Confessional

Forgive me blogger, for I have sinned.  It has been four months since my last post.  I have a really good excuse – work is eating my brain.  It already had holes in it from the 1980s, so it probably wasn’t that hard to get in there and sop up the last bits with a nice slice of Cibatta. 

I love to travel and this whole thing started because I kept going on these amazing adventures and wanted to tell my friends about the beautiful, grotesque, absurd and holy things I saw.  I still can’t believe the juxtaposition of the sacred and profane, the innocent and the wicked, and the terrible beauty of hope in a hopeless time and place.  Which brings me to Westfield Mall in Culver City, California.

After the epic travels of the past two years (India!  Australia!  Indonesia! Hawaii – which doesn’t count because I grew up there), the only trips I have taken recently are to our LA office.  I am a pretty aggressive driver, but the idea of driving in California freaks me out (because I think that is where Tina learned to drive and she makes me look like an elderly woman in an ’79 Buick that can’t see over the dashboard), so my world is limited to my depressing hotel, the lab and whatever I can find to do at Westfield Mall, which is in walking distance to both my work and hotel.

I am not much of a mall rat.  If I have to get something, I run in, grab it and go before the overstimulation of people and things vying for my attention sends me into a seizure.  For this reason, I can never enter a Costco and no one will ever get a Christmas present from me again.  But when I go to California, there just isn’t much to do rather than analyze the offerings at the local Target.

When I had employees in California before, they were in Orange County and the woman I reported to had a French Pedicure which I thought was weird because you toenails would have to be long enough to have two colors on them and that seems a bit gross.  Plus everyone had frosted blonde hair and wore pastels, so I felt like a complete outsider with my “I used to be a goth and can’t stop wearing black” attempt at corporate wear and chipped toenail polish.  Culver City is different, though.  People seem more normal there and by normal I mean there is actually some diversity in the place.  Meaning it isn’t like the Real Housewives of whatever.

This post doesn’t even make sense to me, so don’t worry if you are confused – I just needed to get back into the habit of writing.  After making some big lifestyle changes, I figured it was time to get back on the horse.  Get the rat through the snake.  Lasso the broncho.  Prime the engine.  Write.

I have gone out dancing the last two weekends (rocked it tonight, Lara!) and it feels so good just to lose yourself in the music and dance.  Especially to trance – it is a truly spiritual experience to dance through your exhaustion and come out the other side in a meditative state.  Until someone has to put on breaks or dub step and ruin my vibe, but whatever.  I did notice a new trend the past two weeks, however.  It seems that people have stopped wearing pants.  I mean that everyone (under 30, female and skinny) seems to be dancing in their underwear and GoGo boots.  I don’t recall this trend from the rave days.  We were all in hoodies and ratty jeans and sweaty Sketchers.  Now it is all sparkle pony hot pants and Elton John’s shoes.  Maybe it was always like that, but now I am sober so I actually notice.  I don’t know.   

Today was a good day – the garden is thriving, I caught up with some old friends and met some very interesting new people.  Tomorrow I am going to have to brave Target to start getting ready for Easter.  I know it is still a month away, but Hop, Bock, Chirp, Meow XII (my annual Easter party) is the crowing jewel of the spring party season.  Hockey Bunny will certainly be making a comeback as will Linda’s secret quiche recipe.  And it is the only day of the year I get to hop around in bunny ears eating chocolate and tossing a small, fuzzy stuffed bunny to Tina with a lacrosse stick while shouting “car!” as we play in the street. 

Now I will say my Hail Marys and sleep - all is forgiven.