Clean, sparkling, scented...love

From the moment my eyes opened at 5:00 this morning, to splashing tomato bisque on my shirt at lunch, until I left work at 6:15 tonight... I was having a rough day. It was the equivalent of having my brain whacked repeatedly with a Nerf bat during an all-day-event I will kindly and diplomatically generalize quite simply as "InDesign software training."

When I finally got back to my desk tonight after a day in the training room, I was greeted by the day's waiting work, 3 bills to pay and a gentle email from my mother reminding me that I hadn't sent out the blank "thank you" cards I'd been carrying in my purse since the last week in April. After dragging my tired, brain-beaten mess-of-a-self out to the car, the drive home through hideous L.A. traffic expounded my need to fight off: 1) the urge to cry, and 2) the strong desire to veer off at the nearest exit and find a dark bar. I only screamed at 1 car, told another who tried to side-swipe me to go f**k himself and proudly refrained from using the clown horn embedded in my badass of a Toyota. It was one of those days where upon finally pulling into your parking spot you wearily shove it into park, lean your head back and close your eyes for one final deep, slow breath. Turning the car off, you convince yourself that the day is done. You survived. Tomorrow can't be nearly as nightmarish in the most cliched of ways. Surely.

Slow steps to the front door are followed by sluggish struggles with the deadbolt. Limply pushing my way through I surprise Teen, who has used her key to get in and borrow my computer while hers is in the shop. But lucky for me - and unlucky for her - Teen is not the kind of girl who can borrow a computer when it is surrounded by the unkempt mess of someone who can no longer be bothered to care. (Or so it would seem to Teen, who is THE CLEANEST and TIDIEST person I've ever met.) In a move so very Monica from "Friends", she even brought over her own cleaning supplies.

When I wearily schlepped my way into my own home this evening, I found it cleaner than it had been in months. She had loads of laundry going and throw rugs were already hanging to dry. It was absolutely amazing and smelled even better... in that lovely scented candle + cleaning products kind of way.

The bed I'd left in tatters early that morning now had crisp lines worthy of a home catalog. Floors shone, toilets sparkled and every little pile of "stuff" I'd left out had been condensed and re-categorized according to Teen's strict standards. I can now actually see my desk.

On a day when my world found too many annoying little ways to kick me in the shins and pull my hair, Teen decided to shower me with love. Undeserved, unrequested, unexpected, clean and pure L-O-V-E. I mean, she scrubbed my toilet and shower, for crying out loud. Without me knowing! She's friggen amazing; a better looking version of Mr. Clean... with hair.

One is an expert at being clean and organized...the other is too tired to give more than the hint of a damn anymore. *Sigh*

It was the sisterly equivalent of grabbing my day by the proverbial horns and showing it who's boss. And Shelley better start answering my phone calls if she's going to have a snowball's hope in hell of living up to little sister's new standard! I'm thinking extravagant care packages and endless calls from the 3 munchkins...(Hi Shell! xoxo)

A lesson on life...from Cha Cha

Yes, you may start most things by following the social norms...because it is what is expected. Following the rules can sometimes get you exactly what it is that your heart desires. Like ice cream with blue sprinkles, eaten politely with a spoon and a dignified pinky in the air.

But there usually isn't much adventure in being a rules man. And sometimes being polite only gets you so far. Afterall, there are morsels in life that are out of manner's reach. There is ice cream left in the rim of the cup that the spoon cannot scoop out. So you make a decision: keep the pinky in the air with your supposed dignity in tact, or dig right in and get what you want.

Life very often tastes better when it's a little messy.

Running away with the circus

Tomorrow is my birthday - and I greatly dislike my birthday. Extra attention usually makes me blush and squirm, but more than that, I’m the type to reflect on what exactly I did with the past year that was bestowed upon me. And it never seems enough.

A couple weeks ago my girlfriends and I were going over the list of what I could call accomplishments for year 27. It went something like this:

LO: You got a promotion at work!
Me: Ok, that was huge. Good one.
(Silent pause while we all think some more.)
LO: And you were employee of the month!
Me: Ridiculous, but true.
(More silence.)
Me: Ok, that can’t be it. Otherwise I’ve done nothing but work this year. And that’s just too horrible to be true.

