Putting My Ego in Storage.

Not that I have much of an ego any more. I can't for $270 a month. It must shrink in relation to my living situation. It better. I'm going to be surrounded by wallpaper soon. And sleeping on a full mattress. I was really aiming for something more king-sized. I was. But. Life is funny. And apparently, I have bad aim.

Yesterday, I changed my move date. After spending the greater part of the morning viewing storage spaces, I realized that there was no way I was going to be ready to move today. Looking at storage spaces alone took over two hours. Who knew that there are so many options? Size, location, ones with lifts, drive-ups, ones in hallways. And then there's demand. There is apparently lots of demand. But not a lot of insurance. That you have to buy. And there are hidden charges. And certain times you can access your stuff. Security codes and locks. And finally, after all that? There are people who don't pay which means they auction off the contents of the space. I think I finally decided on a roomy 10 x 25. For $270 a month. The rent that some people in some areas actually pay a month. To live WITH their stuff. But. Not me. Still, I didn't sign on the dotted line. I don't know what I'm waiting for. A miracle, maybe. I'm still naive enough to believe in those.

Re: the move date? I was much too depleted by the whole crying-packing-looking for Will thing to get it together. Which ultimately turned out to be a good thing. Kelly's place fell through minutes after I walked in the door and relayed the news that I was moving next week and our landlord was okay with it. As long as I paid, of course. He hasn't shown it to anyone. He doesn't really need to rent the place out immediately. He's an apartment baron. An asian Leona Helmsley. Well, not really. But he doesn't need the money, hates doing work on things and likes collecting rent. His dad left him a slew of buildings that were paid off. Now why wasn't I born into that family?

He was quite curious as to where I was moving and why. I didn't feel like getting into it. Being mocked by my landlord wasn't really something I was in the mood for. I just said I was heading to New York. He told me I had too much stuff. You've got to love unsolicited opinions. I almost told him I know. That's why I need a 10x25 instead of a 10x10.

Today, I am going to take it a bit easy. I am going to pack slowly. Hike quickly. And do errands. Which include offering up a reward for my Little Will. I feel much better staying longer and looking more for him. I hope he comes back. Some people say maybe he has a new home. It's bad enough when men leave you, but male cats? Argh. Although I did write a story about it. And fittingly, it was over Christmas, "Cat Leaves Girl." In it, the cat picked living with a family instead of a single woman. Yeah. You create your reality, I guess.

I'm Not Sure Which is Worse...

The fact that I still read my horoscope when it's always wrong or the fact I won't be ready for my move or that Will is still missing. I'm seriously going off the deep end with this one. I haven't been big on asking for help. And I need it. Desperately. You'd think I'd learn by now. I consult people. Pay them for their services. Which I usually can't afford. I do the work myself. But help? I still haven't gotten that one down. Today I consulted a psychic. She's a telepathic pet communicator. This is what she gleaned from her conversation with Little Will:

He's still alive.
He's playing with an orange tabby.
He's being fed.
He crossed two streets and thinks he's on an adventure.
The place he's hanging out at is a grey building with ivy and vines.
He thought the energy in the apartment got weird when Kelly started packing and I went away.
He loves me.
He loves Skunk but thinks she's boring.
(I felt bad about the Skunk thing... she's not boring!)
He's not being held against his will.

All of this bodes well, but doesn't. I'm still circling the neighborhood like a crazy person. I still haven't found him. Today after I talked to another neighbor who is just about distressed as I am, I did a Craig's List listing which was much easier with the help of this blog. If you've already posted a picture on the blog, you can just load it by using the blog link. How great is that? That was the easiest part of my day.

When I was talking to the neighbor who is in love with my cat, another girl walked by. She looked at my neighbor and said, "Will is missing?!" She was apoplectic. "How is that possible?" she asked. "Everyone knows Will. Someone has to have him." You'd think, right? This girl? She had no idea who I was. I stood there and listened to the two of them talk about my cat like he was the best thing sliced bread or Bobby Fisher. Then I said to the girl, "Will is my cat." Then we chatted some more. She promised that we would find him. And that was that. Boxes packed today given all the hoopla: 9. That is not enough.

The Belle of the Ball.

I'm not sure if it was Skunk or if it was me... who was the Belle of the Ball tonight. With Will gone, Skunk gets a lot more attention. And she's a love. Beautiful. So she's quite deserving of it. She just always deferred to Little Will. As so many girls will do for charismatic men... cats included. All in the name of love.

Tonight Romy and Diane came over. They both live near me... in the neighborhood. And they're both kind of in shock that I'm leaving. Now that it's so real. That I'm getting so packed up feels strange. Seeing the boxes. The things put away. Makes it not just me talking about what I'm going to do. It's kind of what's done. I think all of us-- me included-- believed that something would happen to change things. That somehow it would all work out. I'm not sure how. I've been here so long. And for a lot of my friends, it was a place to go. A place to hang out. A home away from home. That's something I always wanted my place to be. So I did accomplish that. My mom's place was never that. We weren't allowed to have people over when I was growing up. I don't think that will be such an issue now. I don't really see that as a goal so much anymore. But it was a part of my life that I liked while I was here.

I'm a bit overwhelmed by everything. Sad. Confused. And don't have a lot to say. I wish I had more pictures of the good times. That there were more of them. That I was moving onto something better with absolute certainty. But I am not. I am, however, moving.

