I Found Wi-Fi! Free Wi-Fi. In Cypress!

I was going to write about the whole mom of it all today, but then I got so excited when I found a coffee place in Cypress that has wifi and very nice 19 year old boys who let me use it for free without buying anything that I changed my mind. Besides, they close in 14 minutes so there isn't time to get into all that stuff. They tried to talk me into going to a Hookah bar (or however you spell it - pronounce it) but 19. Yeah. Not even close. They are quite sweet and they have a band. And a myspace page. Here's the link. http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=21203517. I (of course) do not have a myspace page. Which they were quite apoplectic about. What can you do? I wear clothes and most of those women don't seem to. Or at least the women I've seen.

On that note, I'll just say that I have I developed a crush on the guy who helped me today at Oliver People's. He's in a band, too. Which also has a myspace page. And he wrote a children's book. And he has good taste in glasses. And he has my info. Which is more about the things I know than taking me out, but again. What can you do? Tomorrow I'm driving my ghetto-mobile to Palm Desert to spend New Year's with Kate and the two Bills (she's related to both of them so it's not like that). I have lots of resolutions for the new year. Many of which I will send with my January cards. Which I am sending in lieu of Xmas cards. Because it's too late for that. Oh. And I aslo printed out one of those ridiculous free passes to a gym here which I'm going to suck it up and try. And I hope it's worth it. The freeness of it all.

What I Love About LA. Or. Just What I Miss.

1. Internet access. Affordable internet access. Easy, affordable internet access.
2. The abililty to walk to the grocery store. Whole Foods. CVS. The post office. Staples. The beauty supply. The Grove. Rita Flora. Illiterature for cards. Anywhere, basically.
3. My old corner.
4. Pasquale shoe repair.
5. Top Hat cleaners.
6. Maha yoga.
7. Runyon Canyon.
8. Life. Moving about.
9. Cool boutiques.
10. Attitude. (And not having it.)
11. Knowing the shortcuts.
12. Seeing cute guys. Or men. Sometimes it's hard to tell.
13. Friend access. Easy friend access.
14. Culture. Or just nuance. And the energy that provides.
15. A reason to look cute. And people that appreciate it.
16. A city. A city, a city, a city.
17. Good food. Good restaurants. And the people who work in them who are after a dream.
18. Cabs. (If you need them!)
19. What it once meant to me.
20. What it no longer does.

I Left a Part of My Car on the 405

Not on purpose or anything. It's just a piece of the car that makes it look good. So now it no longer does. Not that I had a fancy car or anything. It's a 98 Toyota 4Runner. Which I bought after my 94 Toyota 4Runner got totaled when some stoned guy pulled out into moving traffic when I was on the way home from my friend's wedding shower. Me? I was the one moving. Him? He was the one at fault. And the casualty was my 94 Toyota 4Runner. Which I was completely happy with. I am so not a car girl. Yet another reason I belong in New York.

After that, I rode the bus for a few weeks. But LA? Not conducive to the bus. I ended up hoofing it through bad neighborhoods when my transfer wouldn't show up at 10pm at night. So yeah. Onto the 98. It was really pretty and shiny and RED when I got it. Now it's nearly never shiny. Still red. And now missing a piece that belongs around the wheel. I know there's a name for it... I just don't know it. I heard it fall off somewhere around Long Beach. And then it hit me. The piece that had gotten repaired when I was sideswiped during my Christmas party a few years ago. Yes, it's true. Two years ago, I had a White Christmas party - white food, white drink and white people. Not really. On the white people. There were all colors. But no matter what color they came in at birth, they had to wear white. That was fun. Waking up and finding my car had been sideswiped? Less so. Repairing it cost more than the party. And now? That repair was for naught. Argh. Oh well. What can you do? My mother is far more upset than I am. I am just raising my hands in the air. Of course. Of course this would happen. New York anyone? New York?

