Hey There, Pammy-Girl!

I was feeling pretty good yesterday and thought I deserved a reward. Why was I feeling particularly euphoric? Life is a feast or a famine and after nearly dying of starvation (both figuratively and literally), the interview process has begun to pick up. I had 3 interviews this week and will have 2 more next week. Wow! Of course nothing guarantees a job, but interviewing represents overcoming a major hurdle.

So back to self-celebration… I was walking down the 3rd Street Promenade, enjoying the people watching and window shopping (and always keeping a keen eye open for any celebrity sitings) when I found myself walking into the Mac Cosmetics store. Trying on shoes and testing makeup never fail in their ability to make me smile. I’m usually not a Mac girl. I became a Sephora convert years ago but the Sephora store was full of 14 year-old girls making themselves up to look like the 1977 version of KISS… totally not my thing.

I found myself looking at eye shadows when a drag queen came up and asked if I needed any help. We got to talking and he did my third-favorite thing in the entire world (#1: scalp massage; #2: facial): he did my make up! It was wonderful! He and I must now become friends.

When a drag queen does your make up (day time real woman make up, not “drag queen make up”), you know you look like a million bucks. I suddenly had an urge to try on dresses, something I rarely find joy in doing. Now I know… the next time I’m having a bad day or feel like crap, I’ll be heading down to Mac and finding my new friend for a make over.

It’s been a long time coming, but I’ve decided that it is so and now proudly declare myself to be an “8 cow” woman. I’m not insulting the size of my rear end or insisting that my best features are in line with barn yard animals, far from it. The idea of a man paying 8 cows, an unheard of sum among the island people back in the day (sometimes a woman would be worth a cow, 2 goats and 3 chickens), is actually a HUGE compliment. Imagine if a woman’s dowry were so incredibly large that she suddenly became worth that amount her her own eyes.

Let’s not lie to ourselves… we all look inside and sometimes think, “I can’t believe I did that — I am truly an idiot”; or “I’m not as pretty as she is — no wonder my social life is lame”; or possibly “Even a Hollywood makeover wouldn’t make me presentable.” Why can’t we see ourselves the way others see us? Why don’t we believe and act as beautiful as we really are? In Mahana’s case, her father was a total jerk-off who did nothing to help promote her feelings of self-worth.

When Johnny Lingo paid the exorbitant amount for her hand in marriage, Mahana became what Johnny thought she was worth. So I’ve decided to change — I’m totally worth 8 cows. But translated into US dollars, what do 8 cows equal? You’ll remember my repulsion (after only speaking with him one time) when a fellow told several people I know that he wanted to date me and wanted my new friends to make that happen. At my Bel Air dinner party on Sunday, the hosts asked me about my social life. I said things were moving along quite well with the exception of one situation, but that I was doing my best to avoid it. “Ah yes”, they said, “We know all about it. In fact, Mr. X offered us 20K if we’d help find him a date that turns into his wife.” AUGH!!!

I’m usually quite satisfied with dinner, but 20 grand? I’m insulted. So while I believe I’m special and definitely an 8 cow woman, the 20 thousand figure makes me feel like a hooker… and kind of trashy, as though I can be bought. Should I be flattered that a man would pay that kind of money for me or horrified that he thinks paying someone off is the best way to my heart? I like myself and I’m worth it, but sorry guys… I’m losing faith in the male species.

I’ve had so much freaky stuff happen in my life that I don’t know why I’m incredibly shocked whenever it happens, but I am. It should come as no surprise to anyone that I’ve got the world’s lowest self-esteem. Sure, I can be a real arrogant jerk but I’m terribly self-conscious and often wonder how it is that others aren’t more repulsed when they see me. Living in DC made these feelings ten times worse. While I reveled in intellectual stimulation and was thrilled to find myself be sought after in such situations, I cowered in social settings when “beautiful people” surrounded me. I’ve never felt so badly about myself than when I was in DC and sadly, it has affected how I view myself.

But I’ve moved to the other coast and have found myself in a polar situation. People talk to me all the time and I’m actually invited (wanted, even) to parties and find myself going on dates (gasp!). Sometimes when a person speaks to me I’ve looked around to make sure there isn’t someone else they’d rather address… it’s actually me that want to speak with. Really? Are you sure?

Today my new self had yet another shock to the system. A woman I’ve met in passing leaned over and asked if I had plans for Easter dinner. I didn’t so she invited me to a relatives’ home for dinner in Bel Air. I just about died. Bel Air? You’re joking. I’m so not Bel Air material… I shop at TJ Maxx, not Fred Segal. Of course I jumped at the chance and what an experience! Dinner was a simple poppy seed chicken dish with a spinach and strawberry salad (I’ll be replicating this meal soon). I have never felt so welcomed and accepted at a dinner party before… and I didn’t even know these people! It such an amazing experience to be enveloped with respect by this family.