Crazy Cat Lady.

I could be talking about myself. But I'm not. I woke up last night thinking to myself that the woman who called me and said Will was dead has him. I think he was catnapped. It's the only thing that makes any sense. People on the street who know him -- yes, by name-- and who remember exactly when they last saw him, also think that he's inside someone's place. I think it's hers. I know that philosophically some people think cats should be indoors only. I don't believe that. Some cats, maybe. But so far, none of mine. Even with the multitude of laps I've done around my neighborhood, I don't believe it. Will is what this one woman called a dog cat. He loves dogs and behaves like one. He's fearless. But smart and resourceful. And so is this woman. She saves animals. She took her dog around looking for Will. She thinks the crazy cat lady has him, too. She's met a lot of crazy people during her rescues. The odd thing we both honed in on is that the "your cat is dead" woman is the only person who didn't leave her phone number and didn't seem to care about how I felt. Very suspicious. And weird. And suspicious.

I am a bit worn out from all of this searching. And packing. And I still have a lot of packing left to do. I still need more boxes. I thought I bought enough. But so far there are 14 boxes of books and I'm not done yet. I haven't even started my bedroom or the kitchen. I'm worried things are going to get lost. And I won't be able to find what I need. So I'm packing pretty carefully and trying to get rid of some stuff, too. I have to figure out what I can bring with me (not much) and what I can store. I guess it's good practice for New York. I just hope I get there. Because there's no coming back here. The rents here have skyrocketed. My place is huge. And the rent is only $1876. Not that I could afford it by myself. And not like I want to live with anyone else any more. Except someone I'm in a relationship with. But that's been about as easy to find as a job that pays me enough to stand still. To sit still and write. I worry that Will knows something. That he won't leave because we shouldn't be leaving. I shouldn't be leaving. Yesterday I contacted a pet psychic. She has a high recovery rate aat being able to find lost pets. And let you know why they're lost. Laura thinks Will does not want to move. He loves it here. He has a whole community of people who know him and love him. Which I get. It's pretty funny. Everyone I ask about him is like, "Oh, you're Will's owner. Iove that cat." And then they go on with some long diatribe about how their dog loves him etc. Guys and girls. People have even left pictures of him in my mailbox. I hope this psychic lady can find him. She only costs $45. Which is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things. Color copies at Kinko's cost more. Well, when the cashier charges you the right amount. Fingers crossed.

Instead of Giving Thanks.

I packed. I searched for Will. I fielded phone calls from people with leads on Will. Which turned out to be leads on other black cats in the area. Which we apparently have a lot. Too many. One particularly inspiring call was: I think your cat is dead. And she went on to explain why. She didn't leave a phone number. Which was good. I called shelters and animal sanitation -- although that's not the real name for it, it's who the city calls when they find dead animals-- I called the fire department-- which is right by where the dead black cat was dying-- way before Will was even missing. I called the micro-chip people to make sure that no one could change the microchip. Just in case. I did laps and laps around the area calling his name. Even though I know if he was out, he would come home or come when I called. I just do. He actually perks up when he sees me. Imagine that.

Today, my mother said, "maybe you're only meant to have one cat." This was not helpful. And this is the woman I'm going to live with. (Also the woman who is resistant to DSL and cable, by the way. Although I have now graduated to being given an entire closet. Not counting the bottom and the top-- in other words, hanging things only). Another friend thought that Will had found a home that needed him. Well, if I'm not needy, then what am I? Please tell me who around here has a life that is functioning at a lower capacity than mine-- taking age range into consideration? Particularly given that they can afford the rent and I can't? I need Will. And love him. And miss him. And am devastated. All of my neighbors have been coming out to talk to me. They talk about how he's a free spirit. That he's not like a cat. And that he's special. That they dig him. They think he's fine. That he'll be home soon. I hope so. I move at 8am on November 29th. Nothing hurts me more than to think he might come home and find me not here. That he would need me and I would be gone. Argh.

So while others ate turkey and stuffed themselves alongside their families, I packed. And cried. About how I really didn't care about Thanksgiving. Because I am over celebrating holidays with my family as the woman without a family of her own. It just feels false. And contrived. Which are different versions of the same thing. Anyway, I also cried about Will and packing. And heated up three chicken taquitos. And drank a few glasses of wine. Neither of which tasted very good to me. I'm losing weight without trying. My pants are all falling off. But eating seems boring. And so not important right now. I had so many hopes when I moved into this place. I really thought I would have realized a few of them by now. It's hard to face that I haven't. That I'm leaving with less than I started with. Failure is hard. I don't care what anyone says.

This would, of course, be different if I was moving to New York now. But I'm not.

I think about my friend Mary whose husband died in the World Trade Center. Although her pain and my pain are different and I can't compare the two and won't-- I do understand what she meant when she said she just wanted to pretend that part of her life didn't exist. To just start over. (Even though she didn't really). I do want to forget that I was ever here. Sometimes I do think other people will. And that it somehow will be okay. I wish that there was a witness protection program for people who just need to change their life. That they're given a new one where pain, sadness and failure don't exist and they can start anew and be anything they want to be. With, of course, all of their animals. Because otherwise, what would be the point?

What Life Comes Down To.