See it also does not hurt that today was a wonderful day. Still no internet, but I talked to Kate re: New Year's. I got Skunk soft pawed for the low fee of $19. I spent time with my friend Julie (who says her husband is perfect and means it and she's real enough that I know it's true. And that makes me very, very happy. And hopeful!). We've known each other since college. I just stayed at her house (if you were following) watching her black cat Furnace. And we went shopping for glasses. She got two pairs for the price of my one. Being blind is costly. But our glasses? We love. She looks rich in hers. And sassy. I was ecstatic for her. It's hard to find glasses. They're like bathing suits and jeans. Annoying to shop for yet important to get just right. I took her to a place where I bonded with the owner. It was in the Valley. Where she never goes. Where I sometimes go. And sometimes miss. But it is a schlep. Luckily, the schlep was worth it. Afterwards, we went to Oliver Peoples and I found my pair. With the help of a sassy salesman named "R". He said he'd date me in those glasses. Even if they are thick. Good enough for me.

In Cypress, No One Can Hear You Scream.

Which is too bad. Because I've been screaming. They also don't allow you to upload photos and post them to blogger off of dial up. Which is also too bad. Because I had one I kind of liked for yesterday's post. But then again, I had lots of things I liked that I don't have anymore. And the things is, I did know it. I always did. It was just the holding onto it all that was hard. But I tried. I did. I even tried to hold onto the things I never even had.

I don't know how this whole situation is going to help me. I really don't see it. Not now. I can't see much of anything that you can't see with an antenna. I also can't talk to one more DSL rep without shooting myself. In the end, I'm still going to get that card thing and a two year commitment. Which other than apartments and jobs, will be my longest relationship. Yippee. And much like any other relationship, there will be a price to pay at the end. That's only if I end it. Which would be a bonus. I'm usually not the one who ends relationships. That's what my friend, Michael and I talked about yesterday. Boundaries. Abandonment. Mom issues. Dad issues. Yes, that's me. Spreading Christmas cheer. Actually he brought it up. During the whole wanting me to succeed conversation. Which was sweet. And his points? I would give him an honorary PhD in Psychology if I could. Then again, he has a few of the same and he has known me for 20 years. The fact he still cares is probably one of the things I should be cheerful about. Yet. Today. I'm not feeling so much so.

Today, the wind was so strong that it broke the gate in my mom's back patio area. It hit my car. But nothing happened. I wish it would have hit me. Now there would have been a story.

Back to the Beginning.

Because the beginning is where it starts. Or just starts over, I guess. That's pretty much my deal right now. Skunk is handling it much better than I am. Then again I'm 38 years old and she's like one. And I think she thinks stairs and carpet are a novelty. But I can tell she misses going out. By the fact she's trying to climb all over all of my mother's furniture. Which mom is not so pleased about. Even though she's warming up to her. I can tell by the conversations I catch her having with Skunk. And even when my mom scolds her, she's not all that mean. The woman grew up on a farm for God's sakes.

I meant to get Skunk those soft paws things on the day of the move so she wouldn't scratch up my mother's furniture. But I wasn't up to par. Which is too bad. Because many of the things that are accessible or affordable in LA aren't so much so in suburbia. Like Soft Paws. In LA, a vet will put them on for $31 all inclusive. In The OC? Try 86 bucks. I think not. So I'm going to schlep the Skunksters up to LA one day this week. She doesn't mind the car so much. And I figure I can yoga. Which I desperately need. Mentally and physically. They have this place called The Office near my yoga studio where writers can write and read the trades and stuff like that. It's time for me to get writing. To do what I want to do.

I resigned my skincare selling position on Christmas Eve. When it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't receive a bonus or a card or a thank you or basically anything remotely festive for the holidays. Which although not entirely surprising, is entirely not acceptable. Every bad job I've had has given me boo for Xmas. While every job in entertainment? I got bonuses and gifts galore. Which does make for a better disposition going into the new year. I didn't want to enter 2007 working in skincare anyway. That job and company were responsible for bringing on about as many nervous breakdowns as I brought on myself. So I sent the powers that be an email to that effect. And it pretty much seals the deal on my future with them. Which is kind of relief. The email was sister-approved before sending. Which is also kind of a relief. I had 2 glasses of wine the night I sent it. She was stone cold sober. She's also tougher than me in the sticking up for herself sense. I used to think she was selfish. Now I think maybe she's just smarter than I am about certain things like putting what she wants and needs first. And maybe that's why she has it. I'm trying to learn. I am.

