My personal inspiration is Eva, the woman who cleans my apartment once a month. Her energy is contagious. She offers beauty secrets with homemade oatmeal-brown sugar-lemon juice scrubs. If an SUV driver even taps the bumper of her Toyota Corolla they will be put in place. Her morning meditation/yoga routine succinctly moves I paid good money to learn from a physical therapist and spent years in quasi-spiritual endeavors gleaning.

Shortly, she is the world’s most interesting woman.

I found something similar happen to me when I left Germany. Despite living their a year, I had acquired a mass of books, household appliances, and CDs. I couldn’t give them away to people. Were people raiding the garbage bin when I left town?

I’m nitsure if folks are tryingnto appeal to some sacred sincerity inside if me or ideal that they themselves wish they had. The way I take it usually means “oh well. Doormats like you make it in this town.”

The funny thing is that most folks are trying to be kind when they say such thing. Yet it’s far from kind. Somehow, it passes judgment that you can’t cut the mustard.

Well, you know. I’m a survivor. And when folks say “helpful” drivel, it fails to address something far more important. Being “nice” is a strategy just like being “mean”. No particular place has a franchise on being the nicest city in America. Los Angeles does win at being shallow, but I mean look at places like Dallas. Dallasites can be just as shallow and they dont have movie stars.

So, take your advice and suck it. Douchebags are defender and so are nice people. Just don’t be condescending to me anymore. That’s just not fucking nice.

And the job that I interviewed for two weeks ago – thought I had it in the bag – didn’t come through either. Sad and angry were the two prominent feelings after getting the email. Fatburger late in the afternoon seemed to ease the pain somewhat. The staff at Fatburger gets so excited when you order a fat burger and fat fries: “FAT BURGER and FAT FRIES.” They must have to shout that hundreds of times a day, but they seem to enjoy that you are clogging your arteries. Maybe I should start doing that at obvious things at my work. Even though every burger is a fat burger, you gotta make it fun, right? Just gotta get the job too.

Mysteriously, someone left a Foo Fighters “Wasting Light” at my doorstep. I managed to wash the dishes and most feelings of rejection out of my hair. Not exactly hardcore music, but enough to forget about what was buggin’ me. Still at a loss for who it was. Male handwriting. No ideas.

Top off a full and strange day, I had my first date in quite a while. As in I knew the guy already and asked him out. This is not exactly usual behavior for me. I mean I actually asked someone out AND he said yes. That is weird enough in itself. Strange forces are in effect as today manifested itself. No crazy making out or bookie. He did say he had fun hanging out and would like to again. I never know how to take that when someone says it. I think I’ll just go to bed instead of tryig to figure everything out. Apparently, life doesn’t work out that way anyways.

Narcissism in souther California is not exactly news. I think the audacity of people hear is really what makes our variety so fun. We are a city of performers. In search of something to make our noticed. That’s why we moved here after all. “Nobody noticed me in Queens, everyone back there was a drunk a-hole, and my spirit was squashed. I will move to the second largest city in America and there people will notice my true gifts: I’m a loud douche from Queens.”

So, we might not be able to make our mark on America, but damn it we will make our marks on Southern California at the very least. I will sing “Mad World” at the top of my lungs in the middle of ralph’s to the muzak. The public must know me. I am a citizen of Los Angeles.

Passing judgement on others comes naturally to me, but what about myself. After swilling down three “small” Diet Pepsis at Poquito Mas on Sunset yesterday, a dread overcame me – the caffeine overdose. Upon returning home, I tried to sit at my computer and work – heck, even net surf. Yet I could not sit still. My one Netflix DVD around is Notorious with Ingrid Bergmann and Carey Grant. Unable to watch it. I had to get up and move. For some reason, I thought that lying down would help. Like you can take a nap after pounding the recommended daily allowance for the entire population of Bangladesh. I think for once, I understood my inability to focus some mornings.

I have a problem with caffeine. The substance doesn’t make me wreck cars or take imaginary people hostage or think that aliens are living in my teeth. The li’l brown bugger can render me into an anxious, unable to sit down mess. I’m surprised the media hasn’t latched on to how much lost productivity has been lost to caffeine. Memories crept up of a dear college friend who would tumble into delirium during our senior year. He’d lug a thermos of the anxiety brew with him. “More kaww-feeeee!” he’d screetch and do a mad man’s dance. I’d witnessed many more incriminating and dangerous substances in his hands. However, when the friend was playing ‘feine-fiend, I thought I might have to take him to the State Hospital.

I’m not sure what the lesson is here. Give up coffee? That just seems ridiculous. Like one of those dumb things you read in Prevention Magazine or the Utne Reader: “Eat vegetables! The fiber and nutrients will help your body.” How can a vegetable have nutrients when it doesn’t have a face? I digress, but ‘feine-abstinence is taking over the Prius class. I’m going to do my best to limit myself to one anxiety spin per day.

I admit there’s a lot of ego and validation that goes into a blog. Yet I miss interacting with people outside of the West Hollywood/Silverlake bubble that I now immersed myself in.

Werk.

Life got busy and not so busy in the past year. Rather than whine about the economy and whatnot, I decided to take a blogging holiday. Plus, everyone has been so Facebook and Twitter happy the past few years that I often wondered if my blog still mattered. Yet, Twitter and Facebook have taught me that I don’t really want everybody knowing what my business is.

If you still read, leave a comment. I may be inspired to blog again. Wow, that sounds really self-important, no?

In college especially, many professors aren’t likely to nit-pick. If all you’re aiming for was a B that was sufficient.

Since becoming a grown up, I’ve been learning over and over again that scraping by and aiming for the B isn’t going to get you the place you want to be a lot of times. People don’t want to see a stray period in your resume. They don’t want a lot of mistakes out there.

Instead of being a perfectionist, the lesson for me is to slow the f*&@ down and to start earlier on things. Sprinting works alright through your mid 20s and then your body and brain make you realize that you have to start pacing yourself. I now understand friends of mine who used to rest the weekend before a job interview on a Monday. I get why one guy would go to bed by 10pm in college. It makes you rested and ready.

Here’s to slowing the heck down and coming to something a little later with a fresh set of eyes. Two new steps to add to every task: start earlier and put it down and come back to it.

I want one.