Today I posted 100 signs looking for Little Will. With Romy's help. They were color copies as you can see. It was supposed to be 39 cents per copy but the girl at Staples made a mistake and charged me the black and white rate. I usually correct people. I usually make sure I pay what I'm supposed to pay. But today I didn't. Today I took it as a gift. I needed a gift. I needed not to come home from my trip and find Little Will missing. To deal with having to move. To be where I'm at. I needed to be someone else. But I'm not. I'm me. And where I'm at is all me. The mistakes. The dreams. The mistakes. I guess it's what my life comes down to...

Another gift came to me today in the guise of three random strangers who responded to my signs. Who offered up what they thought were Will sightings. I swear I've sprinted today more than I have since those stupid presidential fitness tests we had to take when we were in high school. All to no avail. Still. It was thoughtful of those people to call me. It made me love my area. And believe in the good. There were alos the people who stopped and wished me luck. And made me cry. I wore my sunglasses all day.I don't like strangers to see me cry. Dates and friends? That's a whole different story. I think Will is locked up somewhere. In someone's place who went away. I think he's trapped. Because he always comes to me. Always. He hears my voice? He perks up. His tail perks up. It's like being a supermodel in a super crowded bar. Yet one of the many reasons I love cats. Love. You can't beat love. Since I've been back? Since Will has been gone? Skunk is all over me. And she has one of those loud kitty motors that makes noise whenever she's happy. You can be on another block and hear her. It's very comforting. I'm surprised she's not distraught. When Highland died, Will was apoplectic. I think it just feeds my philosophy of life. If you've had it hard, you're always expecting the worst and looking for something better. If you've had it easy, you're comfortable and feel safe and content where you are-- as if it will all work out. Skunk is definitely content. And the only non-rescue cat I've had. It's confusing. Character and personality and trust so often come with hardship. And with that so often comes a will to believe.

I am trying to figure out a way to stay here until Will comes home. To make it all right. I have friends who live in the area. Local friends. But it won't be the same. It's not that I want to be here. I just want to be in the place where life works. The place where I get what I want. I still believe it's New York. I know it's not Orange County. There my mom won't even let me have wireless. Or cable. Or room. She wants things to be as they are. Yeah. Well, good luck with that.

Tomorrow, I'm not celebrating Thanksgiving. I'm going to wait for Will. I'm going to look for him. To pack for my move. I'm going to say goodbye to all the things in my life that helped me and hurt me and hope that over the next three months I can find my muse, I can find my way to New York and maybe even find a man. And while some people may think that seems sad... it's been a long time without one and you know? A relationship is something I'd like to be thankful for.

Breakdown A Bit Better. Thanks to the Hotel Lucia.

So I snapped. A bit. I felt like shit. Allergies and such. (Which I know is getting old. How do you think I feel?) And then the drive from Seattle being a bit over 3 hours. Which didn't help my sciatica at all. (Because the company didn't want to pay for the plane ticket.) Which I didn't used to care so much about -- in the beginning of my traveling adventures -- I would drive five hours. But now I'm so worn out that I do care. And the fact I look like shit. And am supposed to be selling skincare. And am tired of putting on make-up to hide the fact I look and feel like shit. When I really just want the time and ability to make myself look and feel better. I need a haircut. Would love a massage. Botox anyone? Even just the time to go to yoga would be nice. My body needs it. Alot. My ass. It didn't used to, but now it does. And of course, there's the fact that I want to be doing what I want to be doing. Which is not skincare or publicity or retail or temping or anything I've basically done over the past five years. An that I'm having a hard time with the idea of moving home at 38 years old. Which makes me feel like a bigger loser than the last five years. If that's possible. And I need to get over it. But I want to be in such a different place. And then. Suddenly I was. At the Hotel Lucia.

The Hotel Lucia is the sister hotel to the Hotel Max. At the Hotel Max they made a mistake and charged my debit card for the stay instead of the company. They tried to reverse it but couldn't until Monday. They were apologetic. So apologetic they wanted to buy me breakfast. Or coffee. In the end? They comped the mini bar charges. My $3.00 Diet Coke? Free! My almonds? Free! Which is what customer service is alll about. The place wins hands down. Or so I thought. Until I got to the Hotel Lucia. The valet/doorman? So nice. The front desk attendants? Even nicer. They all set me up. Were so kind to me it made me wonder if they thought I was someone I wasn't. I got a King sized room with all the amenities. A huge beautiful bed. A mini bar. A good one. With good stuff in it. Carefully selected bottles of wine. One of which I promptly opened. Because I was still in breakdown mode. And the Hotel Lucia? It has better stuff to breakdown with. And then, I called a few people. My sister. My mom. And while I was on the phone with my mom? The manager sent up a bottle of wine. With a nice note. How is that possible? The Ramada Inn in Richmond Virginia charges me for a bed and a lamp I didn't break. The Hotel Lucia sends me wine with their compliments and gives me a swanky room. It was such a difference. So much so that when I hung up with my mom? I just started to cry. And kept crying. I couldn't stop. Those two hotels just turned everything around. Completely around. They were kind. They treated me well. They gave me what I needed and more. No one has done that for me in such a long time. And definitely no hotel. It made me feel like I could have the life I wanted. Or if I had the life I wanted that's what it would feel like. I'm not really sure which.