In 2007, I want my life to be about what I want it to be about. No more shitty jobs for shitty pay in shitty fields (for me, at least-- not that they're shitty for people who actually like the fields I've been working in). It's just I'm passion driven. I like to use my brain. And progress. And getting job experience in fields you don't want to work in doesn't really do a lot of good. Unless you're making oodles of cash. Which we all know I wasn't. So what I figure is if I'm going to start over, then I need to be over and done with everything that's not working for me. Maybe if I had a husband and kids and a house and all those things I would do a job just to do a job because I'd get fulfillment elsewhere. But right now, what I do is all I have. (Although I do aim to change that). And if that's not working for me, then neither is anything else. Which when you're living at home at 38 becomes glaringly obvious.

My adorable little 4 year-old niece doesn't understand what happened to my place and why I moved. She wants to have a sleep over in LA. At my place. She also wants to see Little Will. God bless her. Without her and my nephew, Christmas would have sucked. But it didn't. Because kids are what it's all about. They remind you what's important. And what can be.

Make an Elf of Yourself.

For a little holiday cheer. Cut and paste the link below.

http://www.elfyourself.com/?userid=816ac577c8fb2a

I did one of me. But I think I messed up somehow and couldn't post it. Otherwise, I would have shared mine. I look ridiculous. If I figure it out, I'll post it. Being ridiculous can be good.

I'm in Venice right now. The whole trying to squeeze my stuff into my old room and figuring out what I can live without hasn't really inspired my Xmas cheer all that much. Or given me any time to get ready for the holidays. I still haven't bought a single gift for my family. The only people I bought anything for was the kids at the Portland women's shelter.

It's not that I didn't try to buy gifts. I wandered down Abott Kinney yesterday. The street is funky and completely different than it was last time I was here. They have lots of clothing stores and furniture stores. That's where the store that I bought my chairs at is located. It turned out they only wanted to give me store credit for them. What would I do with $1,000 store credit? Buy more furniture, I suppose. Which I would put where? They're not really a gifty place. I suppose I could wrap up the chairs and give one to each family member and let them pick out a piece of furniture in exchange. But that seems kind of un-Santa-like.

I'm going to take a walk down Main Street in Santa Monica and see if I have better luck before I head back to Cypress. I really like it here and it's hard to get moving. It's quiet. There's room. Lots of room. And there's also a black cat here named Furnace. Which makes me think of Little Will. I'm still hoping a miracle happens. I miss him. He's like no other cat. Skunk is a cat. Will is a dog-cat. A real personality. Furnace is warming up to me, but he's not particularly social. He sleeps under blankets and meows when you lift them up to look at him. I keep lifting them up to say hello.

Okay, off I go to make an elf of myself. And perhaps my next post will be more inspired.

One Week Later. I'm Still Not Done Moving my Stuff.

And I can't move. Anywhere. Mom's place was built for one. "But didn't you grow up there?" One of my friends asked. Yeah, I did. But I was 15, 16, 17, 18... Not 38 with a life and stuff that comes with it. We were broke then. I had uniforms. Cheerleading uniforms, work uniforms. Why do you think I like clothes so much? I never got to wear them!

Well. Mom is being a huge sport. Which is nice. And comforting. And making my breakdowns less frequent and only occur in the confines of my own car. Luckily, beginning tomorrow I will be kind of housesitting at my friend Julie's and watching her cat. She and her husband live in Venice. I like Venice. I haven't been there in a very long time. There is beach in Venice. Funky shops. Bars. And she has tivo! cable! wifi!

The whole Wi-Fi thing has been an issue in Cypress. After I spent an hour on the phone, my mother spent an hour on the phone and I spoke to some guy at Radio Shack who used to live in LA... well, I'm getting one of those PC card things that requires a 2 year commitment and basically screws me if I ever get a life. Oh well. If I get a life, I won't notice. Now? Not having wireless is yet one further reminder that I don't.

Currently, I am sitting at Rita Flora editing something for a friend and using their Wi-Fi. And having a glass of wine. I need it. Or need something. After 14 years on one street. (Three different places). 14 years with one phone number (Three different places). This was always my corner. My little town in a big town. It makes me sad. To not be moving up to a street with a bigger city name. But down or back.

My mom said a lovely thing today. And she keeps saying it. "Well you needed to do this before you went to New York. You couldn't have just gone straight. What would you have done with everything?" Well, she's right. And I know she believes this. Because she even told the person from AT&T that I was just there for a few months and visiting from LA and on my way to New York... I just want to be there already.

