Getting Out of Myself

I have been moody and whiny for the past few days. I really got my pout on last night while watching a show about traveling across Vietnam on motorbikes. "I want to go there," I said, to which Matt answered, "I know you do." The implication -- at least how I took it -- was that there is no way in hell Matt wanted to go to Vietnam and therefore I would not be able to go either. When I think about it, I am too lazy and weary and worried to go to Vietnam right now. But I do feel like going somewhere I have never been before: New Orleans, Austin, Texas, Memphis, Tenn., Nashville. I'm gravitating toward my fantasy of meandering through a small sounthern town talking to neighbors and drinking sweet tea. Sigh

Feeling Our Age?

Suddenly, I feel like a grown up – and in this case it's not in a good way. I had dinner with a friend tonight who is turning 40 in a few months. Though he said that he's not really worrying about it, it's clear that he's losing his mind with dread. Another friend, who used to be a wildly dressed, semi-irresponsible, spaced out single New Yorker, told me that she recently went shopping for "sensible shoes." This is a woman who once wore vintage skin tight shiny green silk pants a see-through floral top and gold impossibly high stilettos to a random loft party in Brooklyn – just because. Yet another friend emailed me today apologizing over typos in her previous from yesterday. Clearly frazzled, she wrote, "Sometimes it's just so hard to get it right." How right she is. As for me, I am suffering from carpel tunnel syndrome or hypertension – whatever that is, I just know I am hyper and tense – over BlackBerry emails that start at 5 a.m. and go until midnight, and daily barrage of a million, zillion little problems and hurdles and negotiations that seem to make up the life of a working adult these days.

All the craziness just makes me wish I was an ageless, freewheeling European neighbor draped in a beach towel and sipping Pellegrino.

Envy

Matt is in New York – and I am not. Ironically, I wish I was in New York – and Matt wishes he was not. When he described the city over the phone to me as "humid and muggy," my response was, "God, I love New York." I fell in love with the city during summertime. And I miss it during summertime.

Envy Part 2
Some new European neighbors have moved into the house next door, and for the first time I get the whole 'keeping up with the Joneses' thing. These newbies have fabulous, expensive looking wooden outdoor furniture, and they actually use it. They have beautiful potted plants and a watering can and all sorts of fancy life accessories. Not only do they have all these things, but they appear to be happy all the time. They are constantly drinking Pellegrino outside and drying out their colorful beach towels and barbequing. As a neighbor, it's exhausting.

We bought three plants last week – and one is already almost dead. We decided to look at outdoor furniture -- and it's outrageously priced. Tonight when I came home, one of the neighbors was using his MacBook Air laptop and resting with his feet up. I tried to hide my bag from Chipotle and pretend that I was not about to go inside, turn on the TV and chow down.

My People

Last night, Barack Obama cinched the Democratic nomination for president. I so wanted to sit at home and watch his speech, to see the elation of the crowd, to feel part of it. But I had made a promise to myself that I would attend a storytelling performance called The Moth. In New York, I performed at the The Moth a lot and I miss it terribly. On my way over to the bar where The Moth is held, I listened to Barack on NPR, moved and thrilled about the possibilities of his presidency. But part of me felt sad because I didn't have anyone to share it with. As I swung open the door at the bar, a dark joint called Tangier, Barack's voice and cheers spilled out onto the street. Inside, at least 40 people stood transfixed and smiling, clinking glasses and giddy with happiness as they watched the rest of his speech on TV. I had no idea it would happen, but there on a Tuesday in Silverlake, I found my people -- Barack supporters.

But there was still The Moth, which was being held in the back room. When I got into the back, I was disappointed to see that the show had already started and I'd missed putting my name in the hat. (At The Moth, people who want to tell a five-minute story put their name in a hat, and 10 people are picked.) The place was packed and I was alone, but I found a little spot on a step and settled in to listen to the stories. It was raucous and touching and fun. I started to talk to the woman next to me, who was also alone and seemed cool. Then the fifth storyteller got up -- and I knew her! Wendy, a woman I did stand-up comedy with nearly 10-years ago in New York, was hilarious and fun just like I remembered her. And seeing a familiar face made my night. At the intermission, we talked and hugged and reminisced and I felt a rush of belonging. When I left for the evening, I was giddy the possibilities of connections.

Yoga Dreams

When I close my eyes at the end of yoga class to relax in Shivasina pose, I am in New York again. I can see the high tin ceiling of the room I practiced in for the last five years. The traffic outside is the intersection of Broadway and Houston. People are teeming in and out of Crate & Barrel. Then I open my eyes, startled at the unfamiliar room and unfamiliar faces and sad for a moment that when I go outside, I'll cross Fairfax and get into my car rather than walking toward home along Bleecker Street.

The Sweet Scent

Now is the exact same time of year when I left New York last May. I remember being so upset that I wouldn't get to see the tree bloom outside the window of my West Village apartment. In the end my place took so long to sell, that I did see it. Now, living in L.A., there is a different kind of springtime feeling. The jacaranda trees are in bloom, with their beautiful violet flowers. When I take a walk in the evenings, their color seems to vibrate in harmony with the blue of the sky as it turns to dusk. And the flowers here smell so sweet -- half the time I'm not even sure which flowers are making the sweet scent -- but it wafts through the evening air as I walk to unwind after dinner. And it's lovely.

California Dreaming

What could be more L.A. than the Oscars? So, I went to the show. I was backstage with the rest of the plebian press, but hey, I was at the Oscars. Though I kind of dreaded it ahead of time, I actually had fun. I am a worrier, so before I got there I worried about my dress (the megaphone-using Academy person told us earlier that a "black-tie means a floor-length gown," which mine was not); I worried over parking and the shuttle bus scheduled to take the press the 10 or so blocks to the theater; I worried my computer would not work. But when I arrived, I looked nice with my new short haircut and black dress, parking was a snap and my computer worked. There was a festive, celebratory vibe backstage. Giddy press members all looked their best and munched on sandwiches and cookies. And when the Academy Award winners came back to talk to us, they were high on life and adrenaline. Many of them talked about going for their dreams. And that sounded like a good idea to me.