A Little Bit Country

I know I am going to regret putting this out there, but sometimes you need to admit embarrassing things about yourself in order to grow…or at least that’s what the mature people tell me.

I really love line dancing.

There. I said it.

Maybe I should go back a little bit.

One of my oldest friends (as in time we’ve known each other, not age. Although she does enjoy pointing out that she is 2 days older than me) asked me if I’d like to take a Country Line Dancing class at the park and rec center. Normally, I would laugh and make a sarcastic remark, but in the spirit of living, I said ok. Or possibly “Heck Yes!,” just to get in the spirit.

So here we are, 2 weeks in, and I have discovered that I really enjoy it. I’ve always loved to dance, but my appreciation for country music usually ends when the guys singing “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” starts singing a sad song about how said girl broke his heart. So, when a class is titled “Country Line Dancing,” I’m a bit torn…

However, as it turns out, the “Country Line Dancing” class isn’t all country. The first dance we learned was “Stray Cat Strut,” which, yes, it to the song you think it goes to. Not to say there has been no country music, but the fact that we are doing a mixture of genres keeps me from possibly walking out or going crazy for 2 hours.

I also have to mention that the instructor adds to my enjoyment. He is an older gentleman, with a big beer belly and muttonchops.  He wears jeans and cowboy boots and plaid shirts, but his belt buckle is really what really makes the outfit. Not only is it a big dollar sign, but it’s totally blinged out. I mean, if these were real diamonds, every rapper would be envious. It is a little out of place, but what what would an outfit be without a little bling?

Overall, it may not be so far out of the box, but at least I can feel good about learning a new skill and finding a new hobby. Who knows? One of these days I may even buy a cowboy hat and some boots and head to one of the country bars the instructor suggested and get my groove on. (Turns out, there are some bars in the area I’ve never been to!)

Oh Dear Lord, What Am I Getting Myself Into...

In my everlasting search for living and not just existing, I have decided to participate in something that every single friend of mine who knows how much I love to write has (and knows what this month-long event is) has encouraged me to do. I have always made excuses, ranging from “It’s too hard” to “It’s the beginning of the holiday season! Do you know what that means to anyone that is a manager in the retail/food industry?!” (Insert a shrill sound of panic for that last one.)

However, this year, I have decided to not only do it, but to commit to it openly and to talk about it. I usually keep what I consider to be personal commitments to myself. Partially because of my intense fear of failure, but mostly because as soon as you admit to committing to something others may not understand, all the negativity comes out. “Well why would you want to do that?” “It just sounds hard and you probably won’t finish.” “Aren’t you just adding a lot of unnecessary stress to an already incredibly stressful time?” (Again, shrill sound of panic.)

So, in the effort of not only committing to something openly and putting my possible failure out there for all to see, I am also jumping ahead of the negative people who will hear what I am doing and say: “Go share your Haterade with someone else.” (Or possibly something with some expletives, depending on the level of pessimism.)

I will not let anyone’s negativity or questioning of my ability to do this deter me from what I am going to do. If I can’t finish, then that’s ok because getting out there and trying is half the battle. Therefore, if I die in battle, at least I will have gone down with some dignity!

Ok, I know, the suspense must be killing you. What is this great thing I am doing that I am committing to so openly and vehemently?

NATIONAL NOVEL WRITING MONTH.

AKA: Novel November

AKA: Write 50,000 words of a novel from November 1 to November 30.

AKA: Write almost 2,000 words per day…

AKA: Write almost 2,000 words per day in a genre in which I am not completely comfortable nor have any idea for a plot or characters or theme or setting or…

AKA: I AM ALREADY STARTING TO FEEL THE STRESS!! (Just kidding. It’s more like excitement…I think…)

 Ok, I need to breathe.

Why, you may ask, am I going to do this?

Well, mostly because I want to do something that will push me mentally and creatively. I spend a lot of my time supporting my friends in their creative endeavors, but rarely do I ever push myself to do the same. I am always encouraging others to do the things they love and go after their dreams, but I have noticed recently that I have trouble doing the same thing for myself. This is the first big step to doing this.

I also have to say that I am making an effort to do things that are outside of my comfort zone. I am taking a Country Line Dancing class (don’t worry, there is a post forthcoming about that) and trying out some new classes at the gym, but mentally there is very little that I have done since college to push the boundaries and see what I am truly capable of.

The best part? This costs me nothing but time. It may mean that my DVR will be working on overtime (Wait? I can’t watch as much TV??? I may need to back out now…) or that I can’t spend every evening off at karaoke (Ok…now I’m really rethinking this whole bit…), but as long as I make a plan and stick to it, I know that, at the end of November, whether I hit the goal of 50,000 words or not, at least I gave it my all.

However, if How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory, Two Broke Girls, Law and Order: SVU, or any other of my favorite shows gets cancelled, I’m never going out of my comfort zone again!

Now I have one month to figure out what the hell I’m going to write about for 30 days, 2,000 words a day.

Abnormally Normal Living

I have never had a normal schedule. Some days I start work at 4 am; some days I work until 1 am. I don't get traditional weekends off. Sometimes my "weekend" is Tuesday and Wednesday. However, one recent "traditional" weekend, my friend Meaghan and I decided to make a list and see how many of the “normal” weekend things we could accomplish. We didn’t have Saturday off, but we did have Saturday night and all day Sunday to see how normal we could be. However, like with everything I do, nothing is ever normal.

Normal Activity #1: Go to a bar with a friend.

Normal activity #1 Turned Abnormal: We go to a tiki bar. No, I do not live in Hawaii nor was this some retro-chic place in Hollywood that charges $15 for a cocktail. It’s a dive tiki bar in North Hollywood that Meaghan described as like “being inside of a coconut. With puffer fish!” To add to the abnormality, there is a DJ spinning not the hottest Tiki-themed music, but spinning the typical dance/hip hop music you would hear at any other place on a Saturday night. Who else could have found a place that looks like a coconut with puffer fish hanging from the ceiling yet plays seemingly normal music?

Normal Activity #2: Dance with strangers in said bar.

Normal Activity #2 Turned Abnormal: On any given Saturday night, there will be a female getting drunk in celebration of her birthday. However, how often is the drunk, birthday girl a woman turning 40 who likes to grind on everyone while they are bellying-up to the bar? Normally, when a young lady has someone grinding on her from behind, it’s some creepy guy who usually smells like a mixture of body odor and too much Drakkar Noir. To top it off, who else can say that they joined a conga line that went throughout the bar?

Normal Activity #3: Use a restroom with a questionable level of cleanliness.