Tomorrow. I throw out all my old magazines in my old garage. I liked my magazines. Vogue. Elle. The photographs are gorgeous. My moving man suggested I sell them to a bookstore. If I had time and a bigger storage space. Maybe. But I don't. I'm only keeping the decor ones. The wedding ones. The writing ones. Things I like, want and do. Then. I'll be done.

3 Moving Men, 12 Hours, 5 Car Trips and a Sinus Infection.

Of course where there is drama, there is a breakdown. So that came after the moving van left. The z-pack apparently didn't kick in fast enough. A sinus infection? Not fun. Moving your whole life with a sinus infection? Much less not fun. Particularly when not sleeping. And then there's that little thing in the back of your head that makes you emotional about where you're moving to...


It didn't help that my original movers dumped me. Yep. They had a bigger move. More important people. Some Malibu couple who has lots of homes and move alot. Which means a constant flow in their bank account. And me? Well, I don't flow all that often. If at all. Clearly. Anyway. At the end of the day, they pushed me off on All American Movers. Headed by an entertaining Israeli man named Jack. Okay. So it didn't sound that way when he said it. But after a bit of confusion and explanation-slash-embarrassment, I finally got it right. And when all was said and done? I think we might have even bonded. Jack told me he didn't understand the concept of antiques, why I was moving home or single. God bless him, right?

My mother thought he and his crew were very professional. So did her boyfriend. And so did I. Only that they didn't bring a big enough truck. So that meant and still means that I'm moving stuff myself. Which is part of the reason you pay for movers. To not have to do that. But. Yeah. Not their fault. The first movers didn't tell them the right info. Blah blah blah. Which has meant that this sickness and move have basically been going on forever. Which pretty much blows. (Yes, I'm eloquent when sick).

As a result, I won't be able to go on my trip to New York which is scheduled for tomorrow. Which is a huge bummer. I was really looking forward to it. To seeing my friends. To the reprieve. To seeing NYC at Xmas. To the first time I'd actually be put up in a hotel by the little skincare company that could. But. With the move and all? It's just not going to happen. Which is fine. It actually doesn't feel right to be working for them at all any more. I feel like it's time to move on to a new chapter. Because if that had worked, I wouldn't be here.

I just want next year to be better. Because this move has not been easy. Trying to figure out what to take my mother's and what to leave in storage. How to fit my entire life into a very small space that I inhabited over 20 years ago while opening Christmas cards from friends who are married with children and send the pictures to prove it. How and when to sell things and if I even can. While sleeping on the hardwood floor at my soon to be old apartment so that I can wake up and move more things into storage. Moving being yet one more case when men, people who overgive or just plain fools who can be roped into helping move a person come in handy. Particularly a person who really can't do much for them at the present time.

And... according to Chakrapani, I won't be able to for awhile. Yes. That's wha I said. No, I didn't pay to see him again. See, during the move, I saw all of my CDs and tapes and various other reminders of things that I did to give me hope or direction or just a little reprieve from what I tell myself while trying to make my life work. Chakrapani was one of those things. So. I wrote him. Since he did say it was supposed to get better. And sure, he may be an astrologer and there may not be any guarantees, but it doesn't hurt to know what he thinks about all of this, right?

Well. This is what he said:

Dear Jody:

I am sorry to read about your troubles. Even though things should have improved from the 36th year, your second part of life starts at 40. It will definitely be better thereafter. Ups and downs is a pattern of your life. We can't help it - try to live with that.

With best regards.

Chakrapani


It should be noted that he told me the first part of my life would be filled with obstacles, suffering and delays. And the second part, I would have the success of two lifetimes. This is when you wish for a short life. Or. You make do. This is me making do. Typing on my mother's computer. Because there is no wireless service available here. At all. In this city. That is not ridiculously expensive. Seriously. There is also no cable. Well, there is. But there are also reasons not to have it and too many different companies and choices. I can't even get into it. Really. So it may not happen for me here. I may have to buy rabbit ears. Yes. Rabbit ears. That's what my mother uses. Did I mention that there is no Whole Foods and that Katella Deli doesn't have bagel chips?

Sephora Portland Plays Santa.

