34 Reasons The Last 365 Days Were Pretty Great

When I started this post on 11/1/13, I had intentions of making a list of 34 reasons. Cause, ya know, that's clever.  I was turning 34. But after 6 months, I would like to retitle this post:

14 Reasons The Last 365 Days Were Pretty Great

1. I actually started making a quilt.  Something I've been meaning to do for way too long.
2. Discovered what this whole CrossFit craze is.  
3. My brother and I got another pup.
4. At Christmas, we thought it was a good idea to adopt a new dog, foster a puppy and foster a kitten for a few days.
5. Ms. Rita Grindle and I spent 8 hours in a bar in NYC.  On purpose.
6. I spent another week in Monteagle, TN transcribing love letters from the turn of the century.
7. I took time to rest. Finally.
8. For the first time in 27 years, all my dad's children were in one room.
9. Turns out the pups don't like each other.  But I got to meet Cesar Milan.
10. I met a boy.  A really cute boy.
11. I did a real pull up. This is a big deal, people.
12. I flew in a super small plane.
13. I expanded my business.
14. I officiated a wedding. 

Happy Birthday to me.

The Fourth is Sexual Harassment

I was minding my own business in the Staples parking lot when I heard someone from across the lot say, "Hi. I like your smile."  For the record, I wasn't smiling.

When I looked up, there was little old man headed my way.

"I just lost 20 pounds. What do you think?"

I smiled and said, "Congratulations! How'd you do it?"

"Well, I'm on the seafood diet.  If I see food, I don't eat it."

Cute.

We proceeded to have a 5 minute conversation that consisted of him shamelessly hitting on me.  Which is easy to take when someone is 40 years your senior.

I'll spare you all the details, but two of my favorite moments were him asking me for my phone number, to which I declined.  Twice.  After his second attempt he said, "Well now that you're getting to know me a little better, you might give me your number before I leave.  My parole officer says it's okay to ask three times for something.  After that, it's sexual harassment.  So I've got one more shot."

After turning him down a third time and deciding to part ways, he reached in his shirt pocket and handed me a carnation. My heart melted a little and I took it but offered to give it back in case he wanted to give it to someone who would give him their phone number in return.

He smiled as he started to walk away and said, "Oh no, baby. I got a dozen of those in my car."

Solid.

Spies

I went on a blind date tonight and knew with in about 2 minutes of meeting him that it was going to be a long, uncomfortable glass of wine.

After we found a table, I noticed two women sitting close by had already spotted I was on a first date.  I was embarrassed at first, but then thought of the many times I had been a spy, just like them.

I made it through my glass of wine and politely explained I had a movie to catch and needed to run.  By now, my two lady spies had moved inside from the rain and I headed down the Promenade to see if, indeed, there was a movie I'd like to see.

After my stroll, no potential movies and not being able to find my car -- I ran into the spies at the parking machine.  They were in front of me and I had my head buried in my phone looking up other movie options.

One of them turned around and said, "It's you!"  She grabbed her friend and spun her around and said, "Look! It's her."  "How was your date?!"

I smiled with pouty eyes and said, "Awful."

She immediately grabbed me and gave me a hug.  A real hug.
"Oh, I'm so sorry sweetheart."

They explained they had been watching most of the time and realized pretty quickly it wasn't going well.

"We spent the rest of the evening going through our rolodex of friends trying to come up with someone to introduce you to.  You seemed so sweet and cute.  I mean, you stuck it out for the date, most girls wouldn't do that."

(Do people REALLY just get up from an unsuccessful date and leave?)

We joked for a bit and they wished me luck in the black hole that is dating in Los Angeles and we went our separate ways.

Made my day.

I could be totally wrong.

We live in the periwinkle apartment by the sea.
My neighbors live in the red, echoey apartment a few steps further from the sea.

And I hear their every move.  Seriously.

They listen to NPR starting at 3am.  They watch TV until 2am.  They type, they wash dishes, they vacuum.  They seem to have conversations IN my room.

They're a couple in their late 70s/early 80s and I swear the old man character in Up was based on my neighbor.  However, my neighbor embodies only the sweet, slightly oblivious version of the character in the Pixar movie.

His wife is mean.  M-E-A-N, mean.  She's annoyed with him before he even begins a thought.  Before he can ask a question.  Before he moves, shuffles, breathes.

A common dialogue in their household is:
Wife: "I'm leaving, okay?"
Silence.
Wife: "I'm leaving, OKAAY? [sigh, grunt]"
Husband: "Oh, okay. Have a good day."

