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Word of the Day : Austere

There was a time in my life not too long ago when I acted like a cartoon basset hound, just a sad puppy dog, gazing out the window in the rain, pining for some fun, adventure, and maybe a t-bone steak. It felt like every time I pulled out my eight ball and asked an imperative question, the little white dice answered “outlook not so good” or “cannot predict now”. Things were not going my way, and I had an austere and somber resolve. I was throwing myself a bi-weekly pity party and crying because no one ever RSVP’d. 

All growing up, I thought this kind of thing would never happen to me. I’m not the kind of person to be bummin’. I’m an Amazonian warrior from Fun Party Land, not some sad sap from Princess Pouty World. The truth is though, that it does happen. Bummerville is only a quick road trip for the human psyche, and some times your whip breaks down and you have no other choice than to hitchhike out of there. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to catch a ride and set my sights on better mental planes, but I did it. And as it turns out, if you just change the circumstances that are sucking the life out of you like Bill Compton, your whole chi changes and world isn’t an overbearing vampire, it’s a fairy-godmother cheerleader applauding your wins and celebrating your successes. 

The temperature is rising in LA. I suppose last year I didn’t notice it as much because I was closer to the ocean and basking in the cool corporate agency environment, but this year I’m working inland and there is asphalt as far as the eye can see. On my lunch break today, I took a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood. Ten minutes in, I had made some pretty noteable sweat stains in my black, boxy Cheap Monday blouse. What’s a girl to do? Get out of the heat, head into a store, pull out her plastic money card, and seek salvation.           

One pair of shoes and a blouse later, I walked down the alley west of La Brea back to my office. The sun was bouncing off the buildings and heating up my blouse like a microwave dinner when I saw him. He was a buff guy in his 30’s, with long black hair, wearing only a pair of cut off shorts. He was hunched over a short water hose, and was washing his face. As I got closer, he gathered all of his hair in the front of his head like cousin It and dipped under the faucet. In a glorious moment that will forever play in slow-motion in my mind, he flipped his hair back like a Baywatch supermodel. I watched the water droplets dance across the air and jump against the concrete. He was an angel of summer and I was filled with a refreshing envy.

LA is growing on me. 

Word of the Day : Respite 
I need to get out of Los Angeles. I need a respite like Amanda Bynes needs a life coach. It might just be June Gloom but I feel like a tiny rainbow chair trapped in the shade. 

Word of the Day : Respite 

I need to get out of Los Angeles. I need a respite like Amanda Bynes needs a life coach. It might just be June Gloom but I feel like a tiny rainbow chair trapped in the shade. 

Words of the Day : Abate & Diaphanous

I imagine it’s hard being a straight man. If you’re lucky enough to be in a relationship with someone like myself, you’re pretty much constantly guessing why your lover is pouting or aggressively washing the dishes.

Was it something I said? Is this about the cat vomit in the hall? Should I tell her she looks thin? …The possibilities are endless. 

It’s unfair that men and women are wired so differently. You all are at a disadvantage. While we’re analyzing and weighing the pros and cons of numerous issues simultaneously, you’re daydreaming about a cheeseburger. It’s shameful that we expect so much but have no idea what it’s like to be in your noggin.  We’ve been stewing and scrutinizing your comment about the state of the kitchen like there is no tomorrow, and you’ve been unknowingly surfing the web for an hour (if you didn’t like the color orange, you should have come to the fucking paint store). And when you ask what’s for dinner, we lash out like a rattlesnake that couldn’t warn you on account of a broken rattle. You’ve cracked the diaphanous bottle that was holding in all our feelings and suddenly, we’re pinballing, smacking up against problems you didn’t even know existed.

After some tears and maybe a door slam, the rush of hormones abates and things calm down. The emergency weather alert is over and you can open the hatch of Auntie Em’s bomb shelter. And would you look at that, Dorothy was just asleep in the house the whole time.

All of this is to say that I don’t envy you guys. You can keep your 10% higher salaries, dominating personalities, and nonchalance for fashion. I’d rather be batty than have to cope with my kind of crazy.