There are some days when I'm doing the job I don't want to do that I forget that I don't like it. Today was one of those days. Everyone that works at Washington Square Sephora was so friendly and kind and helpful that the day flew. And the customers were so friendly and kind and responsive that it didn't feel all that bad. At all. And actually? It was even kind of nice.

Granted, it also wasn't all that bad to wake up at a nice hotel. And take a bath in a nice bathtub. So that didn't hurt my mood going into the day. Even riding the elevator down with Emily Deschanel didn't serve as a reality check. Just a random experience.

The reality check came when I went into the back breakroom to take a break. That's when I saw a Christmas list posted from a Portland woman's shelter. The cast of the Washington Square Sephora are going to donate the items off the list to them for Christmas. On the list? Are kids from 2 to women of 50. And they've asked for everything from a pillow to a robe to zoo passes to movie passes and book and CD gift certificates. Some women asked for bras. And they stated their size. They also listed items like flat irons and hair dyes which were their special wishes. One boy asked for a winter coat... blue, if possible. It broke my heart. And it made me care about Christmas.

This year, I haven't really been in the Christmas spirit. I haven't really had the time. Or the money to buy presents. But after seeing that list. I realized I had both. More than I thought. Sure, I want success. I want children. But I don't want to have to take them to a shelter. And I'm sure their mothers didn't either. I'm sure for many of those women having children was their dream. And now, they can't even enjoy it. And from seeing my own mother and dealing with my own #&*# I know it will affect them all. And that, too, breaks my heart. Before I left Portland, I wanted to go get the pillows for the 2 women and the 7 year old boy and the book gift certificates for the two teenage girls. But I couldn't miss this flight since it was the last flight of the day. So I'm going to have to send the things to Portland. Which is really not that big of a deal. And something I'm kind of excited about. Packing up gifts and sending them off feels a lot more hopeful and festive and real to me than packing up my life. So tomorrow, that's what I'm going to do.

And you know? If anybody else wants to give a bit more this holiday, I suggest you visit a shelter or if you'd rather, visit a Sephora (www.sephora.com. Go to store locator. Obviously, by my crazy travels, you can tell that they're everywhere!). Multi-task. Buy gifts for your friends and family and then ssk them if you can contribute something to the charity they're playing Santa to. They're not only giving things on the list. They're also giving things off the list. Basics. Like linens. And blankets. I'm sure they'd appreciate it! Santa can't do it all.

The Hallway at the Hotel Deluxe. And Clay.

A few pics from Portland. Clay lives here. Kind of. He has a beach house. Has had it for over ten years. It's his writing retreat. And now he has a house house that he's moving into. The house house is under construction. So he also lives in a condo in LA. He's never been in Portland when I was until yesterday. So we had dinner. Finally. It's about time. Oh. And I saw the house house. It'll be beautiful when it's done.

Apparently, You Can't Take the Girl Out of Hollywood.

I was going to call this entry "Too Little, Too Late." But then I thought, now isn't that a cynical title? Particularly when I'm not feeling all that cynical. Just reflective. The move, my missing cat, the holidays and the fact that one of the few parties I was going to attend I decided not to because I'm just not all that excited about seeing an ex with his new wife and their new baby and hear about the show he just sold. It's not that I wouldn't be happy for him if he was a nice person. I would! But he was a shit. Trust me. (If you read "Cake" you'd know what I'm talking about. Actually, you can read "Cake"... it's in the archives. Somewhere. And appropriately, the entry is titled, "Cake"). So I'm not happy for him. And that's where that whole karma thing happens and I wonder why so many shits seem to get it all. And then I stop wondering because I have enough to do with the move, my missing cat, the holidays and the fact that I'm still trying to get it all and am not even remotely close.

