to pull your hair back and get on a bike, for afternoon hikes in Runyon Canyon, to let the windows open and the breeze flow through the apartment.

Since I couldn’t use my stupid foot (ack!), I decided to cook instead. I made homemade pasta sauce and bought bread and cheese and hummus. The Maryland kids came over for dinner and so did Roomie’s Boyfriend and we drank wine and ate too much food. The Maryland kids were tan from the beach and tennis. I left the windows open and the cool Los Angeles air came in to soothe our faces and whisk the heat from the kitchen.

We ended up at a bar in Santa Monica where Roomie and Roomie’s Boyfriend (RB) declared every guy there “not good enough!” for me. We danced on the Tiniest Dance Floor There Ever Was and RB spun us each on a different hand, as he’s been inclined to do these days. They taught me new Jewish words and toasts and we took a lot of papparazi-style photos. Later, a six buck cab ride brought us back to Brentwood to our local bar where “there’s better quality people for Joanna.” Those two, they dote on me like I’m their kid.

This is a time in my life to be thankful, and if I had to narrow my thanks to just focus on Los Angeles, the spotlight would narrow in even more to shine on the friends I have here. I understand this, I’m realizing it and living it. I’m thankful for the Maryland Kids and their summer faces. I’m thankful for my Roomie who has now declared me to be half Jewish, like a proud Jewish mother. I’m thankful for her boyfriend who always makes room for me to dance and seems very particular about the guys I date. I’m thankful that they eat the food I cook and were understanding that time I set off the smoke alarms.

I’m thankful for my good friend at work, who said, “Call me,” when I cried to her the day after the breakup, stating, “I don’t know who I am going to call before BEDTIME now! Who's gonna be my last call of the day?” and she said, “Me, Jo, call me. We’ll call each other!” and I looked at her when she said this and found she was crying, too.

My life, it has worked out in a strange and wonderful and mysterious way. And it's still in the process. Maybe it should have exploded a few months ago, or maybe it did explode. But if so, it’s exploded into the most beautiful of fires, into a million stars and happy little pieces. And in that rubble, I’ve discovered so many treasures.