Lessons learned: My life in DC is over and I’m reinventing myself. Stop worrying about who did or didn’t like me there because no one here knows or even cares. I am wonderful and dinner in Bel Air was just the beginning.

I live in the most beautiful place in California… love it!!! You have to be happy when each day starts and ends like this.

Two weeks ago, I aided with an activity called Children Around the World. About 80 little ones showed up (between ages 3 and 11) and were exposed to 6 countries. In each room, children were taught about languages, culture, food, and music. While visiting Japan, we received some karate instruction (maybe that wasn’t such a smart idea as the kids believed they were all Jackie Chan for the rest of the day) and learned how to make origami.

I’ve always been impressed with napkins neatly folded into unique shapes (I know I’m weird), so I jumped at the chance to slap some paper into an animal. Of course as an adult, I was expected to not only supervise but also teach (in Spanish, no less) something I’d only learned how to do 30 seconds before. For my first try, I’m quite pleased with the results. Those who had to learn from my attempts at Spanish (how do you say “fold”, anyway?), they weren’t so impressed.

Am I the only one who thinks this is tacky? It’s a daycare, for crying out loud. Would you take your kids to a place with a name like this???

I am a funny sleeper and have two positions: curled up in the fetal position in a corner or laying diagonally across the entire bed. I can fall asleep during a rock concert or series of explosions and sleep best during a thunderstorm, but if I can hear a bird, mosquito, or two people whispering in an otherwise silent setting, I’m completely awake. Heaven forbid I hear snoring… that is the WORST. I went on a road trip to Boston and New York City a few years ago with my sister and some friends. I bet I slept 3 hours each night because my sister and I were the only ones who didn’t snore. Every night was a cornucopia of honks, whistles, growls, and coughs. I wanted to die. Combine my sleeping positions and hyper-sensitive hearing and sharing a bed (or even a room) can be a nightmare.

Since arriving in Los Angeles in early January, I’ve had a hard time breathing at night. This breathing issue has became a sleep issue as I constantly wake myself up from breathing too loudly. Not snoring, just breathing… loudly. It’s terrible and incredibly frustrating. I’m already going to bed after midnight (I blame Rock Band jam sessions) and my internal clock is waking me up by 6 am EVERY day. I suppose the loud breathing could be chalked up to the pollution (in LA? No!) or my asthma (which is only a slight problem)… but I don’t think so. OK, maybe the pollution but since my lungs are pretty clear and I’m consistent with sucking on my inhaler (anyone notice how Albuterol tastes like rotten mayonnaise?), it’s not the asthma. My car does have a constant green film on it, though, so I’ve decided that it must be allergies and let me say I’m not a big fan.

So after yet another fitful night of no sleep, I found myself in CVS on Friday night looking at Breath-Right strips. I took a chance and viola! Best night of rest since I arrived. Of course it’s not a sexy look as I resemble a football player (but at least a skilled position and not D-line) with that heavy-duty sticker across my nose; ripping it off each morning is quite the experience. It’s like waxing a portion of your face everyday: it leaves a red mark for a while and the occasional zit pops up (which fits in nicely with the unfortunate adult acne on my chin). But being able to breathe and not wake myself 50 billion times a night? Priceless.

I’ve been Debbie Downer for a while now and you know what? I don’t like her. I’m starting to channel my frustrations into Rock Band and let me tell you… it’s working. I didn’t fail once tonight and drumming is HARD! Smacking something repeatedly is proving to be an excellent outlet.

The weather is fabulous. I love running along the boardwalk in the morning and seeing the waves crash along the beach. I even like the nasty fish and seaweed smell. Wahoo’s serves up an excellent taco, there’s a Bob Dylan exhibit at the Skirball Museum, and I’ve joined a cooking club and a book club. Did I mention that I learned how to make oragami last week at a church children’s activity? I know there’s good out there and I’m making it my mission to find it.

This morning, NPR reported the best news ever: California is one of the hardest hit states with job and economic “growth” — as in there isn’t any. While the state, much like our esteemed president, refuses to use the dreaded “R” word for fear of rioting in the streets, they have admitted that California’s economy is poor and in a slump. Doesn’t that make your heart just up and sing? Damn. My timing is something else. There was a government shut down when I graduated from college the first time (1996) and now this. Maybe I should rethink the idea of getting my PhD… for the sake of the country.

It’s in these dark times when I turn to a tried and true method. Yes, that’s right: fortune cookies. They’re a tasty (and possibly low-calorie) snack filled with a life-changing surprise… or at least they used to be. Sadly, these days rather than giving me insight or even a glimmer of hope, fortune cookies contain nothing more than inane blatherings of those eternally optimistic people say: “Smiling brightens everyone’s day”; “Rainbows follow storms”; and “Hugs lift spirits”. BARF. Don’t you just want to kick those people?