Luckily, I have to go to New York to train some people the day after the party. So I figure I can use that excuse to my advantage to write something clever on evite. Because on evite, everyone shares all that's going on with them. Usually, it's how fabulous they are or how they have too much in their lives to squeeze in a party. Well, not me. So this is what I'm going to write: "That's the night I'm going to be decorating my new house, with my new husband and feeding my new baby. Wait, that's not right at all. I'm going to be in New York. Sorry to miss it!" Even though I'm not sorry. Or am I?. I'm conflicted. In the old days, I would torture myself and go to the party to be all Molly Ringwald in "Pretty in Pink" when she doesn't want to let them know that they broke her-- did I mention that not only will the ex be there, but this is a Hollywood party-- full of Hollywood TV execs and writers and such? Which would ostensibly be good for networking... you would think... but not really, since every time I've gone to one of this particular person's parties I felt like I was swimming against the current. Or I got caught in a net or something. Because all those Hollywood types do is talk about their deals, their houses and their families. And well, I don't have a lot to say on that front. Maybe I should ask them if they've ever been to Cypress, California. And when was the last time they slept on a full size mattress? Something tells me, "no."

Did I mention that this week I called one of my friends who works consistently in TV but for some reason has never really tried to help me or offered to help me-- (which has made me feel bad... or badly whichever is correct. I mean, I got her a job once. A long time ago, but still) and I asked her if she could do something now that I'm FINALLY leaving the skincare line and with the move home can take the time to find something great in an area I like? Her answer, "I can only help get you a logger job or a pa job or something like that. And you wouldn't want any of those jobs." Like I want the jobs I've been doing? (I said that, by the way). "But they don't even pay," she continued. Well guess what? Galavanting about the country didn't pay either. That's why I have to move home. I told her it was a foot back in the door. That the only way to get back up is to get in. Somehow. And I needed help doing it. Because the whole blindly sending a resume thing doesn't work. At all. You need a connection. She said she had to put her kids to bed and then she'd call me back and we could talk about it. She didn't.

I'm in Portland again right now. Staying at another nice hotel, the Hotel Deluxe. Which does make the whole not liking your job at all thing much better. The entire not wanting to do it and feeling lost and confused as to how this happened? Well, it is a bit more tolerable in a comfortable bed with a flat screen tv and good decor. The Hotel Deluxe is decorated like Hollywood. Go figure, I leave LA to basically get smacked in the face with it. Maybe it's a sign. To show me that I can still be a part of it no matter where I am. You think? Well, I do. Maybe that's why I didn't sleep last night. No, instead, I looked on writer's blogs who had sold books. I looked for what made it different for them. It usually came down to luck, a hook, or some form of financial support in the form of a husband who let them quit a soul crushing day job to write. But I'm sure there a variety of other reasons which I fell asleep before discovering. That's why I'm going to write a show first.

I got here late because I thought I'd already be moved to The OC. So I had the travel agent book me out of John Wayne airport in Orange County. Brilliant, right? It took me three hours to get there. So I missed my flight. So instead of exploring Portland, I sat at the Oasis Restaurant slash Bar in the middle of the airport and had dinner. It was weird. It was quiet. Yet in the middle of things. I found it confusing. I missed the chaos and hustle and bustle you find at an airport in a big city. Seeing all sorts of different people from all sorts of different places trying to get somewhere-- all the different cultures. It made me sad. I like culture. I like meeting different people. I met alot of them last week when I was looking for Will. If you ever want to meet your neighbors, lose a cat. Or a dog. I'm sure that would work, too. People call you. Talk to you. Introduce themselves. Invite you to parties. And share numbers of pet psychics. Everyone seems to have one. I think people have abandoned fixing themselves and have moved onto their pets. I was thinking of hanging up signs next to "Reward - Lost Cat" that say, "Reward - Lost Career." I wonder if I would get any calls?

What I Want For Christmas.

We didn't have much money growing up. Really. But my mom did her best to do Christmas up. It was a big deal for her. And she liked to make it special. Or at least as special as she could. Particularly given the every other holiday rule that we kids from divorced homes lived by. So maybe it's fitting that I'm going to be home this Christmas. Even if I did fight with my mom today.

See, she's basically allowing me to live with her, but doesn't really want it to be happening. So she doesn't want me to bring anything or change anything in my old room. Which is now full of furniture-- lots of matching furniture-- and wallpaper and her stuff. There's not much room for me. At all. See, that's kind of her deal. She says that she'll do things but she lets you know how miserable it's making her and how much of an inconvenience it is. Like I'm jumping up and down about this whole moving in with mom thing.

Has anyone actually lived in their storage space?