Normal Activity #3 Turned Abnormal: When a girl walks out of the restroom and says, “Don’t flush the toilet paper down the toilet because it won’t flush,” you know you’re in for a ride. However, when you walk into a restroom where a toilet has obviously overflowed recently and is in the process of doing so again, you do the only thinkable thing: plunge the toilet. Who else can say they plunged a toilet in a public restroom? (And may or may not have used the urinal later in the night when the women’s room finally broke beyond repair…)

Normal Activity #4: Make plans for Sunday brunch.

Normal Activity #4 Turned Abnormal: Originally brunch plans were for 10 am…then 1030 am…then kept getting later as the night went on which ended up being set for noon…Ok maybe that’s not that abnormal…

Normal Activity #5: Sleep late on Sunday morning. (Bet you thought I was going to say “go to church” huh?)

Normal Activity  #5 Turned Abnormal: So I guess it’s not that abnormal but I used to be able to sleep until 11 am and still wish I was sleeping more. But this particular Sunday, when all I wanted to do was sleep, I could not keep my eyes shut past 7:30am. I did force myself to stay in bed, but it’s just not the same as waking up with the sun already high in the sky. Hmm...maybe I should have gone and seen what this whole "church" thing is all about...I was up early enough for it, right?

Normal Activity #6: Enjoy brunch.

Normal Activity #6 Turned Abnormal: Oh man, it looks like my abnormally normal weekend is beginning to look totally normal.

Normal Activity #7: Run errands to prepare for the week.

Normal Activity #7 Turned Abnormal: It was beginning to look like we were turning into totally normal weekenders. By the time we got to the supermarket, it was almost complete. Almost.  After deciding half way through the trip that we needed a cart, Meaghan somehow found one that not only didn’t work properly, but almost took me over into the cart when it locked right outside the market. Normal people would have attempted to get the cart out of way or get it to the car. Not me. I told Meg to grab some bags and leave it right where it was, totally blocking the entrance. The whole way to the car the two of us laughed hysterically about how when things seems to be getting normal, something nearly sends me ass over end to remind us that “normal” is just not how we live.

Karaoke Queen

I have a new found appreciation for something I never thought I would enjoy: karaoke.

Oh yeah, you read that correctly. I thoroughly enjoy karaoke.

Here’s how it started: My friend Meaghan was turning 21. When I asked her what she wanted to do and she said KARAOKE! (Yes, with that amount of enthusiasm.) I organized a party and got everyone together, and while some things prevented me from being there all night, I made it just in time to do a lovely rendition of “Love is Battlefield.” And I realized something: I wasn’t completely hammered and it was still fun!!!!

So, a few weeks later, we went back to the karaoke bar and did some more songs. A few weeks after that, it was the eve of my 25-again birthday and we were at a small dive bar. Not only did I do a little Joan Jett “Do You Want to Touch” (Gwenyth Paltrow on Glee can suck it), but I did “Girls Girls Girls” with Meaghan and realized that I love watching my friends make fools of themselves singing. Or just watching strangers make fools of themselves.

Since then, I have become a regular at karaoke. I don’t know if it is my constant need for attention or my constant need to entertain everyone or if it is just my love of making a fool out of myself and then mocking everyone else that keeps me going, but no matter, I love it!

All that said, I feel that I should post some video evidence of myself doing some karaoke. While it may be embarrassing, if I am truly writing a blog about living versus existing, then I think everyone needs to see proof.

I may regret this later…

Or possibly right now...

Fyi, it takes a great deal of talent to dance around like that and not spill my drink. Can you tell I'm a professional?

No Need to Alert TLC....yet...

As I mentioned last time, I moved. Not only did I move, but I moved out of my mom’s house. Therefore, a lot of purging was done and I discovered a little something about myself: I have hoarding tendencies.

Now, anyone who has ever watched Hoarders on TLC knows that the first excuse a hoarder will make is that there is value in trash. How many times have I watched someone say “Oh but I bought that with my dad 20 years ago and even though it has no use whatsoever and is damaged beyond repair, I need to keep it for sentimental value.” I sat there every time and nodded along when Callie Cleanup came over and ever-so gently explained how worthless said nostalgic items really were. Then, when it came time to go through all my shit, I wasn’t so much in agreement.

Not to say that I had to tunnel my way to my bed. I’m not that bad. But there was definitely some stuff that I couldn’t even figure out why I saved.

A broken Walkman? Not just broken, but it was as if I had stepped on it and then said, “Hey, maybe I’ll use the pieces for something else!” Guess what, I didn’t.

A white t-shirt with nothing on it that is clearly 3 sizes too small? I can’t even begin to figure out what the sentimental value of it was, because there were zero distinguishing marks on it. (And if anyone makes a joke about it was a “token,” it was a girl’s shirt and I’m straight.) (Also, if anyone needs an explanation about what a “token” is, message me.)

A pamphlet I got on my first trip to New York explaining how sinners will be punished in hell unless they repent? That’s just funny.

The king of the useless crap, however, was the drawer full of old bills. And I don’t mean from a few months ago. I found a bill from Verizon dating back to 2003. It was not a particularly special bill. There was no new terms or upgrades. No special coupons that never got used. Not even a handwritten note saying “THIS WAS PAID. ON…CALL IF THEY TRY TO CHARGE YOU DOUBLE.” (Oh yeah. That was worth a laugh.) Nothing. Just a whole drawer dedicated to old bills that no sane person would keep. Which possibly explains why I kept them….

That’s not to say I didn’t save some of the random crap. My Carebears pillowcase from when I was a kid. A dishcloth that I decorated with my grandma and sister that has some questionable artwork. A bunch of Dad’s t-shirts that are only good for sleeping because no one should see them. My old softball uniform. My old basketball uniform. All that stuff at least is good for the memories, even if it is useless and just takes up space.

All this being said, I am making a valiant effort to stop holding on to stuff that is only going to drive me nuts when it comes time to move again. Not that I’m going to move any time soon (I LOVE MY APARTMENT!!!), but when I do, I’d rather not find takeout menus from places I never ate at in Chicago. Collecting shot glasses from everywhere I’ve been is one thing, but takeout menus officially makes me a hoarder. (Although what does collection shot glasses say about me?)

Goin' Out To Da Club...In a Mall?

In case anyone was wondering how I spent my Friday night, I went to a club.

IN A MALL.

I was with a friend from out of town and she wanted to go over to the next county to hang out with her cousin. She was driving, so I really had no reason to say no. When they said we were going to a club, I was like, "Dancing is sorta my thing, so as long as there is good music, I’m there." We drove to another town (I had a bit of a tour of Ventura County that night) and as we are turning into the Westfield parking lot, I ask, “Is the club in the mall?” The way our driver answered “yes” like it was a totally normal thing was just the beginning.