From there, it was just grasping at straws…

You got a new roommate!
I took a couple of long weekend trips…
You went to a taping of Hell’s Kitchen.
And I negotiated lower rent!
You finally painted again…you’ve been wanting to do that forever.

I had been wanting to paint for forever. And now, this giant beauty is the apple of my living room's eye.

It was a few days later that I decided I wasn’t going to let that list stand as it was. In reality my 27th year was mostly about work, but I wasn’t going to let it go out like that.

Step 1: Appease my family…
...And spend a lovely Saturday morning sipping coffee while getting my hair cut. It wasn’t until I saw this picture after a family weekend in Arizona that I realized just how long my mane had actually become. Teen’s been threatening to drag me into Petco ever since, while my mom has all but begged.

Teen finally won. While bellied up to a bar on Friday afternoon she dug out her phone, called the salon and made an appointment for me the next morning. Enough was enough. Time to start 28 a little lighter. (P.S. It’s still long, just no longer of the Cousin It variety.)

Step 2: Act my shoe size, not my age…
...By following a great lunch on Saturday with a hilarious time at the seedy Fox Fire Room with Stacy and Teen. The $4 cocktails were flowing, as were tears of laughter. We made friends with an old man in gym socks that we referred to as “Baby.” And a couple of hours later, when we reemerged into the blinding daylight, we did what anyone would do. We went to the batting cages. Helmets on. Balls flying. Kids and their parents staring. Teen ending up with 2 bruised and swollen fingers. An afternoon to remember.

Step 3: Join the circus…
...Something I’ve always wanted to do. Years ago I loved skydiving and rappelling down a cliff and have since longed for the rush of doing something that scares the crap out of me. It was time to try the trapeze. And Teen was joining me, whether she wanted to or not.

It. Was. Amazing.

It took a lot of practice… but we flew, and finally learned how to get our knees on the bar so that we could seconds later hang from them, and even better – learned to do it all with the right timing…

And yet, what seemed like great victories was apparently mere practice for the main event: THE CATCH.

First me...

...then Teen

There are bruises, muscles that ache to the point of immobility, sunburns, skin missing from various joints… and it all feels pleasantly like a badge of honor. I did not one, but TWO catches. I don’t know how to properly explain how exhilarating it was…but I do know this: THAT is how you end a year with a bang.

Still, painting, promotion, trapeze and weekend trips aside, I think this picture is probably the most accurate of me at 27: smirking in the sunshine and sipping white wine. And when I put it like that, well, maybe this year wasn't so disappointing after all.

Stay tuned.

Ode to L.A.: Neighbors

There have been times when we've lived thousands of miles apart after a childhood of living across the hall. My toddler self once got in trouble at daycare for "rescuing" her from her crib so she could nap in the "big bed" with me. It's always better to be close.

She's my bestie and as adults we now live 5 blocks away from each other. And I have to love L.A. for making Teen my neighbor.

Ode to L.A.: Variety is the Spice of Life

One city, so much to offer...

Great hiking

Fantastic beaches

Spectacular music venues

The best movie theaters

Sprinkles cupcakes

and endless summers

You have to work at being bored in L.A.

Ode to L.A.: What Light

I will never tire of the light of L.A.'s setting sun. Depending what part of town you're in, it may be reflecting off the windows of a high-rise, creating sharp shadows in the canyons of the mountains, or bouncing off the Pacific and casting a pink glow on the sand and palm trees.

Everyone needs a bit of time in the pink now and then. Rosy glows are just so very flattering...

Ode to L.A.: Spoiled and Stuffed

Maybe it has to do with getting older. Maybe it's about the location. Maybe it's about why I am where I physically am and what drives me. Maybe it's a combination of all these things. It probably is...

When I lived in Boulder I had the eating habits of a typical college student: I occassionally cooked, sometimes had pizza, sometimes went out for sandwiches or burritos, and most days lived on whatever I could quick grab in between classes.

