The wind has a very good effect. Plus it clears away the smog and gives us a view of the mountains we forget are there until we hear about floods or fires.
And to feel the wind on a 3 day weekend only adds to the calming it has on me.
Ahh the weekend.
Friday night, went out to the beach for dinner and walked along the sand (trying to avoid any sharp (read syringes) objects that in the dark I wouldn't notice).
It was relaxing. The waves crashing as a breeze blew on our cheeks (read really cold wind hitting our jacketless torsos) was very hypnotic.
Yesterday, went to a BBQ that was celebrating Todd Bridges's birthday (Todd Bridges was not there).
They played 80's music and ran old Different Strokes episodes on a loop.
We danced in the front yard on the chairs trying to avoid burns from the tiki torches and trying to avoid spilling red drinks on their cream couch that was placed in the yard.
The wind would blow our hair around perfectly as we would dance and lip synch. It was very MTV and it made us feel sexy.
I think Zappy is going to try her hand at stripping since we all convinced her she was really good at the lap dances.
And she was. Even though it was just an empty chair she was seducing.
The wind makes you do crazy things. Well the wind and a whole lotta drinking. Which might have had a little something to do with it.
My windows are open.
The night air comes in gentle breezes.
And typically, I hear cars screeching to a halt or sirens going off or horns honking out on the busy Avenue that stretches beneath my window.
So I turn up the tv, or the radio. It is all so common.
Tonight, I heard a cop siren go off for a moment.
It was close.
Like it was stopping someone.
I didn't give it another thought.
5 minutes later, the bullhorn ricochets against my apartment building, "Step out of the car. Sir you must step out of the car!".
I wondered if by sitting on the couch and not being an onlooker, I would still get shot if bullets were to suddenly fly if this were maybe an end to a police chase.
So, not wanting to be sitting in ignorance to what would shoot me, I turned off the lights and sidled up to the window in what I like to call "first row to voyeurism theater".
I don't know what they stopped the guy for.
I don't know they said.
But I watched them put handcuffs on him.
I saw another cop car stop. And then there are 4 cops standing there watching him stand there.
One cop checks the car. Another writes stuff down.
And then the weirdest thing happened.
They all started laughing.
At first I thought they were laughing AT him which got my ire up.
But then I noticed that the handcuffed guy was making them laugh. he was cracking wise and they were eating it up.
I had to finish watching to see what would happen.
I mean, last week, drunk neighbor started his usual shenanigans again of cursing out women and stumbling and shouting. But I was too tired to pay attention to the whole event.
So I made up for lost time on this one.
I wondered would they take him to the precinct. Would they tow his car? Would they uncuff him only to have him shoot them all after he had made them laugh?
I had to find out.
But you know how most films and blind dates have great build up, even good middles, but the ending leaves you feeling like you should have had real ice cream and not that weird low fat version made with splenda? That is what happened.
I mean, not like I wanted to see bullets fly, REALLY. Cuz then I would have had to call someone and probably put my bra back on and talk to people when I was really ready for bed. But the antcipation had ruined it so that any ending would have paled.
They uncuffed him. The one cop car went away. The newly uncuffed shook the hands of the cops and they all drove away.
I think he was either the most mature guy...or he was drunk and made them laugh so hard they forgot to make him do a sobriety test.
Either way, I wish I could be that mature when the annoying guy at work drones on about something I don't care about.
Or be that funny.
Or be that drunk.
A lady in belly dancing class told me she remembered my name because I reminded her of Kirstie Alley and our names are similar.
I smiled and said, "Thank you", even though I wasn't sure it was a compliment and even if it was a compliment, I wasn't sure I should take it as one.
So I additionally blurted out, "Yeah, that bitch is crazy."
Which probably only enhanced to her that I am even more similar to Kirstie Alley than she previously thought, because she nodded and said nothing more.
My niece who is almost 4 has tantrums.
There was one morning when she just couldn't be calmed down.
She screamed and threw fits.
Finally, she was't making any noise.
I looked over at her and noticed that she was quietly fuming.
Still very far from happy. But very calm.
"Are you still crabby, or are you going to be a happy girl?" I asked kind of knowing the answer.
Her eyes got very small and she looked like she would spit fire out of them if she could...
"I. AM. STILL. CRABBY." she said with soft hatred.
"Really? And you don't want to be happy?"
"I think I don't want to be happy right now" (her accent coming through).
I feel that way today.
Mads and I brunched it this weekend in Malibu.
Oh la la.
The service at our restaurant was horrible.
And it seemed like the staff was having a huge issue that they were arguing about.
Then a man was seated at the next table from us.
Mads whispers, "Is that who I think it is?"
And indeed it was.
It was totally MacGyver.
And suddenly, it didn't feel like such a bad place to brunch.
Because when you brunch with MacGyver, you feel like no matter what could happen, he could always get you out of trouble with a fork or a napkin.
Even if he really ISN'T a guy that can get you out of trouble with a fork or a napkin but just plays one on tv, it still makes you feel better than if you were eating brunch with let's say....Screech from Saved by the Bell.
