An A for effort. Take $600 and move back three spaces, to 1929.

Things have been pretty quiet here on the Western front the last couple of weeks. It says a lot that the majority of my social functions are conducted with people from work...yesterday my boss and I went to a Celtic Woman concert down in Palm Desert. We had a really good time! It wasn't as powerful as the Riverdance performance I went to a few years back, but it certainly was special. It didn't hurt that the celtic ladies were gorgeous, either! Afterwards, we scooted down to Palm Springs, parked, and began searching for a great place to eat. Fortunately, this is not difficult in the desert. We finally found the best restaurant ever, a tapas-inspired bistro called Azul. It was, dare I say, fabulous? Swanky decor, funky atmosphere, damned good artsy-fartsy food. An order of asparagus, lobster spring rolls, chicken potstickers, and banana spring rolls later, my boss and I were sated. Our inner cats were purring.

Also, I got my economic stimulus rebate! Sorry, Uncle Sam, it's stimulating my savings account right now. But no worries, the economy will be getting a Mel-sized stimulus when I move to the desert. And anyway, I don't think anyone, least of all the guv-ment, thinks these rebates are going to make a difference. I think the guv-ment just wants us little people to be appeased with the knowledge that the guv-ment tried.

But hey, $600 is fine and dandy by me.

ometimes, for no particular reason, a day is just crappy, and there's nothing you can do to salvage it.

I can't even really pinpoint what it was about this day that was no darned good--maybe just a variety of things. My Literary Lunch program, so heavily attended the past two months, totally bombed today; only four people showed up for it. One of my colleagues is facing a potentially life-threatening health situation. My cat likes to wipe her cat-butt on the carpet. My shoes are attractive but cheap, and by mid-afternoon, my feet were weeping for mercy. And perhaps the biggest thing--which is probably, to any rational person, the least insignificant and probably a sign that I am certifiably crazy--is that in my professional life, I have this perpetual, paranoid guilt and am always wondering if I have done something to upset a supervisor or colleague.

But, at the end of the day, I am nothing if not plucky, and I believe--I have to believe--that a positive attitude is everything. So I'm going to focus on the good things, however insignificant they seem. Balancing out this day of poo was a good haircut, a safe drive home from work, a cat who literally tries to hug me, a cold Corona in the fridge (now in my belly), the comforting feel of soft, cool yoga pants as I slip them on, and on my ride home, a beautiful view of a fireworks display that one of the local casinos put on. I actually laughed with delight at the grand finale.
And of course there is the knowledge that tomorrow is another day.

Welcome to the Hotel California

Last week I reached a landmark moment in my life. As of last week, I have lived in California longer than I lived in Indiana. I've lived here longer than I had originally planned, and it hasn't turned out half bad. A lot of days, I feel like I have relinquished my capacity for introspection; I feel that my sojourn here has become less of a spiritual journey and more of a series of events, through which I navigate on autopilot. I don't care much for that.

But, regardless, here I am. For now, and into the foreseeable future. I suppose there are worse fates.

When I arrived home from work tonight, I noticed that it was downright cold, and windy too, and lots of grey, stormy clouds had blotted out the evening sky. I was eager to get indoors--I had not expected that kind of weather, and so was jacketless and shivering. The weather reminded me of evenings in Indiana--at least, my imagined evenings, which never came to pass, as it turns out. Life is what happens when you are making other plans.

California has been good to me, much better than I expected. Maybe I brought it into my life, maybe we make our own luck, who knows? Regardless, California is home.

For now, anyway. Rolling stones don't like to lose their momentum.

Minnesota, Ho!

Last week sucked. I took what I felt to be a really hard knock at work, and it just sucked. Possibly what sucked the most was that I learned that I am a huge crybaby, even at work, and my emotions are thoroughly capable of humiliating me in front of my boss.
Which is why this week's forthcoming events could not have come at a better time. My library is sending me to a conference! It's the PLA (Public Library Association) 2008 Conference, in Minneapolis. I am super-stoked to be going--the Midwest! cold weather! And if that were not awesome enough, I get to see one of my very good friends there!

So I am spending tonight packing, sorting through my notes, checking the weather, and trying to put behind me what was has been the shittiest week I've had in a long time. Minneapolis will be like a librarian spa retreat...maybe they'll give a workshop in how not to cry at work.

Seriously, though, it's all so adult-like. I am going to be networking...with business cards! I will be attending workshops and receptions and grilling vendors and discussing readers' advisory databases. I cannot wait!

Wow, I'm a crybaby and a nerd. Hot.

Bridget Jones Should Have Learned About This...