So I was having some crazy combination of gratitude and breakdown or breakdown because of gratitude. And I knew I had to warn Janice about it ahead of time. In case she wanted to dodge a bullet in the guise of me. But no, she came to see me anyway. And hung out and listened and said that I'd done the same for her. I feel like I've been a mess for so long it surprised me to remember that there were times other people were messes and I wasn't. And that they remembered. Janice is a rock star. She took me to dinner. She made me feel better. Like I had nothing to be ashamed of. She likes my plan of New York. She thinks it suits me. And that it will work. And she made me believe it. Because she meant it. I wasn't going to go to work tomorrow. I didn't think I could face it. I just felt fried. And tired of pretending. But now I feel like I can get it together. And look forward to my plan working. And me doing what I want to do. And maybe next time I come to the Hotel Lucia, I will be someone I'm now not.

An Allergic Reaction to Seattle.

It's true. I had an allergic reaction to Seattle. The body itching all over. Pain all over and difficult to stand kind. It was from the greenery. Thank God I was staying at a hotel with amenities. Like big beds. Big, comfy beds. And mini bars. And an excellent restaurant next door with affordable and excellent sushi rolls and fusion food for dinner as opposed to nothing (which up till now I was used to) and an even more excellent bartender named Rob from NYC who provides great food service in what can be an extremely busy bar area (they have two - count 'em - two happy hours-- one from 4 to 6 and another from 10 to 1) . Oh. And there's the other things, too. Like a valet who will go across the street and move a car that has been parked in a public lot because there was no room at the valet stand. Which I would normally have no problem waiting at but I was in too much pain and there were busses. Big busses. Blocking the path in gridlock. As well as not very nice commuters anxious to get home or somewhere else that was more interesting than their cars. Not that I blame them. But pain is paramount. And itching. I don't like either. And not while in a car. In gridlock. Or in a strange town. Not that Seattle is strange. But you get what I mean. It's not my town. No, that would be LA or New York. Or a few other stops in the road.

Don't get me wrong. Seattle is beautiful. And a cool city. But not my city. I can just tell. Kelly said she could picture me here. But I think it's too clean for me. I like things a little messier. A little more confused. A little more eclectic. And colorful. Or maybe just real. And honest. With that comes understanding. Even though there is diversity here. Which is something I don't feel in The OC. Not the real kind. It might be a melting pot, but it's a privileged pot. Sure, Seattle is a city city. Still. It just feels different to me. Certainly, if I actually felt different that might help a bit in how I perceive it. Being in pain makes you less prone to adventure and open as a whole. Still.

The store I was at today was not so nice. Aesthetically, yes. People-wise aka cast-wise? Just kind of odd. Not particularly warm or friendly. And then there were some unusual incidents where people who came in and needed help. Too much help. For this particular cast. Because it was not just with their skin. But their lives.

Okay. So it may not exactly be the norm. What started as too much dryness and hormonal breakouts turned into talk about 14 back surgeries, a brother who died in Vietnam when this woman was 15, a failing marriage, a few too many suicide attempts and a desire to contract cancer. All from just one woman. Who was clearly trying to fix her life by treating her face. And I get that. So I listened. And knew that she didn't really want to die. She just wanted someone to listen. She wouldn't be trying to fix the external if she wanted to die. It would be a waste. Besides, she was still trying. Just on something she felt was more manageable. I get it. But the cast? Not so much. The cast at the store got wigged out when they overheard her talking to me and came up and told me I had a meeting to go to and was late and should hurry. So I got confused and actually went to the back. Like a moron. I was in the moment and not thinking they would pull me away. But they did. They didn't have much empathy for this woman. Called her crazy. And you know? They weren't paying me to be there. So what was the big deal? There was no one else around to overhear. I was only selling this woman the very basic things that I knew she actually needed and told her to try samples of the rest to see how she felt afterwards. I wasn't about to take advantage of her. Who does that? But who can't give ten, fifteen minutes of their day when someone needs to be heard? Someone in pain? She wasn't hurting anyone else. Their reaction was weird to me. And felt kind of sterile. Maybe that's what I get here. A lack of reality or willingness to see it or a desire to be a part of it. And that's what I mean by messiness. In New York? It's okay. Although the reaction might be a bit more real. They would get what was happening with her. And that would even happen in LA. With my friends at least. That's my LA. I'm lucky for those friends. They would let me help that lady. And understand that it mattered. Not pull me away and get creeped out like she was contagious or something. Okay, so it's retail. Like they said. And it's not their job. But they're also human. And unless they have something more important to do or more pressing which they didn't and I didn't at the time, what's the harm?

In the worlds I fit in? People understand. Even if the reaction is a reality check and to get candid. They understand that it's not just a crazy lady. It's someone who needs something. And it's not about a skin cream. Another woman said to me what she was uncomfortable saying to the cast members. She didn't want to spend a lot of money. She was a single mom and she didn't have it. But she wanted her skin to stop breaking out. And she was tired of getting samples of things to try. She was so happy to have someone want to help her find something that would help that she could afford that by the end of our conversation, she gave me a hug. Okay, a little effusive, I get it. But you know what? Who cares? It mattered to her. Still, they thought she was another crazy. And that's what I got here. A lack of seeing things in the bigger picture. It was too black and white. I say, give me the gray. Tomorrow I'm seeing my friend who lives in Portland. Who lives in a big house with a washer and dryer on each floor. It's a huge house. To be honest. With flat screens. And land. Lots of land. And a three car garage. Or four. I think it might be four. But she's real. And she gets kind of depressed there. Because if you want to be real. And want the outdoors to have sunshine when maybe you don't? I just think that sometimes you're in pain. Be it physical or mental. And sometimes things aren't always so clean and tidy and big and spacious. With room to walk away. Not that it's not nice to pretend that everything is fine and have a few amenities thrown your way. I mean, everyone likes amenities.