In Sydney food was the last thing on my mind. There was a whole country to explore. Beer to drink. Trips to take. Fascinating people to meet. Absolutely impossible classes to struggle through with a packed Nutella sandwich to tide me over in between - along with a flat white from the beach side cafe to wake me up. I lived a block from the beach... 75% of the time I could not have cared less about whatever I ate to sustain me through the day.

Very different was my summer in Boston, where I was just so broke that my meal budget was about $2. The roommates all contributed to the communal pot of what could be salvaged from our miserly jobs - leftover fake Italian and Starbucks pastries. I remember eating at maybe a handful of proper restaurants and not once making a meal that involved multiple dishes or fresh vegetables. That was the summer I learned to combine rice, a can or corn and a can of tuna - dry, unflavorful and nicknamed "cat food" by Joyce. It got me through... and since she lived off Easy Mac I didn't really take her critiques to heart.

San Diego taught me to appreciate the small places that are off the beaten track... The bizarre burrito place in the strip mall, where the tablecloths are bolted to the tables. The hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant that lets you linger at your table for hours. The breakfast place on the main drag surrounded by surfboards and run down apartment buildings, with the sounds of the waves crashing from a block away providing just enough distraction to keep the tourists from swarming the place. Still, every time I take a mini-break in San Diego, I make sure to eat at all of these little gems.

But L.A. has maybe surprised me the most, because this city has managed to bring out the food snob in me. These days all I ask is for a free night, an engaging dinner companion, a coveted reservation and a few glasses of wine. Oh... and bites of food that habitually make me pause before murmuring OhMyGodYum under my breath. That, my friends, is my perfect L.A. evening as of late.

It took my parents coming into town for me to realize how much of a food brat I had become. Everywhere Teen and I wanted to take them they saw as either extravagant or a huge inconvenience. Teen and I simply saw it as, "if we're going to eat, we're going to eat something good." To them, the drives were long, the parking impossible, the waiting time totally ridiculous, the crush of people insufferable, the noise level obnoxious and the prices completely outrageous. To me and Teen?...just another Saturday. Naturally.

It all got me thinking about how incredibly spoiled I had become in the restaurant department. And also, how incredibly tollerant. Let's examine the recent evidence, shall we?

Dolce: Maybe slightly past its prime, but still delicious, still fun and still one of the best places in town to spend a Monday night, thanks to their 50% off food special. Teen and I have both spent a birthday here, and Mom and Dad were treated to the full-blown Monday night madness.

Dolce: the Monday night favorite

Pizzeria Mozza: Currently so very, very popular that a table is still impossible to be had even when you call a few weeks ahead of time. But on a very, very good Saturday recently, Teen and I went to LACMA to see the Vanity Fair exhibit and later found ourselves on two bar stools at Mozza. There was delicious wine, drool-worthy pizza and the most divine caprese salad ever created. I kid you not. I'm a caprese maniac and this was like no other.

Caprese has never had it this good. I'm not kidding. Not even in the slightest.

Melrose Bar & Grill: Cozy, great wine, friendly staff, with homemade pita and mussels that are worth the work, this place is my idea of casual-devine. Sometimes Teen going on dates with wonky weirdos has a total silver lining...like discovering this little beauty for us to return to.

Melrose Bar & Grill: Grab some friends and let the good times roll

Duke's: I don't know where you head for a drink on a gorgeous day, but I'm curious if it can top Duke's in Malibu. More than once I've sat back, enjoyed a cold Mexican beer or chilled glass of white wine and watched the dolphins arc across the water's surface. Sundays in my life have never before been so lovely.

Seriously? Malibu earned its reputation. Nevermind...you can't top it.

Cecconi's: Well, I saved my favorite for last. This super new hot-spot I discovered during its first week of being open to the public (the one and only time I have accomplished something so monumental and simultaneously insignificant). Teen and I scored a reservation for a Friday night at 10:00 - the last night of their 50% off food opening celebration. And let me tell you, at 10:00 I had to wait in a massive line just to check-in, only to find that our table of course wasn't ready yet...so we happily bellied up to the gorgeous bar for a glass of wine. (Those blue chairs are HEAVY, so bellying required a bit of muscle...meaning that dragging my chair closer to the bar counted as my daily workout. And yes, I realize it's a very good life when this is your workout.) Anyway, the Scallops, Pancetta & Rosemary and a glass of wine is something I plan to return for again...and again...and again... Imgaine the arm muscles I'm going to have after dragging those blue bar chairs around so much?!