Now, to anyone who doesn’t live in a big city (or even a medium sized one), perhaps this isn’t strange. But to those of us who live places where going to the mall means you are either shopping, loading up on junk food, or going to a movie (or doing all three), clubbing is not usually considered a mall activity. Sure, there might be a restaurant or lounge outside the mall where people go to unwind, but I have never in my life seen a CLUB in a MALL.

Not to say that it was all negative. There was ample free parking in the parking structure and there was not a line at the door. No cover was a pleasant surprise, but then I remembered that I was at a club in a mall, so if there had been a cover, I would have gone to a movie instead. (Oh yeah, club right across from the movie theater. Fantastic.) I was a little unnerved by the fact that they weren’t even half-heartedly checking purses for weapons, though. If only I knew, I would have brought my gun, my knife, and all my drugs and really partied. (Please recognize the sarcasm.) I had to remind myself that I was in suburbia, not Hollywood, therefore this place was not prepared for any problems. The steroid patrol that was their security was slightly comforting. Except they were all shorter than me and tattooed with possibly racist meanings (Me: I think that security guard has a swastika on his neck. Friend: Well maybe it's the Hindu one. Me: Ummm, a white guy, roided out. Somehow I doubt it.) However, the best part came when I went to the bar.

After asking for a Long Island (a go-to at a club. It’s like two drinks for the price of one), the bartender asks, “Do you want a small or a large?”

Wait, I have size options?! I can have a small or a large cocktail?! Where am I?! McDonalds with liquor? I then thought it might be like Vegas, where, yes, you can get a large, but it’s $20. Nope, it was $11 for 24 oz. To put it into perspective, that’s a VENTI-sized Long Island Iced Tea. In a club, $11 is a good price for a regular cocktail, let alone a large one. Needless to say, I was totally sold.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t sold on the rest of the club in the mall. In addition to the Justin Bieber hair (on more than one guy, plus what looked like a girl but may have been an overly effeminate man) and the outfits that even 1999 doesn’t want back, the DJ was horrible. I have heard my fair share of horrible DJs, but this one couldn’t pick a song, and when he did, it was not the actual song. He mixed it with another song that, for the most part, didn’t match. I’m sorry, but “Back that Ass Up” is already a good dance song. Adding a techno beat behind it completely ruins the song. And playing Journey is never ok, but when it is turned into a dance song with a beat that doesn't even remotely keep time with the lyrics, that's just failing. Miserably. There’s a reason he’s a DJ at a club in a mall. I think this might be what DJs would call “rock bottom.”

Although, much of the crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves, so I may be judging just a little too harshly.

But it might be that these poor people living in the sticks just don’t know any better, so they are blissfully enjoying their ignorance.

Doing Something Nice for the Children

Anyone who knows me knows that I consider my time precious. Granted, I spend most of it either asleep or doing something most people would judge as wasteful, but in that respect, I agree with John Lenon, who said, “Time you enjoyed wasting, was not wasted.” In other words, it’s only wasted time if you didn’t have fun wasting it. And I have plenty of fun!

So where am I going with this?

I work at Starbucks and part of their whole mission is to be involved in the community. There are always projects going on and ways for us to help out, but I tend to either ignore these things, or just flat out not want to do them. I am not a tree-planter, house-painter, garden-hoer, or homeless-feeder. So, when my manager informed me that part of my development in moving up with the company was getting involved in my community, I got nervous.

What was I, a woman afraid of bugs and birds who calls transients “hobos” and would win the award for “Most Likely to Kill Someone Accidently with a Gardening Tool Because She is Incredibly Klutzy,” going to do in my community? I sat down with my manager and hashed out the things I could do and what I was actually willing to do. Aside from the manual labor and pretending like I don’t get uncomfortable around the homeless, there was one major category left: children.

Now, I’m not what most people would describe as “kid” person. This is mostly because I always have something sarcastic and judgmental to say when it comes to children, but really, I don’t mind them. So, after some thinking and very little organizing, one of my regulars mentioned that some of the teachers at her school needed some readers for “Read Across America,” an annual event that focuses on the importance of reading. I got a few of my fellow Starbucks partners together, we put on our finest pajamas (it was Pajama Day at school), and we headed off to read to some kids.

The first classroom I went to was first grade. I read a book called “Gerald McBoing Boing” (Yes, I am aware that the one book I picked up was the one that could easily be turned into a euphemism for something wildly inappropriate for children.) I don’t do voices, but since this book has a few sound effects, I had some fun with it. Afterwards, the teacher let the kids as me some questions, one of which was “I had a Dr. Suess pajama party last year?” I didn’t know what to say, so I just said “Oh that’s nice.”

The second classroom was kindergarten and, I have to say, they were adorable. They sat still through the story and, while that teacher wouldn’t let them ask questions, they did have a few things to say, such as “You’re pretty” and “You have nice hair.” It’s amazing how little kids know just what to say to make your day!

The other readers had a lot of fun too, reading to all ages from kindergarten through 3^rd grade. Some of them even got forms to go back and volunteer more often, while another offered to donate some books.

Overall, I have to say that taking an hour to read to some kids wasn’t the worst way for me to spend an hour. While I might not be volunteering on a daily basis, it was nice to go and do something that had very little benefit for me.

Plus, I managed not to curse or say anything inappropriate to the 5 and 6 year olds, so I would call that a success.

This is Why No One Walks in LA

Just because I live in LA doesn’t mean I don’t take public transportation or walk anywhere. The best part about doing this is that I usually get a blog post out of it; one that hopefully will not bring the 5 people who actually read this to tears.

I decided to take the Metro down to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art for two reasons: 1. Parking is $10. Add that to the cost of getting in and the skyrocketing price of gas, and the $6 to ride the Metro looks pretty damn good. 2. I had no time limit, so therefore I’m going to let someone else stress out in Friday traffic while I listen to music and read on my Kindle.

The ride on the subway was pretty uneventful, other than the 2 kids getting pulled off the train for not buying a ticket (oh yeah, that “honor system” is really working LA.). When I got to Hollywood and Highland, I came out of the station bombarded by tents and tourists. I had completely forgotten that the Oscars are this Sunday and Hollywood Blvd. is shut down. Now, in order to get to the bus I need to take, I have to walk half a mile, through all the chaos that is Oscar week. (Trust me, it’s not as exciting when you not only live here, but when you have been part of the crew that sets all that crap up.)