Granted, my mother is strong and amazing and a role model in a lot of ways. And in ALL ways, she's been there far more for me than my father. The deal is that she doesn't have much so she holds on real tight to what she does have. Too tight. My dad? He had it all but didn't share. More on Dad later. As you might suspect, that whole reconciliation thing didn't turn out to be all that I'd hoped. Although it did give me closure. And everyone needs closure.

Well, so far, there have been no miracles this month. None. There is still no Little Will. No amazing job. No phenomenal man. And I am still me. Nearing 39. No kids in sight. Harumph. So I'm creating a Christmas List. Maybe Santa will surprise me.

JODY'S CHRISTMAS LIST

1. Little Will. Home. (Now!! Before Xmas!).
2. A place to live in NYC. Make that a place to live in NYC that I can afford.
3. A man who wants to be with me, stays with me, doesn't lie to me, doesn't cheat on me, who hasn't been incarcerated and means it when he says he won't hurt me.
4. A writing job. That results in something being published or aired or something.
5. A writing job that pays.
6. Hearing the words, "I love you," from #3.
7. Having a child with #3 after #6.
8. A new coat. (Maybe a bit more manageable for Santa... you think?). I like this one (http://www.revolveclothing.com/DisplayProductDetail.jsp?product=SUNN-WO4). So I hope Santa has money.
9. Direction. Directions. And a destination worth arriving at.
10. A great book.
11. A great CD.
12. Kindness on a bad day.
13. No more bad days. Or at least far fewer.
14. Not having to worry about having enough money to pay my bills.
15. The ability to give to others as much as I get from them.
16. The chance to make a difference in someone's life.
17. Freedom.
18. Yoga. All the yoga I want. Maha Maha Maha. (http://www.mahayoga.com/info2.html) (Expensive yoga which makes it harder to breathe when you're supposed to:)
19. Glasses!!!!! And the funds to pay for them (Because I'm blind... they're thick. And pricey... $750! Can't elves make them in their workshop?)
20. A purse. (I suck at buying accessories. But I like this one http://www.hidebags.com/images/bags/dana.html)
21. Belief in myself. That it can get better. Will get better. And that what Santa doesn't give me, I'll be able to give myself.

Liquidating My Life.

See this fridge? Well, I just sold it along with my washer and dryer to my landlord. For $500. Cash. So this moving thing is real. Damn it. I'm also selling these chairs.


There are four of them. I bought them from a swanky antique store in Venice called Bountiful when my life was more bountiful. They're not really my style any more, so I won't be as sorry to see them go as I am my appliances. Getting your first washer and dryer is a big deal. So is getting rid of them. I think they should stay here though. At this place. It just seems right. Storing them would be a pain in the ass. And they're never the same after you do. At least that's what I tell myself. Then again, I tell myself lots of things.

I'm getting more okay with the move. I think. Now that we're spacing it out. The official date is now December 14th. I did lose my Husband for Hire in the process. Apparently there are lots of women needing handy men around the holidays. He was squeezing me in, but now, he's all booked up for those dates. So the chandeliers will have to be taken down from a guy named Dan who believes in aliens. Which is not such a bad thing. That he's taking down the chandeliers, that is. He costs $10 less an hour so I figure he can believe in whatever he wants.

An Update, Finding God and My Friend the Dominatrix.

I tried to make today's blog title catchy or at least intriguing. My mental energy is now depleted. I am now in bed. Ready to nap. Sadly? I am serious. Tired. Jody is tired. For not one reason in particular. Well, not really.

See, I drove to San Diego this weekend. Even though I didn't want to. For some reason, driving 2 hours in Los Angeles is worse than driving 6 hours some place else. I have no idea why. Perhaps someone who knows the reason can explain it to me. Other than it being due to the current state of my life. Which might just be reason enough. See, I had to do a training in Chula Vista. Home of prisons and new home developments just one freeway stop short of Mexico. Which in and of itself is interesting. Particularly when you miss your exit and you can see the border. Actually, you almost cross the border whether you want to or not. Which I have never consciously driven across. Meaning that when I was turning 18 we went to Mazatlan on a bus and I drank tequila out of a canteen and when I woke up... well, it was no longer my birthday and I was in Mexico. That was a weird trip. I had big blonde hair. Too big. And was too tan. And scammed on a guy named Troy from San Diego State who a few years later ended up marrying my friend's sister. Which was too creepy. I wasn't great on judgment then. I think it was the eyeshadow.