I mean, all he could do was be hijinx prone and really, that is more of a hinderance than a help.
PS -
Thanks for the comments and the emails regarding the previous post.
It helped.
I am doing really well.
I once read in a horoscope book about the different astrological signs and the way they tend to love.
I am a Pisces.
That is right.
I said it. I am proud of it.
But it comes at a price that is very very high.
We love too much. Too openly. We give our imagination away and dream of cotton candy love affairs.
We believe that any man has the potential to eventually prove themselves to be exception to all the lousy jerks that are out there.
The book said that Pisces always make good mistresses because they can be anything the man wants.
And it is true. Well at least the fact that pisces can be whatever the man wants. It is a mutable sign and we love role play.
And I have been living a role for my entire dating life.
I really loved Ghost.
Or at least I think I did.
It was a cosmic lightning bolt that hit me when I met him that night in Hollywood so many years ago.
That had never happened to me before.
And for 2 years I kept the hope alive that we would end up together. But is was improbable from the start and more based in fantasy than in reality.
And it died the night he called me and said very intimately..."come over tonight" and then I did.
And the night was filled with question marks and me playing detective at his signs.
It ended with him telling me he was falling for some girl somewhere that he had met.
ouch.
Then there was the other guy from long ago.
He had an ex that he treated like shit.
And another ex who had treated him like shit.
He carried torches for both and I had no idea I would say Princess Diana quotes like: "I was in a relationship with 3 (sometimes 4) people and I was not the first choice"
He was an actor and held the highest regard for my acting and comedy. He was inspired by me and we always were great until we entered any area with other women. Cheating had always been his downfall.
It all ended when his dad died and the ex that treated him like shit, saw how well we were getting along and needed him back. She knew the family and played the "I will take care of your family in this time of need" card. I saw the writing on the wall and left him before I knew the gory details.
The answer from him that I got was: "I am weak"
Then came Harry. While we saw each other here in LA, we had a very strained relationship at best.
After he moved to NY, he would call me from time to time. We ended up getting very sexual on the phone one night and he told me that he couldn't wait to see me when he would come out here for a visit. He missed me.
So when he came out here for a visit, I was happy to see him and he....he was very distant.
Then told me he had a girlfriend back in NY. And that he had had her when he called me that last time.
WTF!
A year later when he called me 19 times to tell me he wanted to see me, I finally acquiesced to meeting him to see what he wanted to tell me. He wanted to apologize for the way he had treated me before. He missed our chats and our connection. We were both comics, see and he was inspired by me.
He told me he didn't have a girlfriend anymore.
After much of his convincing me, we slept together.
And in the morning, he said that he didn't have a girlfriend anymore because she was now his wife. She was a wife on paper only since he did it to keep her in the country, but still, he didn't want to be the fake kind of husband that was a cheater. Even though cheating was his downfall.
He cried. I stared at the wall.
"I am weak" he sobbed, his head in my back, smearing his coward tears all over my skin.
Then came the newest one.
Push me pull me.
I should have seen the signs.
Stop me if you have heard this before.
I know I wish I would have stopped.
But I fell.
Fell hard.
The sex was great.
But try as I might, the relationship wasn't clicking. He started to pull away. So I left. Then he called weeks later. It was the same old routine I knew so well. I would get the call that I was missed. He was inspired by me blah blah blah. This happenend a few times.
I had done well to heal since the last time which I really thought was the last time.
I was dating others and working on my career.
Until I got the call. The call that I really thought I could handle. The call that stung a little bit but I was realizing how I was able to move forth and that maybe I was reacting off of my role playing self instead of how I really felt about him.
I felt a maturity level emerge in me.
We talked for 3 hours.
I won't go into the details of how the rest of the night transpired, but it ended at 4am with a speech I had heard too many times,
"I have feelings for another, I am a monster. I missed you. I needed to see you. I have a problem since I like women too much. I am weak."
And this time, I said back, "But you feel bad right now because you are thinking about what to tell her. Or you feel bad for you. But it is not because you feel bad for me. And frankly, I don't have the energy to feel your plight."
I don't need to hear from anyone about how these problems are because of my choices.
That is obvious from this post.
My choices are shit.
I work from the pisces place of hope and romance and imagination.
I go on the magic carpet ride only to see in the aftermath that they were all very very flawed and broken and I wanted to save them all.
That they loved someone else unbeknownst to me and that I was left believing a reality that never existed.
I ignored signs. I hoped for the movie version of love conquering all.
I worked way too hard dancing like a performing monkey to keep them there when all they really wanted was directions to the next place.
I was their inbetweener/muse/motivator/mommy/child/cheerleading squad/goodtime gal/inspiration/mistress. Yuck. Even if not in the true sense of a mistress, then absolutely it is true in the emotional sense. Mistress. Just like the book said. The one they come to when reality is too too harsh for their emo natures.
I was their cushion. And a willing one. Stupidly. I allowed all the treatment.
I allowed them to make me an option when I made them a priority.
But having heard those words tonight, something in me really died.