Wife: "Yeah. Bye."

Husband: "What?"

Wife: "BYYYYYYYE!"

You need an entire summer with your windows open to fully understand.  But it makes me sad.  Makes me question marriage.  She seems to genuinely hate him.

However, from the small talk my roommate and I have had with Mr. Up, they both played professionally for the philharmonic.  And there are days that the most beautiful violin music seeps out their windows and it's as if I'm at a live concert.  As I hear the notes and the music peaks, I imagine those are the moments they are still in love.

It's hard to say who is playing.  And I can't decide if I want it to be HER as he is reminded of the moment when he fell for her. As she plays, he forgets the moments she's consistently annoyed with him and is just happy they're in the same room.

Or if I want it to be HIM playing as she sits and closes her eyes and quickly falls back in love with him; even if just for that moment.

Doesn't matter really.  When there's music coming from those windows, there are no voices and I close my eyes and see them smiling at one another.

Girl, you better try to have fun no matter what you do.

Amazing advice, right?

Driving home tonight after drinks with a friend and feeling inspired, I shuffled back and forth between Love Line and any song that I recognized on the radio.  As I was blocks from my house, I heard the first two notes of a song and immediately could see myself in 5th grade, heartbroken, phone in hand about to call the local radio station and make an honest request.

"XL 106.7 DJ, I dedicate this to Tony Citeralla, I miss him."

I can't remember what happened.  Did I awkwardly, pre-maturely break up with him and then dramatize it?  Did he break my heart? (as 5th grade broken hearts go...)  I can't remember.

But I CAN remember every single word, every single beat to Nothing Compares 2 U, by Sinead Oconnor.  And I forgot how good it feels to belt out every word.

I remember being in 5th grade.  I knew exactly what she was talking about.

La Fin

Went to The Pint tonight and added it to my list of reasons maybe I SHOULDN'T move from the Westside.

I walked up to the bar and noticed there was a guy waiting on the other side and he nervously eyed me and then the bartender.  I could tell he thought I might get served first even though he'd clearly been waiting.  (Which could have been the case, really.  This IS a bar where the bartender knows my name.  Yessss.)

However, she went to him first and then took my order.  I watched as she placed what seemed to be MY bottle in front of him: the large version of La Fin Du Monde.  Delish.  As she turned the bottle I noticed it was actually Maudite -- made by the same brewery, just a different flavor.

She asked, "How many glasses?"
He put up his first finger and shyly smiled, "Just one."

She walked over to me and placed my very similar bottle in front of me and asked the same question.
I answered, with my finger in the air and a quick roll of the eyes, "Just one."

She looked back and forth and said, "You guys are made for each other!"

I smiled at him and he gave me a half-assed grin as I had a small moment of sunshine.

At the end of the night as I closed my tab, my trusty bartender said, "Did that guy come talk to you?!  I told him you were single."

Nah, he didn't.

Doesn't he know it's almost The End of the World (La Fin Du Monde)

and he'll be Dammed (Maudite) soon so he should have just said hello?!

Dating is rad.

Had some time to kill before a blind date and was utterly exhausted.  Thought a nice nap in the park would be perfect.  Laid out my yoga mat, curled up and was ready to pass out.

I would have been asleep in moments, but kept getting a whiff of dog poop.  Mmph, it's a park after all, no big deal.  

But it wouldn't go away.  I sort of half sat up and scanned the area around me...shifting back and forth on my mat and sort of turning side to side.  I looked under my mat, around my mat -- it seemed to be clear.  Since I was laying on my side, my feet were sort of stacked and I couldn't see my bottom foot.  But now I could see the smear of dog shit on my yoga mat. 

Yup.  ALL OVER my foot.  Not just my shoe, people.  All my shuffling around had spread the poop onto my skin and IN my shoe.  Completely disgusting.  All the leaves in the park and the box of handy wipes didn't seem to do the trick.  I was convinced I still smelled like poop.

What's a girl to do?!  Basically, it was the perfect excuse for a pair of new shoes.  And if this boy was cool, would also be a great story for tonight.

The new shoes:  Totally cute.

The date:  A no show.

I mean, come on...this is great.

(She seems a little shocked, but I love the build up...)

The Elite.

Today, I threw myself the biggest pity party I have in awhile. You should have been here, it was great.

After a day of teary movies and pining over various missing elements of this 30-year-old's life, I opened my computer to put on just one more sad song. Well, low and behold, look what was in my inbox:



Goodness gracious. Online dating validation. Do you need much more in life? And, I mean, if I made it in the top half of most attractive users...boys will be knocking down my door soon, right? Or at least my inbox. Sweeeet.