On my walk, I was assailed by the Hollywood Blvd. regulars: Batman, Spiderman(who was climbing on scaffolding, much to the chagrin of the underpaid security guards), Darth Vader, and the guys trying to sell me maps to the stars. One of these guys decided that he would get fresh with me.

“Hey girl, can I roll my red carpet out for you?”

Now, I have this disease that doesn’t let me keep my mouth shut and keep walking when someone makes a very poor attempt at a double entendre, forcing me to make what I consider an even better one, albeit much more perverted.

“No thanks. I have my own.”

It's Always Sudden

Two months ago, I was watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with my dad before I went to the movies. It was “The Body,” the episode in which Buffy comes home to find her mom dead on the couch. The episode had always been one that brought tears to Dad’s eyes and whenever we caught it, we would watch in silence. Mom would always ruin it with commentary about how many times we must have seen it and each time, including this time, we would shush her because she didn’t understand the brilliance and realism of the episode.

Dad started watching Buffy with me during the second season. It was just the right mixture of horror, thriller, drama, violence and comedy. He eventually became even more obsessed with it than I did, even going as far as to Google certain producers because he saw their names attached to other things and wanted to make sure that it was the same producers. If you knew my dad, Googling something was a bit of an adventure, since typing a name might take an hour. He would recognize an actor who played a bit part in one episode and joke, “I have no life.” However, if anyone wanted to play “The Seven Degrees of Buffy,” he would slay any opponent.

There is one scene in this episode that always made our silence go from one of attention to one of genuine immersion and relation. The Scooby Gang is getting ready to head to the morgue. Willow keeps changing outfits, trying to figure out the most appropriate, panicking about what to wear. Tara, always the comforting and loving one, doing everything she can to help Willow. Xander is angry and trying to find anyone to exact some revenge upon, whether it’s a supernatural force or a wall. Anya, a 1,000 year old demon who has never had to deal with death on a personal level, is just trying to understand. By the end of the scene, they all calm down and realize their job is to get to the morgue and be there for Buffy. Dad always loved this scene and I always knew it had a lot to do with the different ways everyone deals with death. But, I also knew that someone, if not all of them, reminded him of himself when his parents passed away. I could relate to it somewhat, because I had lost my grandparents, whom I loved very much, but it wasn’t until later that night I truly lived it and understood why it resonated so much with him.

Because, suddenly in the middle of a movie, I got a call that my dad, the most important person in my life and the only person who could sing along with me to every song from “Once More with Feeling,” was dead.

That night and ever since then, the following speech has been stuck in my head. Joss Whedon, I just have to say thank you writing my response for every person who wonders how I’m doing.

"I don't understand! I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's... there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. And Xander's crying and not talking. And I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever. And she'll never have eggs or yawn or brush her hair. Not ever. And no one will explain to me why."

Unfortunately, the world does not stop when something like this happens, as evidenced by my continuing to write and update this blog. I will not stop going to work, stop hanging out with my friends. I will attend the 3 weddings I am invited to this year and I will celebrate happily. I will take Meg out for her 21st birthday and make sure she has one to remember. (Or possibly not. It is her 21st afterall!) I will pay my bills and drive my car and read books and I will continue living. I will, however, never understand and I will never stop missing him. On the other hand, I will always do everything knowing that Dad is with me, especially when I am singing along to “Rest in Peace.”

And if you don’t get that last reference, look it up. You’ll like it.

Thanksgiving is More than Turkey...Sometimes...

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. Mostly because it is all about eating and, let’s be honest, if it involves consuming large quantities of food, I’m there! But, after looking back on the last few years, I think Thanksgiving has been the standout holiday.

I could go all the way back to my childhood when we would go to my Grandma Marybelle’s house and she would cook everything throughout the day while I played with my cousins in our refrigerator box that we pretended to be a house. Or how we could go to my Grandma BJ’s house and having to eat dessert on the step going into the living room with my cousins because we weren’t allowed to eat on the furniture like the grown-ups. But, I think some of my favorite memories are from the past four years.

My senior year at Berkeley, my Aunt Bev and Uncle John asked me to join them for Thanksgiving in Chicago. My cousin, Julia, was going to Northwestern and they were going to fly out and do dinner in her apartment. They would pay for my flight and I could stay with Julia and it would be my graduation present. Who am I to say no to that?! So, they booked me a flight from Oakland and I met them at Midway. It was so much fun to sit in the car for two hours in traffic and just chat and catch up with them! I know the traffic part doesn’t sound good, but we talked about so many different things and I had so much energy out of pure excitement, I couldn’t have asked for a better time. On Thanksgiving day, Aunt Bev cooked an AMAZING meal, and all she asked was that we stay out of her way. Then, before dinner, she and I went for a walk. We’ve done this for as long as I can remember, so even thought it was 27 degrees outside, it made me so happy to know that no matter how much changes, some traditions still remain intact. During dinner, the conversation went everywhere, from politics to life after college to explaining to Aunt Bev what “breaking the seal” means. Sitting there with all of them, I couldn’t have been more grateful to have them as my family members and to be spending my Thanksgiving with them.

The next year, I actually posted about it…so read it here (click on it..do it…) But the bottom line was it was the most fantastic dinner, a lot of fun and games, and we got a great surprise in the form of Lisa being pregnant.

Last year, I had a yen to travel again, so it was off to New York to spend the holiday with my sister-from-another-mister, Cierra. She and I have been friends since freshman year of high school and, after she moved, I will take any chance to go see her. Her mom offered to have it at her apartment and Cierra’s sister came with her dad and his wife, along with Cierra’s boyfriend and his parents. Add a co-worker of Cierra’s and we had a full house! The dinner was scrumptious and we went ice-skating after. I had never been ice-skating in my life, and there could not have been a better time to go! We went to the rink at Bryant Park, everyone rented some skates and we just got out there. Cierra helped me along and I got the hang of it. And I only fell once! I can’t say the same for everyone in our group, but I can say that we all had so much fun! I might not have been with my blood relatives that night, but I definitely consider them family. (Also, while in line to skate, I got on the phone with the family at home and, in what is scarily becoming a tradition, my cousin Cheryl informed me that she was pregnant with her second child. I’m not going to lie, I said a little prayer that I wouldn’t be the one next year.)

That brings us to this year. I was worried at first that I was going to do nothing, just work and not have turkey or family or anything. My grandparents moved into an apartment and no longer have the space to host one of the huge gatherings of years past, and everyone seemed to be going somewhere or doing something. My Aunt Bev mentioned once that they were going to San Francisco, but no formal invitation was made. Then, on my second visit to Grandma’s new pad, I found out that my cousin Lisa and her husband (my favorite cousin) Derek would be coming down. From there, I pretty much invited myself to come down as well and stay for a few days to hang out. Since I live with my parents, they are kind of a package deal, so they were coming as well. This would make it a small gathering, with only 7.25 of us. (The .25 being Lisa and Derek’s adorable 17-month-old son, Blake, the one Lisa, two years ago, announced she was pregnant with.)