Who in China ruined this grand tradition of “fortunes” and decided that we as a stressed people needed to read meaningless crap inspirational thoughts on scraps of paper? I, for one, am not impressed. If my fortune cookie isn’t going to say “Apply at X company for a kick-ass career”; “That hot guy at the next table is checking you out”; OR “Investing in X will net you thousands of dollars”, then it should at least say something useful. Something along the lines of “You’ve got kicking breath — eat a handful of mints”; “Visiting a gay hairdresser is your only hope”; “Wearing that outfit is a huge mistake”; “Stop crying. It’s annoying and makes your eyes puffy”; “Drop the term and ‘you know’ from your vocabulary. It makes you sound like an idiot”.

For those of you who don’t have access to my ideal fortune cookies, try picking up a book about poverty in a third-world country. I guarantee your point of view regarding the desolation in your own life will change. If not, maybe take a jaunt to your local shaman or tarot card/palm reader. While it may not be the most accurate or safest manner to get your life on track, it might be the best entertainment you’ve had in a while. That or it could scare you shitless. I’ll admit it’s risky, especially if you’ve read one too many Anne Rice novels, are alone in New Orleans on a business trip right before Halloween and tempt the Gods by purchasing a love potion (albeit for a friend’s birthday) while visiting a voodoo shop in the French Quarter on the Sabbath. I’m just saying.

If all you’re looking for is a slight bump to the ego, a stroll by your local construction site might just do the trick. Also, don’t forget to flirt with delivery guys. After all, I was told today by a fellow from FedEx that my face was so beautiful he’d never forget my name (now there’s a line for you). To be honest, his comment got me through the morning. So maybe every cloud does have a silver lining… but I’d still rather have a spot-on fortune cookie.

I’ve been doing an awful lot of thinking about my life lately, trying to re-evaluate choices and situations. With my life so up in the air, I must quote The Clash and ask: Should I Stay or Should I Go? I hate the not-knowing part of life. I suppose it’s times like these when we rise to the occasion and become the great people the world needs and loves, but it doesn’t make right now any easier. There are still bills to pay and unfortunately, food is a necessity. And because of that, I’ll never be anorexic (damn it). But I’m also tired of bitching about the uncertainty. No one likes to hear about it all the time so I’ve decided to talk about other things that frighten me.

1. Using Public Restrooms. I know it’s gross and it’s a biological life process that everyone does, but at home it’s one thing and in public it’s another. How many times have you been to a mall or at work and someone takes a power dump in the next stall over? You either can’t contain the giggles or want to pass out. I don’t want to subject others to this.

2. Being Locked in a Store After It’s Closed. If I’m at Target, a grocery store, or the mall and I hear an announcement that says the store closes in 15 minutes, I get in a panic. I gather my purchases and rush to the counter whether I’m ready or not.

3. Getting Pedicures. I tackle this fear every so often but I still have a minor panic attack throughout the process. I don’t enjoy anyone touching my feet. They’re not ugly or deformed, I just don’t like them being touched. I constantly fight the urge of kicking the person who gives me a pedicure, too.

4. Trying On or Changing Clothes in Open Dressing Rooms. Men don’t seem to have a problem being naked in front of each other and I find this ironic since most men tend to be more homophobic than women. When it comes to nudity or stages of undress, however, I believe most women are more shy with public displays of their body. When I go to a clothing store (like Loehmans) where it’s an open dressing room, I can set the fastest time it takes to change clothes with the Guinness Book of World’s Records.

5. Waiting to be Called into the Doctor’s Office. Sitting in the lobby and waiting to hear my name causes anxiety. I’m terrified they’ll never call my name or that I’ll be so engrossed in my book that I won’t hear them.

6. Eating on a Date. As if first dates weren’t stressful enough, figuring out the food situation can drive you crazy. Do I eat like I would with my girlfriends and then he thinks I’m a pig? If I don’t eat much (like order a glass of water and a piece of parsley), he’s going to be pissed. What if I drop food into my cleavage (yes, it’s happened) or if some of it gets stuck in my teeth? Food and boys… just too much pressure.

7. Reality Shows on Vh1. Rock of Love, Flavor of Love, I Married a Brady (or whatever the real name is)… I either feel incredibly embarrassed for these people, horrified or terribly frightened. I just can’t watch without feeling uncomfortable and itchy.

8. Attending Family Reunions. I can handle small groups but when the entire clan is around, it’s just a disaster. Someone gets hurts (physically and emotionally). One of my cousins will threaten violence if someone doesn’t give him money (he’s been in and out of jail most of his life). One aunt will be disrespectful towards my now-deceased grandparents (this will inflame my mother). There will be some discussion over said grandparents’ belongings and how they were unevenly distributed after the funerals (in 1986 and 1992, respectively). My immediate family will therefore huddle in a corner for safety and support, only venturing out to get a can of soda, a brownie, or to use the bathroom.