Home.

Whenever I go home I usually get talked into going out. Not that I mind going out. Just in my hometown I do. For lots of reasons. But since there are two ladies with whom I attach the word best, I make an exception. You would think by now that they would have stopped asking since they know how I feel, but they don’t stop, and so I oblige. I’m out with my girls, trying to enjoy the festivities for the most part or at least appear as though I am. We’re in this small club that has had about three different names, each time as an effort to “classy” it up, when time seems to revert back to the days of my early twenties. Against the wall is an ex of an ex. The one he couldn’t get over enough to allow us to be. The one who left him, then tried to get back with him while he was trying to get back with me. Irony in full swing. Across the room is the other’s ex-boyfriend’s best friend, whom I’ve known since the Spring Break days. And near the bar, his cousin, whom I adore, but had to give up with the break-up. The “these friends come with me, those with you” deal. They lived together while we dated and still is one of my favorite people. We chat it up. Then there is the tap on my shoulder of a man who always used to vie for my attention. Still a nice guy. Still asking to take me out. All of them, stuffed in this small, too-brightly lit club that if I blinked, was life six years ago, familiar faces and slightly forgotten memories. A reminder of a young loves, young losses, a reminder of why I left, and why I stay gone.

Seriously, why?

Okay, those who know me know I can't stand cold weather. I think snow's pretty, but I can't stand not being able to feel my limbs. And I really don't understand why someone would CHOOSE to live in a place that was colder than a FREEZER. Really. Don't get it.

Happy Holidays to you too, LA

I was out of town this weekend for the wedding of my lovely sister. Which was a beautiful and small affair, but perfectly matched the two people being wed. The only thing to mar this festive occasion didn’t happen in my hometown at all, but in the ever obnoxious traffic of LA. Knowing I had to make the drive to LAX, I left a whopping four hours early. One of my good friends must have had a sixth sense, because she says, “you should probably leave earlier”. And she was right. I spent the next two and a half hours (yes, you read right) going about 20mph. At one point I actually thought to myself, is it really possible I might miss my flight?!?! I finally made it with only twenty minutes until I boarded, seriously questioning why I liked LA so much. Then, as I arrive at my car last night, which has spent the last three days in the airport parking lot, I find a little holiday surprise from the City of Los Angeles. A citation. For not having a front plate (which is ludicrous to begin with seeing as the California DMV only issued me ONE plate). So these (there is no better word) assholes spent the weekend walking around the airport parking lot, finding reasons to cite cars so that they could make their quota. Niiiicce. Great thing to do before the holiday. I would have rather them asked for a damn donation. And whose pathetic job is it to walk around the airport parking lot? I’m writing a complaint to these bastards, not that I believe justice will prevail, but because I’m pissed. Anyways, slightly annoyed and really thinking about moving back to NYC. At least then I don’t have to drive.

5:30PM workouts

I actually made it this time. And as my reward it seems the gym was having a dodge ball contest where buff men ran around throwing and dodging (hence the name) balls for the glory of winning, coincidently for the entire time I was there. Ah, yes, yes afternoon workouts are for me. :)

7am workouts

Technically I did wake up at 7am. After a night of lying on a heating pad and finally succumbing to taking a sleeping/pain reliever pill to ease the pain in my neck that was turning into the pain in my temples, 7am looked a whole lot like 6am this morning. And I’m beginning to realize that my enthusiasm the night before does not translate anytime before 8am. So I’m thinking I just might be an afternoon work out person after all. I’m trying again. This time at 5:30…pm.

6am workouts

I got it in my head that I would start working out again. Like I got it in my head last week to eat healthy (which ended badly after the Cinnabon). My body is starting to reject my lethargic lifestyle by making every muscle ache. And since I haven’t felt much like working out after work since it’s all dark and cold (okay, I realize I work out in a gym, but I have to go out in the dark and cold to get there), maybe, just maybe I’d work out better if I got up in the morning and went! Filled with the enthusiasm so many of us have as we begin our spanking new goals (think how you feel January 1st) I set my alarm for 6am…

Technically I did wake up at 6am. I looked at my alarm, thought to myself why in the world would anyone ever wake up this early, and went back to sleep. Tomorrow I’m trying again. Just at 7am.

Delivery in 7 to 10 days plus postage

So I’m thinking about the fact that I’m 28 and this slight fear of my life turning into a Bridget Jones movie sets in my tummy. Being the analytical woman I am, I start turning over how I can avoid writing a sad diary of my weight and cigarettes smoked (or in my case, shoes bought). The thought enters my mind that I can’t be the only one and didn't the author of “Eat, Pray, Love” have to go all the way to Indonesia to find a man? Hmmmm, what if we imported (legally) men from other countries? Men have mail-order brides…why not a mail-order GROOM! Get some great-looking men itching to get into the states who don’t speak English from places like Italy and Puerto Rico. And teach them phrases like “Yes,” and “Whatever you’d like,” and “Of course your butt is small in all of your clothes,” and “No, she wasn’t prettier than you”. No fear single women, help is on its way! I’m writing the business plan in my head right now. I just may be a millionaire yet...Though, I admit, I’m still a Bridget Jones’ movie. I’ll wait for Darcy.

Free Botox

I’m on the way to work this morning, listening to one of the local radio stations, and the DJ comes on with one of their freebies…caller #9 gets free…Botox. Really. No joke. Some doctor is giving free Botox. I would write why I think this is so disturbing, but I feel it should be apparent. Or maybe it’s not. Which is probably even more disturbing. I think I need to just stop listening to morning media altogether. Between Brittany and Botox, it’s no wonder I can’t finish my breakfast.

My favorite city is under water!

Venice has flooded...well, more than usual this time.


Historic Center of Venice Flooded