Then, the most amazing thing happened. My friend Torrey and her husband (still weird that my friends have husbands…), Stephen, were going to be in town and wanted me to come with them to Knott’s Berry Farm. I haven’t been to Knott’s in a very long time and I was more enthusiastic about the hanging out than I was the amusement park. But, like the trooper I am, I went…and had a BLAST! The rides were pretty great and, even though a lot has changed since I was last there, the cute shops and crafts were still there and fun to look through. The best part was that, even though this wasn’t Thanksgiving, it gave me just one more thing to be thankful for.

On Thanksgiving, I did something incredibly typical: I forgot the main ingredient in the appetizer I was supposed to make. I literally got to Grandma’s, put my stuff down, and jumped back in the car to go buy mushrooms. After successfully getting the mushrooms and putting them in the oven in the oven, I headed with Lisa, Derek and Blake to the park to burn off some of Blake’s restless energy. I have to say, I admire the kid. He is not afraid of ANYTHING. The big slide? No problem. The ladder that he could fall through? Awesome (even though Mom and Dad stopped him.) The big kid swings? Bring it on (even though he had to sit on Mommy’s lap.) After getting back, we proceeded to consume massive quantities of food. Between my appetizers (stuffed mushrooms and 3 different kinds of cheese balls...super delicious if I do say myself) and the dinner itself, I was stuffed fuller than the turkey. As it should be. The best part came the next night, though, when I went out to dinner with my grandparents and Derek and Lisa. We ate at an Italian place my cousin Maddy suggested and it was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. (Sorry, Grandma) After that, we went back and I just hung out with Derek and Lisa.

Looking back at these last few years, it doesn’t seem like these Thanksgivings were eventful or dramatic. But, honestly, I feel like that is how the holidays should be. Spending time with family and the people you care about and making sure that the ones you aren't with know how thankful you are for them. It sounds so simple and boring, but if that is how I spend every holiday for the rest of my life, I couldn’t be happier.

Oh, and yes my prayer was answered. I did not have any special announcements to make this year.

The fruit I love laboring over...

I love pomegranates. I didn’t always, but leave it to Berkeley to expand my horizons.

What I knew of pomegranates before living in my co-op was that it was a fruit that made juice that is delicious in martinis. However, my first fall in Berkeley, my taste was expanded. The kitchen manager ordered them and I took one look and said, “What the hell do you do with that?” My friend Angelica took it from me, cut just far enough to break the skin, and then ripped it open. I was amazed at how something that was all rough and tough on the outside could be so pretty on the inside. (Metaphor for my life, anyone?)

So, that night, while watching Law and Order SVU, I started picking all the seeds out. Angelica told me that you could eat the whole of the little seed, even though the white inside was a little tangy. I put them all in a container and saved them for the next day. I took the container to class and munched on them throughout the day. I couldn’t believe that I had tried something new and had found new love.

After moving home, I really couldn’t get pomegranates. They are a little too exotic for my usual supermarket and so I had to wait until the fall to find them anywhere. Then, when I did, it would be for a short time, not great quality and cost a lot of money. But I would still buy one, take it home, and take it apart while watching TV. For days afterwards, I would munch on these seeds.

Last night, I was at Henry’s, which is like a Whole Foods with Trader Joe’s prices. They had a whole bin of pomegranates that were not only inexpensive, but looked fantastic! So, I bought one. After dinner, I sat down in front of the TV, opened it up, and started seeding it. My mom said, as she always does, that it looked like a lot of work for very little fruit. I looked up, smiled, and said, “But when you love something and put work into it, just a little goes a long way.”

Happy Fall!

Everyone loves a slutty pumpkin...

Halloween has never really been my thing. I might go to a party or get dressed up for work, but rarely do I put much effort in. Last year, I was Peggy Bundy, a costume I came up with the day of the party. The year before, I was working and dressed up as a bank robber because one of my co-workers was going to be a cop and we thought it would be funny. The year before that, I went to Santa Barbara and partied pretty hard, but my construction worker was neither inspired nor original.

This year, I really thought about it and, while I didn’t want to spend $100 on a costume to wear for one night to a house party, I didn’t want to just throw something together. After going to several Halloween stores and looking through tons of websites, it came down to two costumes. While the beer maid would have been a good (and very appropriate) choice, I didn’t really want to spend the night fetching my friend’s beers. So, I decided on Elvira.

I’m in no way a shy person. Nor am I uncomfortable with my body. However, when I got the dress and tried it on, I became both of those. I was not sure how I would keep my boobs in or if I would have the courage to actually leave my bedroom. The dress was more revealing that my bathing suite and the idea of people seeing me in it was pretty horrifying. To make sure that I would actually grow some balls and do it, I started telling everyone I met. I’m sure I annoyed several people, but if I hadn’t raised everyone’s expectations, then I probably would have copped out and done something lame instead, like a softball player. (Yes, that was my 5-minutes-before-work-costume for today, but at least I dressed up! And dressing up for work doesn’t count!)

So, after telling everyone I met and even having one of my friends tell a certain person I wouldn’t have told just in case I ended up looking more like a cow that the Mistress of the Dark, I had to put it on. Much like many of the things I don’t really want to do but force myself to, I kind of fell in love with it. My makeup wasn’t perfectly straight and the wig was kind of cheap and I didn’t have the fake eyelashes I needed, but this was one of the few moments where I looked at myself and went, “Wow.”

It wasn’t because my boobs were out or because the slit came so far up my entire leg was out. It was because I had done exactly what a person is supposed to do on Halloween: get dressed up and make yourself into another person. For one night, I was wearing something I would never dare wear again with makeup that was much too complicated to do regularly. And I had a blast! Everyone loved the costume, but best of all, I loved it! The party was a ton of fun and I have to say, it was one of my best Halloweens.

So, while I’m not a total Halloween convert (Just say no to haunted houses!!), I have to say this year, I definitely lived.

My Agreement with Mother Nature

I have never been one to love the outdoors, but just recently, I have come to an understanding with Mother Nature. I will stay on the marked paths and she will keep the larger, scarier creatures away from me.