L.A.'s most beautiful restaurant...

...and our favorite table in the city

But, hey, when I need to be brought back to reality, you need not worry, I'm totally capable of doing it myself. Afterall, my other favorite and often-frequented establishment is 100% delicious-kitsch...

In Studio City, Hugo's Tacos is home to my "Burrito Bowl with Chicken & Honey Chipotle salsa"

L.A. has the oddest things in the weirdest places - and Hugo's Tacos is one of these: An organic-friendly fast food place in the middle of the valley near the on-ramp to the 101 freeway. Or, as it is known to me, "Burrito Bowl Heaven that Makes My Head Sweat. Every. Single. Time."

And herein lies one of the many ways that life in L.A. has changed me forevermore. Dining out will never be the same ho-hum experience it was before. Food will never be hoped to be anything short of gorgeous. Setting, decor and scenery will from now on always weigh-in. An expectation has been set. A standard to be met.

Dear L.A., you culinary cornucopia, you... you have spoiled me, stuffed me and quite possibly made me a bit of a snob. And I absolutely adore you for it.

Hugs and kisses,

Me

Ode to L.A.: The Cool Girls

I read once that wherever you may be, it is your friends that make your world. And that means that Larry, Curly and Moe here make my world in L.A. Actually, their names are LO, WetHead and Blondie…or Adriann, Stacy and Ashley. And even though Ashley now calls Chicago home, she’s still my L.A. lady.

This city of celebutantes gets a bad rap for being the holding pen of the world’s most shallow. I won’t refute that completely, I’ll just say that you have to weed your way through the muck to find the good ones. And they’re so worth it.

Day trips to Santa Barbara. A whole vineyard of wine drunk happily. First dates, blind dates, breakups, makeups and breakups again. Packing up, moving, unpacking and decorating. Horrendous roommates. Great birthday celebrations. Entire conversations spoken in code. Fights, pouting, huffing, pointing and laughing. Shopping. Cursing like drunken sailors on leave. Tequilla shots. Grocery store runs. Long dinners at the taco stand near the freeway. New jobs. Sharing hair appointments. Dancing. And always - always - laughing.

You have to love a city that gives you such loveable friends. I love you, L.A. (when I’m not loathing you, that is.)

Ode to L.A.: Star Sightings

It’s been brought to my attention that I have again neglected my blog and all 4 of its loyal readers. I’ve also started receiving emails asking if I am, in fact, still among the living. I am.

Keeping in touch? Yeah, not one of my strong points. I come to terms with it slightly more with each passing year and each frustrated voicemail by those I love most.

It is Monday and I have a plan. I’m thinking that maybe if I have a theme for this week, I’ll post more. And maybe – just maybe! – I’ll post every day for a whole stinking week! Half the trouble with posting to this thing on a regular basis, is that at the end of the day, when I theoretically should write, if I’m even home, my brain has turned to mush. I’ll sit down and think, “What to say? What to say? Hmmmm…. Budgets. Referral program. Loyalty program. Purchase orders. Invoices. …. Crap, look at all that laundry! Did I pay that bill? Screw this, I’m getting a glass of wine.” That’s how it goes. And then I ignore the blog until my brother-in-law drops it into conversation on a regular basis that I happen to be the worst blogger ever. *Sigh*

Not this week though! Because this week, which is extra lovely with breezes carrying the scent of flowers and sunshine lingering into the early evening, is my love note to my city. My ode to L.A.

And because L.A. often means celebrities to those that live here – and especially to those who don’t – here is my list of celebrity sightings as best I can remember. And I’m not including any cheats of those that I’ve met or seen through any kind of “industry” connections. These are simply what the city has offered up to me (plus one San Diego sighting, because it was my favorite). If you know someone I've left off, go ahead and remind me. I'm happy to make this an ongoing list.

