Life Rocks- but not in an Obnoxious Pollyanna Type of Way.

Things are going so well that I'm a little nervous. I think this is probably pretty standard procedure for battling a lifelong struggle with anxiety; but bear with me. I talked to my mom on the phone yesterday and told her that things are going so well that I'm pretty sure that I'm going to wake up in a full body cast or I'm going to get mauled by sharks. She said,

"I know what you mean, honey! When I first married your father, I felt like that every day! I loved waking up. I loved going to work. I loved going to the grocery store."

"What? You went to the GROCERY STORE?!"

I have never really had that full-fledged, Bambi-eyed, Snow White "LOVE" experience where I wake up every day with a heart that's ready to pour out warm fuzzies over homeless children (or whatever the crap it is that people are always talking about. WORLD PEACE!); but that could be because as I get older, the more I see things in black and white. I heard once (I think this might have come from "Sex & the City," a show of which I am not a big fan, but I like the quote) "I think I'm missing the marriage gene. They should put me in a test tube and study me." I can relate. I don't necessarily feel like I get this big lump of life fulfillment from whomever I date or have a relationship with, but right now, I really feel balanced and content. I don't have that churned up, restless feeling that I used to know oh-so-well.

I started my new job on Monday, and when I left, it's like I experienced this epiphany. I have FINALLY arrived. After all of this time of treading water, working my butt off without really knowing what my end goals would be- I recognized that life is about living. Now, I'm not Gandhi or whatever; I'm much too crass and extroverted for that. I am; however, finally at a point of maturity or accomplishment or what have you, to understand that life is about right now. I have these unbelievable kids that I'm working with- I mean truly incredible. They are so bright and funny and out-of-the-box. Yesterday I met with one of my clients right after he'd come home from surfing all day. He had sand all over him and his hair was sticking straight up and it was sun kissed and full of salt water. He had this incredibly fresh perspective on his studies because he was balanced. He'd worked off all of his energy by surfing and now he was ready to give his mind a work out. I thought how cool that was. I did not grow up in a region or environment where balance was recognized or encouraged. I don't think it's because people discouraged it- they just didn't know better. I grew up around a lot of simple, unmotivated, milky people who chose to exist rather than live. I never really jived with them because I have no level of "in between." I'm not bipolar, but I'm extremely passionate. I'm way up or way down. I don't float around waiting for my decisions to be made for me. That crap drives me bonkers.

In addition to having the best job in the entire world (I can't believe that I get paid to help kids), another good thing happened the other day. I made a connection with a guy at Ralph's. I went to the grocery store and was checking out, and my cashier, who was a 40 ft. tall African American guy said,

"Hey.. Where ya from?"

So, giving my standard answer, I said,

"New Jersey. Why?"

So then he proceeded to guess. His first guess was Louisiana. I was so happy. My roots are deeply planted in Louisiana, so to hear someone guess a state remotely close to "home" was exciting (Two of my clients asked how my family was doing in TEXAS because of the hurricane. Which was nice, but how many times do I have to say MEMPHIS for them to know that it is NOT in effing TEXAS?!). He said he has relatives in Shreveport.

Next, he guessed Tennessee. I almost jumped over that counter and kissed him on the forehead. Then I started word-vomiting all over him about how people ask me stupid questions and put labels on me because I have an accent. Then this is what he said (I almost proposed to him),

"I thought Memphis was all blues? I mean, isn't it more of a Blues city instead of a country city?"

BINGO BINGO BINGO! YOU HAVE JUST WON THE PUBLISHER'S CLEARING HOUSE!

I don't think this guy realized just how much his little tiny bit of knowledge about my roots made my entire week better. This made me start thinking that I need to spend a lot more time trying to learn about other people; especially while I'm in L.A. I suck at foreign language, but I want to learn Spanish. It meant so much to me that someone knew something about my roots. Maybe if I can say "Buenos dias" without it sounding like "bwaaaaay-nooose deeeeeyuuuuuhs," I could make someone feel happy, too.

On another good note, I had the best weekend ever. I hung out on Venice Beach all weekend. Friday I met up with my friend and we walked around Venice and tried to avoid getting shanked by all of the scary burned out homeless hippies. Then we went to Santa Monica where it was a little less life threatening. We watched all of the divas and singer songwriters and middle aged married people. It was wonderful watching everyone out on their Friday night. When things wound down at 3rd St. Promenade, we went to Swinger's and sat on the patio, eating Cali food in the middle of the night, listening to some mobsters tell stories about doing coke in the '80's. I love L.A. It's so weird. P.S., I was born in the '80's.

Saturday, I went to Venice again and rode bikes with all of my Jewish friends. As I've stated before, it's very unusual for me to be the only blonde "white" girl. I'm not used to that. I can't tell if I like it or not. We crashed an old man game of beach volleyball, where I was absolutely the weakest link in the game (that lack of depth perception will get ya every time!) and everyone was aggravated that I couldn't serve, or hit, or do anything except just stand there and get a tan, but whatever. Then on Sunday, I got FOUR hugs. I know, I know. Give me a break, Corkey Romano. But seriously, I didn't know how much I needed hugs until I got four of them. I went to a different church on Sunday that's close to my house. I immediately felt connected. The crowd was small and multicultural. It made me feel comfortable. This old African American couple sitting in front of me introduced themselves right away as Henry and Naomi (I love old people names). Naomi hugged me. Then I met a doctoral student named Rochelline. She hugged me, too. Then after church my friend Christina and I went to the beach. I got a hug there. Then my buddy Robby and I hung out on Sunday night and tried to break into the MTV VMA's. Hug numero quatro!

Let me give a few more details on the VMA's. Those of you who are my "friends" on facebook have already seen the captions to the pictures, so disregard this paragraph if you are already in the know. Robby and I drove down to Hollywood in an attempt to break into the VMA after party. Despite our attempts at scaling the Paramount Studios wall, sweet talking the LAPD, offering to buy passes from exiting guests, and faking to be famous (Justin Timberlake's cousin & retarded brother), we were unsuccessful. We did; however, meet some wonderful traveling nurses from North Carolina who were middle aged and happy as clams to be in "Hollywood." That was nice and refreshing. We also met the driver of some famous celeb (Supposedly. He never told us who it was. He probably stole this car and lied to us. Oh well.) who was parked in Charlie Chaplin's rolls royce. We talked to him for over half an hour. He was such a warm and kind hearted guy, from what I could tell. I love real people. He told us he's in a jazz band and invited us to come hear him play. I'm looking forward to that.

So all night of loitering around the Paramount Studios premises, Robby and I acted like he was famous. He pulled his hat low over his eyes and we'd both yell, "NO PICTURES! NO PICTURES, PLEASE!" And we also thanked everyone for attending the VMA's.

To all of the sparkly dressed hos:

"Thanks for making it out tonight, ladies. Drive safely. We hope you come back next year."

We also ran into a black guy from Atlanta trying to sell his home-mixed CDs out of his backpack.

"I'm from ATL, man. Help a brotha out!"

I hi-fived him and said,

"I'm from Memphis, dude! HI-5 FOR THA DIRTY SOUTH!!!!!"

Flashbacks of "Hustle and Flow," anyone? Dee Jay gonna pimp Skinny Black? I watched part of that last night. It was on BET. It's so weird to me to see scenery of Memphis from my little tiny TV in Los Angeles. It's kind of neat.

Well, I'm going to go run off my big badunk-a-dunk at the gym and then commence the homework process of 2008. Holla holla. It's hard out there for a pimp!