Recently, I started hiking. I’m not talking about hiking like whole day affairs that involve packs and rock climbing and wildlife. I’m talking about short, paved or gravel paths with the wildlife well aware of the fact that humans are horrible and will harm them out of fear. Unlike true hikers, I do it because I am too broke (and cheap) to have a gym membership. However, I have found that a hike is one of my new favorite ways to workout.

It all started when I got bored running around my neighborhood and on the Chandler bike path. I was trying to think of another place that would be nice but not so secluded I’d be afraid to go myself. (Yes, I have fantasies of falling down the side of a mountain and no one finding me for weeks. Yes, I am aware this makes me slightly crazy.) I remembered my dad driving us around Lake Hollywood, aka the Hollywood Reservoir. I knew there was a path around it and I figured that if I needed to, I could just walk. Plus, it’s round so there is very little chance of me getting lost and ending up having to live off the wild until someone finds me or I find my way out. While this wasn’t technically hiking, it was outside and I realized something: Animals don’t like humans and, for the most part, will stay away from them. So, after running most of the way and just walking to enjoy the rest, I decided to look for some actual hiking trails.


Griffith Park seemed like the easiest place to start. I found a lot of writing about the Charlie Turner Trail, which leads from the Observatory up to Dante’s View, a cute little picnic area. The reviews all said that it was an easy hike and fairly short. I was pleased to see that they were correct. It’s a steady climb up, but not overwhelming. Plus, there was a ton of people out, so again, I didn’t feel like I was going to get lost and go missing. Dante’s View has a picnic area and I totally thought it would be a great spot to bring a book and just read. Although, it also made me think about who this Dante was and if this "view" of LA was really supposed to mean something...



After doing that one a few times, I decided to try out Runyon Canyon again. I’d done it once with my friend Ellen, but it was so strenuous that I didn’t think I would ever do it again. But, for some reason, I was in the mood for a real workout that day. Boy did I get it. There are these stairs that I like to call the “Stairs of Death” because unless you are in the best shape of your life, they will kill your muscles. They play tricks on you by making you thing you’re almost to the top, but NO, you’re not even close. However when you do finally make it up to the top, you feel incredibly accomplished and good about yourself.

I am usually a solitary hiker, but I did take my friends Jason and Meaghan out to the Charlie Turner Trail once. It was a lot of fun and it didn’t feel as long because we were talking most of the time. It’s always great to have someone to talk to when you’re out doing these things. Plus, the risk of falling down a hill and going missing is much lower. If I do fall down the hill and die, at least someone will be there to call the coroner.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve found a workout that I can actually keep up. When there are days I don’t feel like working out, it’s just a nice walk to get fresh air. When I want to really push myself, there are plenty of paths to make me regret wanting to push myself. As long as I don’t meet any scary creatures and the birds stay in the air where they belong, Mother Nature and I will be cool.

Living It Up! (In My Own Way)

I was reading this article in the NY Times the other day, and it kind of made me realize something that I have been searching for throughout this blog: happiness is directly correlated to experiences, not material things. Also, what you’re “supposed” to be doing and where you’re “supposed” to be at certain points of your life, might not be what will actually make you happy.

Shocking, I know.

For a year, I was working so hard at two jobs and making money and gaining experience that would hopefully help me jumpstart my career. But guess what? I didn’t have time to spend the money the way I wanted to. I was tired all the time. And my experience has yet to jumpstart my career. (Maybe the jumper cables weren’t hooked up properly?) Then, after quitting the second job, going back to Starbucks full time, and quieting my mind about what I’m “supposed” to be doing, I starting noticing that I’m actually enjoying my life and, finally, living.

In the past 2 months since I quit the paper, I have done more things and had more time for friends than I’ve had in the past year. Sure, my schedule is different than most people, but somehow it works out that I can spend time with everyone. Sure, I don’t have as much money, but that is just making me appreciate all the free things the world has to offer.

When I was making more money, I also wasn’t saving as much. I would go shopping at least every other week, in search of something that would fulfill me and make me fell good about myself. Guess what? Buying a fantastic outfit but having no time to wear it out doesn’t make you feel any better. Now, I put away a little from each paycheck, pay off bills, then take what little is left and make the most of it. Now I have a reason to wear all the cute outfits I bought instead of putting that money into savings. (I’ve also realized that shopping for shopping’s sake doesn’t me have the best taste. Some of the things I bought are not as cute as I originally thought. Having “what was I thinking?” moments only a few months after buying something is NOT good…) As an added bonus, I cherish the things I buy a lot more than I used to and I'm actually doing research on stuff before blowing $150 just because I want it. (Btw...in the Nook vs. Kindle debate, the Nook is kind of kicking the Kindle's ass...I still can't bring myself to buy it though. Yet.)

I’m not saying that I am completely happy or that I don’t get frustrated or that I don’t still want to move out of my parents house or move to the Bay or NY or that I wouldn’t like to be making more money to buy myself the Brian Atwood Harrison Chain-Trimmed pumps ($1,050 at Saks, but sooo friggin hot), but honestly, if making more money and buying those pumps and having the fabulous apartment comes with being stressed, unhealthy and unhappy, then you can have it.

Don't worry, I'm still on a search for how to live out the rest of my life, so I'm not going to be giving up my blog any time soon. (Insert annoyingly cute emoticon here)

A Post of Awesomeness

You’ve got your sunscreen, your beaches with bikini-clad babes, your poolside trashy novels, and your BBQs. Aaahhh…it must be summer.

I have actually had an action packed summer thus far and I have to admit, I’m damn glad to be working at Starbucks. If I was still working two jobs, or just working at an office from 9-5, I wouldn’t have done some of the awesome things I’ve been doing.

Let’s start with some traveling. (Ok one trip but still, one is better than none.)

I went up to San Francisco for my cousin’s son’s 1st birthday party, which to me was just an excuse to get to SF. Now, I know most people wouldn’t consider me the child’s birthday type, but it was a blast. They had it at a daycare center, so the kids could play and the parents and guests could socialize without worrying about the kids running off or something worse. Plus, I got to hang with my amazing cousin Lisa and her husband, my favorite cousin, Derek. (It’s a long story) I also got to see my VERY pregnant(and also amazing) cousin Cheryl and her husband, Mark, along with their 2-year-old son, Jack. It was awesome to get to spend time with these cousins because I looked up to both of them when I was growing up and I love the women they have become and continue to admire them both. As an added bonus, Derek’s brother, Tobe, and parents, Bruce and Ava (Eva? Lisa, correct me please) are pretty friggin’ extraordinary, so I got to play around with Bruce’s Kindle (I kind of want one…or a Nook…or some money to be able to afford it) and then have a debate with Bruce, Ava, Grandma and Grandpa vs. Me, Lisa, Derek, and Tobe about social networking and the Internet. It was so fantastic I can’t even put it into words. That was just Saturday!

