Hi there. I love LA. Get to know me, you won't regret it.
The road to recovery’s been paved with the most wonderful friends a gal can ask for, a busy busy busy schedule, and new opportunities. A welcome, beautiful change.
Pretty fond of that honor system, myself.
If you think LA’s all spray tans and fake boobs… You’re so very wrong.
Kicked off the year feeling beautifully happy, with the loveliest of people, on a rooftop downtown in a city I love.
2013, I am ready for you.
Got to visit my little bro today! One week since he’s moved out, hopefully we’ll get used it. And by ‘used to it’ I mean get used to taking out the trash myself.
My mother is beautiful.
“When you find someone who will eat pizza flavored ice cream with you, that’s love”
If you are in the Los Angeles area, Sleepwalk with Me is playing at the Nuart Theater in West LA for the next two weeks.
Go. See. It.
I finally got a chance to see Sleepwalk With Me, a movie by comedian Mike Birbiglia, and it was even more awesome because he was there in person for a Q&A after the show. I loved this movie, for the relationship aspect of the film, and also for the comedy aspect. A few of my friends (by “few of my friends” I mean “a comedian I tried to date, failing miserably”) exposed to me to some of the stand up comedy world, and it’s something I fully support and love. I might be pop culture retarded, but I am so entertained by individual stories, jokes, antics of these people who are unafraid of getting up in front of a room full of strangers to make them laugh. It’s like for those five, seven, fifteen, twenty if the comedian is lucky, minutes, the room is partaking in one rolling, funny (hopefully) conversation. You can’t script what’s going to happen, and you just hope that it’ll be smooth and no one will leave horribly offended. There’s almost no profit, but it’s mentally rewarding to be a part of a successful set. Mike Birbiglia’s hilarious story, paired with the flair of This American Life, was just perfectly funny. I loved seeing the voices I hear on a weeky basis carried over onto film, in a room of hipsters who love asking questions peppered with obsure references (seriously, was I terribly uncool and not hip enough for that room? What the hell is “Las Enchiladas”?). I don’t know how I’d feel about being Mike Birbiglia’s ex-girlfriend, seeing that anxiety about their relationship seemed to cause REM sleep behavior disorder. But it was just a touching, beautiful story. Absolutely loved it. Just a man telling a story about a slice of his life, and all of the chaos and laughs that went along with it. I can’t wait to see his stand up act in the near future.
You know you’re over it when someone else mentions him and your first reaction isn’t to throw a defensive little burst of sarcasm into the conversation. Oh, what happened to so-and-so? You sounded so happy when you talked about him. And you just shrug and smile and respond Oh, you know. We just weren’t on the same page when in actuality, we weren’t even in the same book. Yeah, yeah, it’s great that you feel like he understands your goals and desires, your schedules, your weirdness that you don’t let most people see. But I’m starting to think that’s not as unique as Hollywood and Disney, aka the two biggest contributors to female misconceptions, make it out to be. You get that weird rose colored glasses thing going on when you think you’ve fallen, and you just brush off things you normally wouldn’t. So what if you haven’t spoken in over a week, people are busy! So what if it’s a total case of undercover lover, some people are just super private. So what if he has no desire to be a part of your world, and if he has no desire to have you be a part of his? So-freakin-what.
Here’s the what. It’s supposed to be better. Get rid of that tunnel vision because it’s just ridiculous. You don’t just settle for what you think is “right”, even when everything screams that it’s wrong. It makes no sense at all. In all honesty, there’s no reason to be upset, because it really just amounts to terrible miscommunication. And apparently, it happens sometimes. I can spend all that energy into convincing people I don’t need anyone, much less a man. Then I realize, I don’t really have to. Because I’ve realized it. And I don’t need a designated someone.
I know I’m a lot to handle sometimes. The men who really get me are few and far between, but bless their roomy loving hearts. To understand that the things that come out of my mouth are pretty much direct correlations to the thoughts in my head. And that sometimes I don’t initiate conversation for days, and only respond to text messages because I feel like I should. A lot of my conversations start with reasons why patients’ poop smells the way it did, and I’m pop culturally retarded. I couldn’t care less that this is what I occasionally come across as…
Loving this summertime goodness.