Still Sleepless in Seattle.

I only slept for a few hours and then I woke up. I'm not sure if it's the bed. Or the time change. I mean, the bed in this hotel is ridiculously comfortable. It's almost criminal. You just want to lay here and enjoy it. Which you ostensibly have to be awake to do. I do really like this room. It has everything I need and even a few things I don't. On top of that, it's cozy. I feel kind of like it's a little cocoon protecting me from the ridiculously cold weather out there. Yes, right now Seattle is colder than New York. And I wasn't really ready for it. Not even remotely. It made exploring not half as much fun as I thought it would be. I walked around the shopping district in my workout clothes. Not shopping, but window shopping and shivering. Maybe I would have noticed the cold less if there were more boutiques and less of the standard chain stores that you see all across America. Probably. Interesting things are a good distraction from freezing cold. You can ask the homeless people. Seattle has a lot of them. They don't really mention that when they say it's a nice place to live.

I was thinking maybe the sleeplessness might also have something to do with my allergies going crazy. I'm all stuffy and sneezy here. Which is kind of annoying. Maybe they have too much green. And not enough pollution. And then there's the fact that my mind is racing because I have so much I have to do at home in LA. The stuff I have to prepare for my move. And there's a lot. I have to go get boxes. Call Husband for Hire and get him to take down the chandeliers. Give stuff away. Sell stuff. Get more boxes. Select my storage space. Forward my mail. Change my address. Which I actually do want to do. I'm so ready to leave that place already. To move my life into a completely different direction. Still. I do have to admit that there's a part of me that doesn't really see myself moving home in two weeks. To my mom's. No matter how thankful I am. I had a hard enough time picturing myself living there when I was growing up. But it will be fine. A means to an end. I think. I hope. I think. I pray. I would have rather moved in with a man. But I'm not. So time to get over it.

I'm also thinking not being able to sleep might also have something to do with being gone for so long. Instead of counting sheep, I've been counting days away from home. And I've determined that 7 days away is plenty for work. Particularly for a job you don't want to be doing any more. This 10 day plan is a bit much. I start to feel disconnected from my life. And now? I actually don't want to be. I actually want to go get my stuff done so that I can get on with it already. With the reinvention of me. And writing. I really miss the writing. I have lots of things i want to write.

Today I did a pretty good training. Even though I don't want to be doing them anymore, I do still try. Unfortunately, it's in my genetic makeup. I can never take advantage. Which is kind of a shame. Anyway. During one of the trainings, a kind of strange thing happened. One of the girls asked me where I live and I told her LA. Then she said quite randomly, "You should live in Cypress." I said, "Cypress, where?" Thinking she couldn't possibly mean Cypress, CA -- which is where I grew up and where I will be living with my mom in just two short weeks. But sure enough, she said, "Cypress, CA. In Orange County." It turns out that she went to my elementary school, junior high and high school. That she even lived in the same townhouses that we did. In the garage section. We lived in the carport section. (That - by the way- is the reason that having stuff is kind of an issue. My mom's place has nowhere to store anything). And the strangest thing of all? When this girl and her mother's financial problems got bad and they thought they might have to move into Casa Grande -- which is where we lived until I was in junior high -- they decided to move to Seattle. Casa Grande was pretty bad. Unless you like roaches. This girl is 22 years-old. Never been on an airplane. And she hasn't seen her dad in 7 years. But she thinks he's a good dad. He hasn't flown to Seattle to see her either. He- like my father- lives in Huntington Beach. Kind of eerie, don't you think?

I can't believe it's after 5am and I still haven't really slept. I guess I could have gone out with this random guy at the bar who invited me along to explore Seattle. But I kind of feel out of that mode. Now that I have a goal and things to do, a plan, if you will. And besides, the guy was kind of creepy.

Sleepless in Seattle

I am. Really. It's after 2am. Which makes it after 5am in New York. I didn't want to leave. Obviously, I had to. At least I got to Jet Blue out here. My very first Jet Blue experience, mind you. Now I don't want to fly anyone else. Even if there was turbulence. Lots of turbulence. The kind that makes you pray. I did. Before, during and after watching "My Super Ex-Girlfriend". Which I actually thought was cute. But it made no money. Or at least it seemed like it didn't. Which just goes to show what does anyone really know? I mean, Ivan Reitman directed it. Who also directed "Groundhog Day." The man is a talent. I would kill to work for him. If he had an office in NYC. I'm very focused.

Still, Seattle isn't so bad. Neither is staying at a fun, hip hotel. I dig the Hotel Max. It's like The Standard meets The Hudson. They have a flat screen TV, intimacy kits (sigh...!), there's a mini bar! and room service!! With Jody food!!! (aka things I like). And pictures of rock stars on the outside of all the room doors. Cool, huh? Yes, it takes so little to make me happy. Money in my bank account. A fun hotel. And a little something to look forward to... a use for an intimacy kit and NYC.