On Sunday, I met my friend Nicola, who was visiting from England. Yeah, I have a friend who lives in England. How awesome is that? So we just grabbed some coffee and lunch and then walked around a lot. It’s amazing how the simplest things can be so perfect. I think meeting at the Ferry Building and then walking around the piers with the Bay Bridge as our backdrop had something to do with it. Then, I took MUNI (Oh, how I miss public transportation!!!!) to Golden Gate Park and waited for Lisa and Derek to finish at the Science Center. I grabbed an Its It (Reason number 9 billion that San Francisco is tremendous) from a cart and just sat down on a bench under some trees and read. Then, when Derek and Lisa were done, we went down under the bridge and took some pictures. I was so incredibly happy.

Now, the beach.

I love the beach. I grew up in So Cal and we used to go to the beach ALLLL the time. But here’s the crummy thing about the beach: you really can’t (read: shouldn’t) go alone. So, I have been dragging Meaghan and Jason. They are the perfect companions because we can talk and chat and gossip and then all just sit there reading magazines, writing, or just staring out, contemplating the vastness of the Pacific. On top of that, they are both kids and love to play in the water, so even though I don’t want to live in the water like Meaghan, I don’t have to brave it on my own. We’ve gone twice and I see many more outings in our future. Perhaps with an umbrella next time. I wonder if I can snag Grandma and Grandpa’s UCLA one we used to use every summer?

Next: the pool. (Specifically, Jason’s pool.)

I’ve gone twice to Jason’s pool and both times, it’s been lovely. There are plenty of lounge chairs and the water isn’t too chlorinated. It’s only 3 feet deep so it’s great for just floating around and chatting. There’s some shade, too, so if it’s hellishly hot, we can always find some cover. It’s also not too big or loud to where you can’t hear the person in the pool or the people sitting out. Today, we were out there for the entire afternoon and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Again, simple but perfect.

A Summer Staple: The 4th of July BBQ(Served up with some cheese)

I actually wasn’t planning on doing anything for the 4th because I was working. I figured I’d work then go home to some leftovers. But then I got an invite from Alec and Laura, and since I got of early, I decided to go. Had myself some hotdogs, chips, beer…you know all the healthy stuff. Then they started the fire and we had s’mores. I think the best was how musically inclined their friends are and we sang (I’m a little ashamed to say) “Party in the USA” around the campfire. Then, during the fireworks, they sang “The Star Spangled Banner.” It was super cheesy and hysterically funny, but at the same time kind of perfect for the moment.

Now this is living….

Jury Duty Part 5: The Kid Rock Story

Have you ever had a time when you can feel someone staring at you? Then, when you look up, he looks away awkwardly and blushes? Well that happened to me.

With Kid Rock.

Let’s back up. I was on a civil trial filed against Kid Rock for allegedly beating up some paps outside of a nightclub. Or allegedly egging on his posse to do so. Allegedly.

Anyway, he wasn’t in court most of the time. His lawyer claims it was because they wanted to minimize press coverage but I suspect the real reason had to be that Kid Rock is too big a rock star to actually show up to court. I know it was kind of a bogus lawsuit, but come on, dude, pretend like you care.

Finally, he shows up to court and it was, well, anti-climactic. There was one girl from TMZ that had been there throughout the trial, and 2 photographers. They interrupted another witness’s testimony in order to accommodate him, which bothered me because seemed like a cheap ploy to screw with the prosecution.

He is on the stand, totally indifferent to the questioning, making jokes and kind of being a jerk, so the prosecutor asks for a sidebar. After some not very covert whispering, the judge takes them into chambers. Kid Rock is still on the stand staring around the courtroom. The people in the gallery are talking quietly. The jury is pretending to go over their notes while really contemplating keeping that awesome doodle they made on the first day. Need I reiterate how BORING jury duty is?

I needed to get some water, so I lean forward and reach into my purse for my bottle. It takes me longer than it should because I have a penchant for large purses and therefore cannot find anything. As I’m searching, I feel someone eyes on me. Not sure if I am crazy and “feeling” strange things, I look up without sitting up. Instead of looking into a pair of eyes boring holes into my skull, I look at a pair of eyes boring holes into my BOOBS.

Yes, Kid Rock was looking down my shirt.

As soon as he realized I was looking up, he turned his head and started starring off into space. He got a little red but, thankfully, the lawyers and the judge came out and the trial continued.

I really can’t hold it against the guy. I wasn’t wearing something revealing, but let’s face it, no matter what I’m wearing, when I lean over, one can’t help but look. I could have held it against him for the rest of the trial, but I took an oath to render judgments only on the evidence presented to me and based on the instructions of the court. Unless the judge instructed me to render a verdict on him based on his being a pervert, it really didn’t pertain to the case.

I never did get my water, though. Bastard.

Jury Duty, Part 4: This is not a TV show.

For some, Jury Duty is not a big deal. You have to call in, maybe go, and probably be done in a day or two. But we all know the kind of luck I have. My “hopefully only 2 days” turned into a 14 day trial. That’s 3 weeks in “business day” time. Or a whole lot of income lost. Or a whole of time spent sitting on my ass.

When we first walked in for jury selection, I thought I was for sure not going to get picked. It was a civil suit against Kid Rock for (allegedly) beating up some photographers outside a nightclub in 2006 or something. Correction: it was (allegedly) members of his posse. Allegedly. I thought, “Well all I have to do is tell them I work at a newspaper and I’m golden. They won’t want someone who works in the media on the jury. Plus, I’m smart. They will know that I will see through all the bull and they won’t want me. ”

I was wrong. Contrary to what everyone says, they didn’t want the simple, uneducated people with no opinions. They wanted the educated professionals who could think for themselves and make intelligent decisions. Son of a bitch. Every single person on the jury with me was smart and opinionated and willing to argue, not to mention at least 10 years older than me. (This made deliberations SUPER fun.)

Now, when you’re on a trial, it’s not like what you see on TV. It’s rarely exciting and it usually involves sitting around outside the courtroom while they go over motions and things like that. Then, when you’re actually in the box, there are still a lot of sidebars and "going into chambers." At least when you’re in the hallway, you can read. Not in The Box. You have to just sit and wait for them to come out of chambers. You can’t even make inappropriate jokes that have nothing to do with the trial to the jurors around you, otherwise you’ll get a stern scolding from the judge. (Ask me how I know.)