Adrian Grenier – being his totally laid back self at my favorite San Diego breakfast spot, The Mission
Robert Downey Jr. – skipping (I swear) into Toscana to pick up a takeout order
Kevin Bacon & Kyra Sedgewick, Marcia Cross – perusing veggies at the Brentwood Farmers Market
Tony Danza – chilling at the bar in Drago
Milo Ventimiglia – lifting weights at the gym (thereby explaining to me why girls ever wear makeup to the gym)
Whoopi Goldberg – sitting on a bench waiting for a bus in the valley (Ashley can back me up here)
Fergi & Josh Duhamel – on a flight from Minnesota to L.A.
Seth Green – flying Southwest from Phoenix to L.A.
Kevin Dillon – stomping around a Starbucks parking lot in Malibu
David Hasselhoff – giving the “peace” sign to Pinkberry employees
Luke Wilson – driving a snazzy car too fast in Brentwood
Natalie Portman – looking like a lost 12 year-old while checking in to the Palihouse in West Hollywood
Justin Chambers – buying the most hideous Christmas ornaments The Grove could provide
Henry Winkler – chatting with diners as he left Pizzicotto
Donald Faison & CaCee Cobb – getting in my way at The Grove
Isla Fisher – uber pregnant and buying ingredients for spaghetti bolognese at Trader Joe’s
Victoria Beckham – leaving Cecconi’s with her entourage
Fisher Stevens – going through security at LAX (I’m a big fan of the movie Only You and I bit back the urge to beg him to say, “Ittly!”)
Scott Adsit – dining at Swingers

Updates:
Christina Applegate - buying books at a West Hollywood Borders
Hayden Panettiere (with Milo Ventimiglia - again) - pushing food around at Cheesecake Factory in Brentwood

What's a dollar really worth?

I have 2 soft spots that go hand-in-hand here in L.A.: Starbucks and the homeless. At a couple different locations I even have some "buddies." The Starbucks I stop at before getting on the 405 comes complete a pal who upon seeing my car approaching waves maniacally and then stands in a spot in the street to save it for me. As I park he jams change into the meter, buying me enough time to drink a landslide of lattes. My other favorite one walks miles around Brentwood and in our exchanges we've high-fived, made small talk and he once asked if he could stand at the street corner with Teen and me as we waited for the light to change. These men I will give money to without hesitation. I believe that they're good people who have stumbled into a hard life. (I guess it could just be a minor case of yuppie angst, but I don't think my lifestyle quite qualifies me to be a bonafide yuppie.)

Most who are with me as I hand my hard-earned and meager money over to the homeless on occasion usually just shake their heads quietly, signaling that my behaviour isn't exactly the norm. I've never minded. I've always understood that maybe they've chosen to believe the stories about the "fake" homeless people who at the end of the day jump in their SUV, or believe that everything you give is just spent on alcohol. I don't deny that those things may happen... I just don't let it deter me.

And then Friday happened.

I decided that because dreaming of work woke me up in a cold sweat at 5 a.m. I deserved a latte before heading into the office extra early. I saw a homeless man as I was parking and he looked extra sad and dirty, squinting in the bright morning sun. As I walked toward him I was fidgeting with my wallet and realized that I was fresh out of any change other than stupid pennies. I dug out a dollar and folded it up, passing it off with a, "Good morning!" before he could finish asking.

Ten minutes later as I was trying to drink latte, walk and put on sunglasses at the same time I saw something that startled me enough to make me stumble slightly. No, no, no. That can't be the same man I just gave my last dollar bill to... talking on a cell phone!

How do you have a wireless plan? Where did you charge that thing? Who are you calling that is not willing to help you out or take you in? I realize I shouldn't judge because I know absolutely nothing about this person and I won't let it stop me the next time I meet someone who makes my heart hurt... but he, in particular, won't be getting anymore from me should I ever see him again.

While I did spend the rest of that day wanting my dollar back, I'm mostly annoyed at him now for making me just a little more suspicious... a little more cynical. Goodness knows, I'm plenty cynical as is.