What Happens In My Bed When I'm Not Home.

My Version of a Mountain. Or My Idea of a View.

I Smile on the Subway.

And the street. Basically, anywhere I am in New York. And basically everyone can tell I don't live here by that simple fact alone. Still, it's not stopping me. I love New York. And wish that I was here now. I mean living here now. I am physically here. But I have to leave on Wednesday. Eye on prize. Eye on prize.

To get here, I took the Amtrak. It was so much better than the plane. You get your own red cap. You can talk on the phone. You don't have to go through security. You can watch your own bags. Instead of having to wait for them. You can see the outdoors. And you can arrive at Penn Station and wait for your very nice friend to come meet you at an odd little bar called Kabooz's (or some version of that name). Which we of course didn't stay at. No, we took a cab back to Kate's and then did the mini-primp and headed out to her friend Eric's. Where we had a healthy dose of conversation and wine and wine and more wine. Oh, and food. That was good, too. For some reason I'm ravenous all of a sudden. And losing weight. Weird.
We watched funny videos. Loved the Odd Todd one on his website. Kate met him. Odd Todd. She turned me on to him. So I can't take credit. I love what he said about unemployment. Very true. And oddly important. So I would like to spread the Odd Todd word. www.oddtodd.com. You will laugh. You will cry. You will hope you always have a job.

Any way, the woman I trained today was lovely. Truly. I like that word. I over use it about as much as good. It's like find a new adjective already. This is why I need to get back to writing and reading and brain building. Although I do do the crosswords in every inflight magazine which is supposed to help offset the onset of Alzheimer's, it's not doing so much for the daily thinking situation. Oh, that word I forgot back in Philadelphia? Buffet. Yeah, the allergy situation is bad. What to do?

Currently, I'm stalking my friend Kristine. We're all supposed to have our girl's night out. But she's not answering her phone. Harumph. Excited to go out. Tomorrow night I see Gavin from the Four Seasons. Who I met with Diane a year ago. I'm excited. Last trip he had to go to China. He sent me text that he just got back after 15.5 hours. Brutal. I guess I should not complain. So I won't. Tonight I will have fun with Kristine and Kate and smile freely.

Things That Make Me Go Hmmm.

I can't figure out why I'm so tired. I came home last night, sent emails, watched TV and went to bed. That's it. All I did. So I thought for certain I could get up this am and go for a walk or work out. But I can barely move. So much for adapting to the time difference. And getting in shape. I don't want to even leave the hotel room. But then again, I do want a Starbuck's. And some form of food. I missed their little breakfast display downstairs. Even though it's not called a display, I'm so tired that I can't even remember the word for it. Bad sign. What is it? My brain is not working. At all. I think I need my Claritin D and Mucinex D. But I have no idea where a pharmacy is. This is when I wish I was already in NYC or at the Hotel Max or Hotel Lucia. Places where you can get things you want without much effort. This is not one of those hotels where they have things that their guests may need. And this is why I'm also a city girl. If you have to get things yourself, you want it to be easy. If I had someone else doing it for me, that would be a whole different ball of wax. God, this not being able to think thing is bad. I used the expression, "different ball of wax." Who talks like that?

Anyway, training someone while you're training 21 other people-- four times in a row? Well, 7 people two times in a row and then 2 people and then 5. Actually. If you want to get accurate about it. Alot of work. My mouth hurt. All that talking. I got low blood sugar since I didn't eat all day. Until 5:30pm. When we were done. And the girl I'm training? She kind of is a girl. Really. She has that deer in the headlights syndrome. In other words, she's not driving us on Sunday. Anywhere. Not even across the street. Nope. Because that's what she tried to do today and it didn't work so well. She doesn't stop at stops. And panics if she misses a turn. Makes a left turn from the right lane, etc. I hope she can do this job. She's not much for winging it. She's used to an office job. Going to the same place and doing the same thing. She's never worked in skincare, doesn't know a thing about it and isn't so much a people person. Even if she did used to work in customer service. Exactly. You wonder why those people in customer service don't get it? They're not people people. I just realized I didn't see her smile once the whole day. Frightening. Thankfully, I'm tired. So my reactions are slower-- meaning I would usually be somewhat appalled or irritated by her driving and putting my life in jeopardy. And the fact she needs her hand held through every single thing. She said she's uncomfortable in places she's never been. But she wants to travel. I may not be the logic police, but something doesn't compute. I'm thinking she wouldn't have been too happy doing my job for the last five months. I just hope she's happy doing hers after this weekend. I guess we'll see. Wish me luck. Energy. And perhaps a persistent cough to do for my abs what I don't have the energy to do for them this morning.

The Home Stretch.