You might think that a trial involving Kid Rock was exciting. You’d be wrong. It was boring. There was a ton of testimony about things like where the sidewalk ends and the hotel begins, where the limo was parked, if you can see out of the windows of a limo("Well it was kind of dark and I mean, I had knocked back a few." I had no idea knocking back a few meant you went blind!), how cameras can be on a limo floor with no one seeing them, and why every single person had a different memory of the event. From 4 years ago. It was torture.

Deliberations in cases like this are much harder than criminal trials. They aren’t just “guilty or not guilty.” They are “did this person intend to harm this person” and “if that person did not intend to harm this person, did he still harm this person" and "was this person working under the assumed guidance of Kid Rock." It’s a lot of legal crap. Plus, when it comes down to deciding damages, how do you put a monetary value on “emotional distress”? It took us 3 days to finish everything and, by the end of it, we were all exhausted. I got elected foreperson (of friggin course) and, when, after reading the War and Peace length verdict, the judge said we had to come back the next day, I almost burst into tears. I had just spent three days playing mediator with a roomful of adults, some of whom were old enough to be my grandparents, and now I had to come back and play referee again???

When we came in the next day, the judge informed us that the “matter has been settled over lunch.” I was a mixture of indignation and liberation. I was finally free! But I just spent 14 days trying to solve this and they do it over LUNCH?! You’ve got to be kidding me! (Btw...we all agreed that the photographers had been beaten up and had their cameras stolen, but we had some trouble decided to what degree Kid Rock was actually involved. So we said that he should just pay the photographers medical bills and that's it. It took us 3 days to come to that and these guys figure it out over lunch. Bastards.)

A few days (and a whole lot of relaxing and not thinking) later, I went onto TMZ and found out that the photographers got $35,000. It wasn’t much, but it was more than we were willing to give them, so I got even angrier. They put me through 14 days of hell so they could see what we’d be willing to give them and then settle outside of court??? I wanted to track down the lawyers and slap both of them across the face. Or ask that they pay me for the 3 weeks of work I missed. Take your pick.

The trial wasn’t all bad. I did catch Kid Rock looking down my shirt when he was on the witness stand. But that’s another story….

Sometimes I'm not the one that says the funny things

Every once in awhile, someone says something that is just plain hilarious. Maybe it’s not funny to everyone else, but it was pretty damn funny.

John is one of my co-workers. He just moved here from Florida and sometimes he says things that crack us all up. What he said last night, though, has to be my favorite.

John (attempting to write two cups): Hang on. My pen isn’t working.

Me (impatient, as usual): Just give me the cups. I think I can remember 2 Fraps that are exactly the same.

John: Oh yeah, cause you went to Berkeley. (turning to the customer) She went to Berkeley. I don’t really know what that means, but it sounds impressive.

Jury Duty, Part 3: Public Transpo & the "Honor System"

So I know I’ve already written about the adventure of the Los Angeles subway on my way to jury duty, but I left out one very important thing: the honor system.

In every other place I’ve taken the subway or rail or whatever form of underground there is (such as the weird hybrid that is MUNI…but that’s another post to come), you purchase your ticket and then swipe it to get through the turnstile. Then, when you leave, you either have to swipe again or you just leave. There are many ways to do this, but not in LA. We have to be idiots about it.

The first day I took the metro to jury duty, I bought my ticket and then walked up to the “turnstile.” Only, there was no actual turnstile. It looked like they had put up the turnstile, but then taken out the gate and left the posts. Ticket in hand, I walked up and looked for a place to swipe. There was no place to swipe. There was a round circle on the front of one of the posts that said “TAP here” so I did. Only nothing happened. I stood there like an idiot for a good minute before I watched another passenger just walk straight through. I did the same, but felt I had missed something. I’ve never jumped a turnstile before, but somehow I felt as if that’s what I just did.

Sitting on the train, all I could think of is how dumb of a system this is! Why would I even buy a ticket if I can just walk through? I’m a fairly honest person (despite what people think) and I would do it because I believe that nothing is free and if you are supposed to pay for something you should, but at the same time, I was tempted to not buy a ticket anymore. If I can ride for free, then why wouldn’t I? Especially if other people weren’t paying. It’s not fair to me to pay for everyone else. I might believe that you should pay for things, but I don’t believe I should be paying for a bunch of strangers.

All of these thoughts were going through my head when I was buying my ticket the next day. I ended up paying the $1.25, but not without a lively debate in my head.

It’s a good thing I did, however.

When I got down to the platform and boarded the train, there was an announcement for everyone to have their tickets ready. “Sheriffs will be coming through to check for tickets.” I watched at least three people get up and walk out, only to be grabbed by sheriffs outside the train. I wanted to ask the sheriff a ton of questions when he got to me, but I refrained because he looked like he had enough work to do without me asking a bunch of questions. I watched as several people got pulled off the train and were written citations.

A quick Google search told me that the ticket can be up to $200 and you have to show up to court! Plus, the MTA loses about $5 million a year from fare evasion. There is a debate about whether or not the MTA should spend the money to put in the gates and have people swipe in order to get through. In my opinion, there is no debate. People are dishonest. Even an honest person like me (keep your sniggering to yourself please!) thought of being dishonest simply because the MTA had made it so easy. LA, come on. Why can’t you just look at systems that work and model your system after one of those? Why must you be different and naïve? (I did find out what TAP meant. "Transit Access Pass." Very clever MTA.)

I ended up paying every time I rode. It was not worth $200 and another wasted day in court just to save $1.25.

Although, I am a bit tempted to jump a turnstile next time I’m in NYC.

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do

Here s the post everyone has been waiting for.

Only, you’re going to be very disappointed. (Sorry Lisa)

I was watching The Real Housewives of New York reunion (don’t judge…you have guilt pleasures too.) and Bethenny was asked about peeing on a pregnancy test stick on camera. She said that certain things she has no problem with being on camera but other things she keeps private. She said that there is a line and she decides where it is. They all signed up to have their lives shared with all of America, but there are some things off limits.

Why I quit my job as the newspaper is one of my things. (Sidebar...I quit my job at the newspaper and am back at Starbucks. Just an fyi)

It’s not peeing on a stick or anything, but for some reason, I don’t want to write about it and share it on a blog. It felt a little like a breakup, and even though there were no hard feelings on either side and it’s actually a really good and exciting thing, I’m not ready to share this story. Maybe I will be eventually but I’m not right now.

I will say again that there are NO hard feelings on either side and it is totally for the best. I am actually happier now than I have been in a really, really long time. I’m also really excited for all the changes I’m opening myself up to and I am hopeful they will all work out the way I want. But if they don’t, that’s ok too. It might sound cheesy, but I’m really excited for what’s to come.

Stay tuned.