And that something was the idiot that kept believing in these guys who were unworthy of me. Good riddance to that idiot inside, I say.
I didn't cry this time.
I actually feel very numb.
In the past, I would have just taken the treatment and cried myself to sleep, calling all my friends wondering what I did to deserve it, never saying a word to the guys.
But tonight, I was able to say to him what I really thought. That he was a tease and that he was unfair and that he can't treat me like that anymore and to never call me again.
It was what I had wanted to say to all of them. This time, I said it to one: the last flawed, broken man that I will ever allow to come into my romantic realm.
They can fucking get therapists next time. Or hookers. I don't care.
Whatever it is, I am no one's second choice. And from this point, this will never be a speech I hear again.
Because right now, my rising sign...Aries...has kicked in.
And I didn't read about how they loved, but I am sure they eat these kind of guys for dinner.
Bon Appetite!
Today was like the longest day at work.
Ugh.
So much drama with girlboss.
I have a second new girlboss who i will call Vena. She is cool.
The other one is taking the train to crazy town every day because I believe she lives there.
All ABOARD!!!!! I hear that train whistle every morning I sit at my desk.
What the hell is a pisces like me doing in a virgo world of organization?
I feel that change is coming soon. but I have to get my shit together so that when the moment of opportunity is there, I am not complaining at how the foggy mornings are making my hair too curly. I will be ready ready ready and have fabulous hair. I don't know why but in my thinking of that moment, my hair is flawless.
I also have a new crush on the actor jeffrey dean morgan.
Mmmm, so yummy. I could fall into a pillow of him every night and I think the world would be perfect.
And again...I would have flawless hair. A pillow of this beautiful man and flawless hair.
And I think my next karaoke song will be the theme to Laverne and Shirley. I just heard it and I think I could sing it.
Plus the lyrics get me all motivated.
"and we'll do it our way, yes our way, make all our dreams come true...for me and you"
And by me and you, I mean me and my flawless hair.
Also, my mom, who was always a staunch anti-reality show person is now voting for contestants on American Idol. She cracks me up. At least she is voting for the people I want.
I mean, you know, if I were to watch the show by accident.
Which I sometimes do after I tape it.
I think I am becoming really really good at imitating the most annoying people in the office.
And although it makes everyone laugh, I feel a little guilty.
Oh, who am I kidding?
I feel great.
I zero in on the annoyings as they talk and they think I am listening to them but I am really gathering material.
While most of my friends were in NY celebrating Reed Fish's debut at the Tribecca Film Festival, or some of them were off in Portland, or some were at Coachella, I decided to spend the weekend really really focused on my writing here in LA. I wanted to write a comedy piece to do at a spoken word night. I wanted to write something to submit to THIS AMERICAN LIFE. And I wanted to start writing my novel of short stories about my life. There was no way this WASN'T going to happen. Afterall, I am a writer. And writing is what I do.
Last Thursday, I went to a work party and had a splendid time except for girlboss #1 who went all cooky on everyone and decided to be the dark spot in our lightness.
By the time the weekend rolled around, I realized I was so tired from that kind of dark behavior that I slept in.
Better to write when you are rested.
Then I watched a movie.
Better to write when you are inspired.
I watched another movie.
Doubly inspired can't hurt.
Then I started dusting.
And doing the dishes.
And cleaning out the kitchen cabinets.
And vacuuming under the couch.
And did laundry.
And went shopping at Sephora and Fredericks of Hollywood to buy date bras and panties.
Went downtown to buy a belly dancing scarf.
Came home and cooked dinner.
Because it is better to write when all the chores are done and you are fed.
Then I watched another movie because Sunday is a much better day for writing than saturday.
Woke up at noon on Sunday.
Took the clothes to Goodwill that I had gotten from my closets.
Went food shopping and then caught up on email with several friends.
Caught up on the phone with several family members.
Watched Family Guy and laughed out loud so many times that I wondered why I am not writing for THAT show.
Then wondered why I wasn't writing at all and began to fret about wasting away the weekend.
At 9:30pm, I buckled down and started writing about the rise and fall of my Radio DJ obsession. I was on a roll. I need to get the story out of my head. Especially since it begins so long ago and ends recently with icky Brad and what an ass he is and how I finally was able to get that monkey of an addiction off my friggin back. And how it proved that the DJ obsession was hell bent from the start and all good stories are ones that are hell bent from the start. But those stories have redemption and I am not sure my story that ends recently about icky Brad does.
I then become concerned my story will end on a sour note without redemption and maybe it is not going to be written well if I am in a pissy place. And then no one will care about this entire event in my life and that my wit and humor have been replaced with something bitter.
Decide not to worry about writing about icky Brad just yet.
Get the beginning of the story out.
And out it comes.
And I feel good.
And then Mads calls from NY and I talk with her.
Because it is better to write when you have breaks in between.
Went to bed at 1am and had several pages accomplished.
Writing the whole weekend can take a lot out of you.
But I am a writer and writing is what I do...or think about doing.
Great...this whole post almost feels like a Cathy comic strip.
Someone kill me now.