And what an honor, I've graduated to elite status. So now they're going to show me all the hot boys they've been hiding.

Thanks for the giggle, OKCupid. Needed it.

Cup to the Cake

There are most definitely times you need to transport just one cupcake. And today was one of those days. My brother was trying to decide what delicious item from our Memorial Day spread to bring to a blind date.
Cupcake.
Duh.

Once the decision was made, I might have gotten a little too excited about the possibility of putting my solo-cupcake-transporter into use. It felt so good to say, "Ooooo, you need to carry that cupcake don't you?! Well I, my friend, have just what you need. Ta da!"

It's the small things, people. The small things.

My perfect blind date would be just as resourceful.

Went on a blind date tonight and we agreed to wear silly hats. Sort of to spot each other, but mostly because, um, it's fun.

My day ended up all over the place and I left my intended silly hat at home showing up at our meeting place with 20 minutes to find a replacement hat.

I checked lost and found at the bar.
Nothing.
I Googled local toy shops.
Closed.
Bartender suggested local hat shop.
Savior.

I explained my situation to the woman behind the counter and she said, regretfully, they were sort of a serious hat shop. But she started shuffling through the shelves to see what options we had.

We decided on this lovely gem:



I'd wear it a little incorrectly and it would qualify as silly.

She handed it to me and said, "Just take it. You can borrow it and bring it back later. Just make sure it's Friday or Saturday when my boss isn't here."

WHAT?!

I couldn't believe it. People. Are. Great.
She turned down my offer to leave her some collateral. But I insisted I'd feel better if she'd take my business card. So I handed her my LA Guerrilla Gardening card and the guy behind the counter said, "Oh! I've totally heard of this and I've been wanting to get involved. Perfect."

Perfect is right. My heart is still full of sunshine.

The blind date: He wore a brown beanie.
FAIL.

If you're in the market for a hat, please visit the coolest people in the world of hats.

Boys should just bring kickboards to the bar. It would be so much easier...

I'm following the advice from a friend and typing out all of my journals. From forever. Like, since 8th grade. I decided having Facebook, Twitter and a Blog were clearly not enough resources for talking about myself. I most definitely need a searchable document of all my self-loathing and heartache and life questions and sunshines. And, hey, that's what's in -- Worshiping the Altar of Self. So I'm hip. Duh.

I'm only about 20 entries in and I'm sure there will be many gems, but this one made me smile:

Brian did something today that made me feel a little bit better. It's really stupid but that's okay. When we were walking back from the locker rooms after practice he hit me really hard with a kickboard on the butt. Like I said, really stupid, but a good sign.

Writing on the Wall

The shower at my parents house has sliding glass doors and within moments of starting the shower, the doors steam up and make for a perfect canvas.

I used to stand in the shower practicing my signature and pretend I was signing checks or important papers. At some point, the canvas transitioned into a place to keep my secrets. Mostly about boys. I'd write the name of my latest crush and then it was so easy to erase and no one would ever know.

I still, every time I'm home, write a boy's name while I'm waiting for my conditioner to work. I also can't help adding curly Q's and fancy underlines and smiley faces. Because that's what girls do when they write boys names. Duh.

Oh, Chinatown and dating...

Today having Dim Sum and being coerced in to taking whatever hot dish the mean cart lady wanted to give us...we tried some sort of rice cake shrimp concoction.

I made Carolyn try it first and her immediate response was, "It's...tast-ee?" (a dash and two E's meaning a high note ending.)

Which we all decided was the equivalent of answering the question, "How was your date last night?" with "Um...he was nice? (question mark, question mark, raised eyebrows, scrunched nose)"

We just weren't that into the rice cakes. Nor the emotional heartache we received from the cart lady whose dim sum we turned our nose up to.

But a sunshine all the same.

Because you never know...

Soooo, my night consisted of agreeing to go to a bar that I knew might not be awesome. And then, ultimately running into two of the worst dates I've ever had. Both of which, happened over two years ago.

Fine.

However, luckily, I brought my roommate with me and she had a random stranger walk up from behind...place her shirt tag back in her shirt, and then walk away -- anonymously.

Definition of kindness...yes...100%.

Excuse me, sir...Can I buy you a drink?

Even after adding "in bed" to the end of my fortune, I was more thankful for the language lesson on the other side.

Perhaps my future will have one less awkward moment in my pursuit of foreign men.