It is. Even though I'm actually staying at the Fairfield Inn right now in King of Prussia, PA. Which is nowhere close to home. I'll only be doing this job for another two months. I'm just going to be training new reps across the country. Which is a huge relief. The end is in sight. Although I still have to bee "on stage" (in Sephora-speak), the trips will be shorter. Of course, I'll also have to be accountable to another human. The one I'm training. I'll have to be setting an example which means not having any more crazy adventures. Truth be told, it feels like it's time to slow down. I'm no spring chicken. Not to mention, I'm exhausted. Still. I did have fun alot of times. Even with the mishaps. I got to see things I'd have never seen. Meet people I never would have met. And basically become an expert on the malls of America. In the past five months, I've been to:

Las Vegas, Nevada
Phoenix (Chandler), Arizona
Kansas City, Kansas
Boca Raton, Ft. Lauderdale, South Beach & Miami Beach, Florida
San Francisco, CA
Richmond, Virginia
Virginia Beach, Virginia
Alexandria, Virginia
Philadelphia, Pennsyvlania
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Washington DC & Georgetown
Maryland
Delaware
Portland, Oregon
Seattle, Washington
Boston, Massachusetts
Paramus, New Jersey
White Plains, New York
Danbury, Connecticut
Honolulu, Hawaii... and soon I'll be heading to Dallas and San Diego.


I've rented cars from:
Avis, Dollar, National, Alamo, and Enterprise.

I've flown:
American, United, ATA, Frontier, Southwest, Continental, Delta, USAir and this weekend... Jet Blue!

I'm also going to take the Amtrak. I've already taken the bus. And cabs. Lots of cabs. And ridden the subway.

I've stayed at Fairfield Inns, Quality Inns, Hampton Inns, The Chandler Inn, The Flamingo, La Quinta, The Ramada Inn, and few other random hotels. Also, I've managed to take over all the extra space at my three cousins compounds (as I like to call them) and Kate's. Next week-- I finally get to stay at a boutique hotel!!! The Hotel Max in Seattle on the 15th, 16th & 17th. A nice place. For 3 whole nights. Look at the pic and the amenities:



- Spiritual menu offering inspiration for most any religious or spiritual beliefs
- Menu of pillow choices
- Comfy beds with pillow-top mattresses
- The very plushest robes
- Private bar
- Parking – Valet with in-and-out privileges (daily fee)
- Concierge services
- 24-hour room service
- 24-hour fitness center
- High-speed wireless Internet access
- 24-hour Business center
- Red Fin Restaurant offering eclectic Asian fusion fare
- Torrefazione coffee and Tazo teas
- Customized Max bath amenities

When I'm in Portland on the 18th, I get to stay at the Hotel Lucia, which is also fancy and the sister hotel to the Hotel Max. Get it? Max-Lucia? I'm putting up the extra $15 that the company won't pay. So at least I'm going out with a bang. Or at least in a more comfortable setting.

The Day and Night Before Ten... Count 'Em... Ten Days Away.

I liked today. Even though I ruined my toes after I got a pedicure. I always ruin my toes. I have no patience. Even though this time I kind of did. I just had all of my shoes-- seriously... 4 pairs of shoes-- getting fixed and I had to try them on and forgot about the pedicure of it all. Because I'm a busy girl. So I ruined my toes. Which I didn't notice until I was trying on a turtleneck. Which seems like a wise thing to pack when heading into rain and cold. Luckily, now I bring my own polish. So I can fix the mess on my toes all by myself. Yes, I break things. But I also fix them. So I'm not high maintenance. Just maintenance.

Today was supposed to be take your storage space to lunch day. But no. Didn't happen. I was just way too overwhelmed. Too much to do. Too little time. So I bowed out. I figure by the time I'm ready? My storage space may have another suitor. And that may have to be okay. Because according to mom? There are too many lonely storage spaces out there anyway. So perhaps I can give a warm fuzzy feeling to a whole different storage space.

I'm excited to be heading out to NYC. To the east coast. Not so excited to pack though. I hate to pack. So I'm not going to-- until like 5am. I did outfits. Which made me kind of happy. Until my new boots broke. Which was weird. But these boots are weird. I already had to take them back once. Now? Twice. Argh. These are not the Barney's boots. These were my Christmas present from my mom. I know. It's November. But she does that. That's why we're always bored on Christmas. There's nothing left to open.

Okay. Am tired. Must sleep. And prepare for 10 days away. Did I mention that my direct deposit was actually deposited TODAY? Early? In my account? Without having to ask a friend to rifle through my mail and then deposit it? And that I was therefore able to buy cat food and pick up my drycleaning and shoes before I left? This is why I love the simple things. Because they are simple when they happen and oh so complicated when they don't.

The Ex-Convict Was Rejected.

Well, not him himself. I mean, that guy never seems to get rejected. But my essay on him did. By the New York Times. The Modern Love section. I got the email last night.

Dear Jody,

Thanks for trying me with your piece, and sorry to have taken so long
to respond. I enjoyed it but in the end it didn't get over the hump
for us here. Still, I appreciate the look. Best of luck,

Dan

--
Daniel Jones
Modern Love editor
The New York Times

Nice letter, though. Don't you think? I wrote him back. I think it's true what most people are telling me. That it's a screenplay or a novel. Not just an essay. Maybe after it's a book. Maybe after I write the book. Oh, yeah. That's why I'm moving home. To write more. I do like it as a screenplay. I just need to get back to it. Remember it. Keep my eye on the prize. Remember that there could be one. I'm trying. I am.

My friend at ABC sent me a bunch of pilots. So I have reading material for the plane. She's telling me what's working and what's not with the new shows this year and what they have in development for next season. Which helps in terms of focusing my show. I know what I'm calling it. What it's about. Now I just have to write it.