One of my many weaknesses is this: I eat out way too much. It's really quite pathetic, seeing as how there are so few restaurants in Sunnydale. Only Applebee's, Chili's, and some local dive places. How I manage to eat out as often as I do, without venturing further than this area, is a little scary. I'm not living beyond my means, of course, but eating out that much is really kind of extravagant. And god only knows what the sodium level is in my body right now...I think there's saltwater in my veins, not blood.

My point is this: eating out should be a treat, not a habit.

I think most single people will relate to what I am about to say: But it's so much easier!

When you're alone, just little ol' you, it seems a little pointless to cook for one. You end up with too many leftovers, you feel wasteful, and...it's just you! Why make all that effort?

And then today, I had the epiphany. Why make the effort? Because it's worth it, whether you're cooking for one or two or ten. It's time to stop denigrating the single state, and embrace it as long as it is my life. It's okay, it's not a reflection on me as a woman or a human being. It just...is what it is. I have my apartner, Arash, and that's okay, too, for now. What matters is that I still am living with a singles-mindset, and I need to reframe it a little so that I treat myself more decently so long as I am still in the single way. Because let's be honest, I could be single for a very long time, even my entire life, and I shouldn't be spending that time living a half-life in which I treat myself shabbily and don't embrace things because I am waiting for a family to come along and make it a little more worthwhile.

All of this was a convoluted way of getting to the description in which I wax poetic on how I had dinner: I took the trouble to sit down at the kitchen table, as opposed to the bed or the couch; I lit a candle; I took little steps to make it a nicer experience.

We're just going to ignore the fact that the food I consumed was a lean cuisine meal and water. Hey, I took it out of the microwave packaging and put it on a plate; that counts for something, right? Guess I have to start somewhere.

* * * * * * *

Last week Eric and I were catching up on the phone. I happened to pull a little crazy out of the hat, and the following conversation ensued:

Eric: Mel, put the crazy down.

Me: Okay, sanity is restored.

Eric: Oh my god, you women! You're crazy! Either you're crazy or you're shallow!

Me: At least if we're crazy, we're deep.

Eric:....Sometimes it's an abyss.

On Failure

Following hard on the heels of my last post is this one...maybe a continuation?

When I moved out here to California, it was mainly because I had gone through a majorly traumatic break-up and reconciliation. During the break-up part of it, I was in constant touch with a friend of mine from New Orleans. We'll call her Tulip, for now. Tulip was going through her own traumas...Katrina recovery, a crazy boss, a fellow she loved and who loved her, yet was not willing to be with her. We were both fucked up at the time. She moved to Seattle on a whim, I decided to apply to every job in the world, to hell with the consequences. Then she and her fellow ended up together, and my boyfriend and I reconciled. But I still kept applying for jobs everywhere--I had learned that Michael was not a safe gamble, and that I had better get a job and put the relationship second.

Well, I got a job here in Southern California, and Tulip and Tulip's boyfriend ended up in Portland, of all places. And Michael and I didn't end up working out after all (SoCal has been a safe bet). That was discouraging--I don't like being a failure. But a woman I once knew said "We've all failed at relationships. That's what it means when you're single again." But regardless, I took comfort in the fact that Tulip and her boyfriend made it; they ended up together and took a leap and ended up in a brand new city together and lived happily ever after.

Until last month. Now Tulip's starting a new life without the boyfriend. It happens. I should know.

Does this mean we are failures? Maybe so, maybe in the traditional sense. But maybe not, if we really consider what we want and how our actions and choices have or have not been furthering our goals. When we're in our 20s, that's our time to screw up, to make mistakes, to fall down. But the whole point of screwing up, failing, falling down is to learn, do things differently the next time, pick yourself up and do better. If I've learned anything from Friends, it's that.

And I've decided this: when I am around 30, and I am not in a relationship that has the potential for marriage, I am out of here. I will find a new job in a city of my choice, and I will leave whatever life and relationship I have behind. It will be time to move on to better things, more potential, more choices. And that will not make me a failure. That will make me a brave girl--woman, really--with the courage, the cajones to get out there and get what I want, or at least try.

It's really all in how you spin it. And so: We're not failures, ladies. We're simply destined for better things.

Better (Yet Sadder) Than Fiction

I don't need to read any chick-lit novels. My life is a chick-lit in progress.

Case in point: tonight I went down to Newport Beach with one of my best good friends, Kristin (Codename Kissyfur). We go to a swanky little restaurant at the harbor, and we're nursing our drinks along. Being fabulous, I guess (for the sake of the story we will pretend that I have not only defined fabulousness, but have also achieved it). Talking about love and relationships. Here's an excerpt from our conversation:

Me: My longest relationship was two and a half years.
Kristin: I've never had a relationship that lasted longer than a year and a half. Does that make me a commitment-phobe?
Me: No, it makes you a failure.

(Yeah, like I'm one to talk).