So that friend's sister? Well, incidentally, I lived with that friend. And she became a Jesus freak when we were living together post-UCLA, in Westwood, in this great place. Which I loved. My first great place. I have to admit, I have been blessed in that department. The great place one. So at least Chakrapani got that part right. Well, Kristine? She found God somewhere outside of Los Angeles and decided she had to leave me in that unholy place. Therefore, she proceeded to turn off all the utilities-- which were in her name-- which I have never let happen again, mind you-- and she took all the furniture-- which I have since then bought an excess of-- and I was left sitting on the ground in the dark. I remember being stunned and panicked and wondering what the hell I was going to do. I didn't feel she was behaving very God-like. But what can you do? Or say? Particularly when the Jesus freak isn't calling you back? So, I called her mom and she sent me the rent for the next month and apologized for her crazy daughter (who I had known for over four years-- since AP Biology, by the way). And mom's rent bought me a month. Still, I had no idea what I was going to do. I wasn't making enough money to pay for my pretty place. And it wasn't big enough for 2 people who didn't know each other. Unless they were having sex (not that we were!!! But we didn't care about sleeping on separate twin beds in one room. So we obviously weren't having sex with anyone). So. I had to move.

Then. Out of the blue, BACKDRAFT came along and then there I was. Signing over my lease to a cute couple while I got on a plane to Chicago to work on the production for 6 months. Where I tried to couple and did but that's a different melodramatic story for a different day. (And on another note, I did just recently find the wrap party VHS which was loaned to me by Jack McGee who is now on Rescue Me which I love and who I have recently been exchanging phone calls with which I also do love).

Okay. I digress. I am digressing. Anyway, as I was driving, I couldn't help but think that maybe. Just maybe. Something will happen to Rescue Me. Some version of that story. That there might be some perfect place to go. Some adventure. Some calling. That will suddenly appear and make the move an adventure and not a loss. So I'm hoping. And praying to Kristine's God and mine. Because I think that might have been what happened that time. Someone was looking out for me. Oh, and the dominatrix? I just got a Christmas card from her. She's married. Who knew?

Cats. Life. Me.

So. The whole cats being outdoors thing is a tough thing to grasp for most people. Trust me. It's not easy for me. BUT. I stand by my belief that animals are meant to live. To be outdoors and indoors. That they are meant to have lives. That having anything live for you is not right. And perhaps that is why men leave me. I don't show possession. Or at least not at the right times. Still.

I spent a lot of time on a farm when I was growing up. On a farm, it's natural. Animals are outside. NEVER inside. Cats included. (And no, I don't eat pigs or cattle... just birds and fish. They weren't on the farm). I suffer for it sometimes. Them...? I don't think so. When I'm sitting home and miserable, am I so happy? No. When I go out and act like I think I'm a rock star and it's a fiasco--- am I mad at myself when things go wrong? No. Because that's the price you pay for being a rock star. So there. That's just it. Living means shit happens. I accept that.

That does not mean that I want anything to happen to my animals. EVER. Make no mistake about it. I AM DEVASTATED. I f#*% hate it. BUT. I love it when I walk down the street and every single person who has a dog knows my cat Will and thinks he's the best thing ever and is sad that he's missing. Although, I admittedly think it's just bizarre. I have spent the last week fielding calls from his fan club. A cat that is that cool? Can you imagine? I couldn't. It's just... bizarre. But so Will. He's special. Special things are rare.

I met a woman during all of this who rescues animals. She told me that she thinks Will is unusual. That she thinks some animals should be in and other should be out. It just depends. Will? He should be out, she said. He. Is. My. Love. He used to burrow into me at night. In between my chin and my neck. I loved it. It was sweet. And trusting. Will is simply a cat who is not a cat. Not to say that being a cat is bad. Little Skunk is coming into her own being on her own. And she's pretty entertaining. She's stopped flirting and started being her own cat. Which works for her. Just like people. We rise or shrink in proportion to what surrounds us.

The life and me part? Well. I wish I never had to leave town/LA on the way to what I want my life to be. That my life could be what i want it to be here. In the meantime. Moving sucks. So does failing. And so does realizing that all the shit I wished for and planned for and worked for hasn't paid off. But it's my life. And there's just me.