Yesterday I did a trip up to Oakland to meet with the new Director of Sales for the skincare line. She's a lovely woman. And seems to make things happen. She has a lot of resolve. Thinks I'm overqualified. And knows I don't want to do this anyway. She's helping me out and using me to train all the new people through the month of January. Which will take me back to New York twice. Which is nice. She thinks I just need a break. I hear that alot. She hasn't had a particularly easy time of it herself. So few people really have if you get right down to it. When she dropped me back at the airport- it was a day trip-- I found $40 on the ground. I thought that was a good sign. I paid $38 to change the ticket from Friday to Monday to be able to make my meeting with her. It was like the world was saying, "You did the right thing." The not going and then going when you were ready. I'm hoping to hear more of that lately. That I've done the right thing.

Today I'm supposed to pick out my storage space. But I don't know if I'm really up for it. My mom is getting a little too carried away with all of the various locations and options. Who knew there were so many? I'm just like "easy access, good price, safe and secure, and it holds all my shit." But there are all these amenities and things she's fixating on that for the life of me I can't figure out why. I think all of this is freaking her out a little, too. Even though an actual storage space won't change my life, the significance of my getting one does. I do get it. I mean the woman is finally retired and living her life the way she wants and then I show up at 38 years old to cramp her style. And she even has a boyfriend. Me? That used to be one of the many reasons I didn't want to move home. I thought, "How could I date?" "How could I have sex?" But I'm not dating or having sex anyway so it doesn't really seem to matter. Although the option would be nice. It's like when you live alone-- it's the knowing that you could walk around naked in your place if you wanted to even though you probably never will. Unless, of course, you're having sex. In which case, that's all part of it. From what I remember.

These Boots Were Meant For Walking. Or Fleeing.

My mother sent me an email recently worried about my cats and if they have flees. Really. She spelled it like that. Now, my mother is a smart woman, but she spelled fleas "flees" at least three times in her email. I don't think it was a mistake. Well, not subconsciously at least. In her eyes, in my eyes, I'm fleeing.

Failing is hard. See. That's how I feel. This moving home part of the equation. Not the anticipated move to New York. It's just when I think about moving home. When I think about getting a storage space and selling my appliances-- which I was so excited to buy-- I feel as if I tried my hardest for over five years and I failed. That's hard. I know people do it all the time. Fail. And move home. But I didn't want to be one of them. I really did want to be a success story. I know I don't have a choice right now. I don't have back up. No one is going to rescue me. It's just me. And I am lucky to have a place to go. Some of my friends have had to take care of their parents. I'm lucky my mom can take care of herself. And give me a place to live. And write.

I was supposed to go to San Francisco this weekend for work and I just couldn't. I couldn't get on another airplane. I couldn't be away from home again. I needed the time. I needed a rest. Even though I have so much to do. Just the errands are overwhelming. From being out of town all the time. From being gone. And they have nothing to do with moving. Which is going to be whole other thing to deal with. All of my shoes needed to be taken into the shoe man-- where I got chastised for letting them get this bad-- but I was never home long enough to be able to give them all up. Even now, I had to hold onto two pairs or I'd have nothing to wear. I don't own a lot of shoes. I did see Rose McGowan there. At Pasquale. She's tiny. She has a lot of shoes. Then I went to the tailor. And the drycleaner. Things needed to be cleaned and repaired. Linings of coats, hems, pants taken in.

After going to the shoe man, I went to buy a pair of boots. Flat boots. For walking. In New York. At Barneys New York. I saw Jenny McCarthy there. With Jim Carey. She looked like a pin up. Her ass is even cut. You can tell in jeans. Jim Carey looked like a homeless person. I didn't realize it was him until I saw her. She was buying boots, too. But on the first floor. Me? I went to Co Op. Believe it or not, my boots were reasonable. And beautiful. It took me two hours to decide on them. I get anxiety when I buy things nowadays. Even things I need. I had gotten past that when I was making money. But that was a long time ago. And the anxiety? It's back. With not having to pay the last month's rent, I could actually afford to buy them. But just one pair. Even though I could use two. One black pair for day. One for night. But for now, it's just one pair that does everything. For day. It's not like I go out at night anymore anyway. Although I think I will in New York. Thank God Shawna the sales girl is nice and let me park my ass in the Co Op shoe section forever while I debated. I've known Shawna for years. Back when I didn't have to think so hard about buying boots.

I also ran into a writer from Drew Carey at Barneys. He was there with his wife and his two year old girl. I haven't seen him in over five years. His daughter is beautiful. Just darling. An LA girl for certain. She was wearing Ugg boots, sweats and a hip sweater. Her dad is the one who built her a $50,000 tree house in Brentwood. I think I mentioned it here. Well, the writer and I caught up. I told him about New York. And next week, he asked me to lunch. I had emailed him a few times over the years wanting to-- we used to get nosh a fair amount when I was on the show-- but afterwards, he kept dodging me. We'll see if it happens. I hope so. Although I don't expect it to.

Being in LA is the strangest thing now. I don't want to be here. The traffic is horrendous. I don't want all of my things. I feel like I have too many things. Not necessarily things I want or can sell. Just stuff. I do want a fresh start. A new job. A new city. Possibility. I just don't want to go home.

My Day Yesterday.