I'm starting to like the fact that my blog is just a peep in the cacophony of sound and fury known as the blogosphere. I mean, really, besides a few dollars from Google Adwords, what are the benefits of fame when it comes to trying to be real. I say, trying, because I am desperately weak for approval - and, yet, loathe the need for it with the disdain raw food eaters have for McDonald's. If my goal in life is to keep it real, obscurity fits me better than my new Fry's boots (love having money to shop!).

Besides that fact that blogging has degenerated not only my writing skills, but my ability to stay focused on a single thought, it does allow me to vomit the frothy surface layer of my emotions and to mix metaphors in really bizarre ways for only $8 a month - which is pretty cheap therapy. Nobody said therapy had to be interesting, and since this blog is about the search God, love and a really good therapist, this entry is very on-theme.

With that said, I realized that now that I have a Real Job, I have also relinquished my right to act cute. And, it's not just because I'm getting older. There's just no way to tell a male what needs to git done in an assertive voice and seem non-threatening. They just don't go together, unless you're a kindergarten teacher.

Wow, I have a lot on my mind for a Saturday.

Just for today, I can keep my blog real and disorganized (and really disorganized).

Not handling stress very well...people are starting to give me that concerned look reserved for drunk people or the homeless.

Every day I wake up and walk into 1995. The problem is I have to explain to everyone what is going on in 2008, which adds a lot of stress to an already stressful decade. Hey, I wish I could live in 1995...no cell phones, no addictive social networking site, no inappropriately personal blogs (like mine), no treating yoga mats like sacred ground, no web 2.0 or 3.0 (whatever we're on),

Just for today, I can lose my shit (again).

Most of the items listed on stuff white people like, a site that addresses in caustic detail the self-consciousness of being a part of the non-trashy, real-estate buying, educated, organic food eating class of white folk, is stuff I was all excited about in my twenties (David Sedaris, Wes Anderson, Public radio, The Onion, film festivals, and anything involving a microphone (that wasn't on the list, I just thought I'd throw it in). In my 30's I moved onto a blank slate approach to life that has recently been filled with salsa music and stressful decently-paying jobs....However, I do still like (make that love 1) coffee (which makes me very white) 2) wine and 3) Facebook.

I can honestly say that I'm pretty apathetic towards the following.

1) Obama
2) Travel (I'm agoraphobic)
3) Pot (makes me paranoid)
4) Dinner parties (too much work)
5) Indy music (don't know any)

Just for today, I feel my whiteness.

Don't get me wrong, I'm very glad that someone much better than Bush will be in office. If McKain had won we'd all be contemplating a mass migration to France or whatever country would have the ex-pats of a dying imperial nation. But, at the same time, I can't imagine that Jesus, Ghandi, Mother Theresa, Albert Einstein and Jerry Garcia all wrapped up in one big ball of love covered in chocolate (no racial inference intended) with a cherry on top and delivered by Santa Claus on Christmas morning could live up to the mountain of hope/expectation awaiting this human being.

It's one thing to be disappointed by someone you didn't really want or expect much from. But I can only imagine the way I felt after walking out of the Sex and the City movie multiplied by hundred billion.

Just for today, I can be grateful and cynical.

My emergency brake (sp?) needs to be tightened. Last week, my car rolled across the street and onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street without any discernible damage. But not after I chased it through oncoming traffic along like the crazy lady that I'm becoming, along with two nice Latino men who just kept shouting "Let it go!" It was traumatizing, to say the least.

Today, I parked my car and went to make an appointment at a massage place (clearly, I need some form of relaxation). A few moments later, I had a PTSD moment where I wondered if I was going to walk back to find my car a) in a dumpster b) crashed into another car or c) right where I left it.

While I know that getting my emergency brake fixed would solve a lot of this anxiety, I must be getting something out of it...

Just for today, I can analyze my car drama.

Happy Obligatory Dress Up Day...

I'm traditional. I want to think about ghosts and spirits and dead people on Halloween. Not grown men dressed up like a product sold in seedy liquor stores.

Nonetheless, I stuck a green leaf in my hair, and I'm Nancy Botwin (Weeds). High-concept, low-production value.

I'm also trying to stay away from the Pumpkin cookies...

Just for today, I can celebrate Halloween.

In this economic climate, I'm focusing on the importance of gratitude for my current employment situation. Nonetheless, as it turns out, jobs pay well for a reason. Doesn't matter how spiritual or loved an Air Traffic Controller may be. Certain jobs would make even Jesus want run out of the building on the phone to his therapist. I would love to someday build the strength and self-possession of Obi Wan Kanobi to the point where when things go awry on a conference and I have to say, "That's might be out of scope," for the fiftieth time, it has the same illusory effect of, "These aren't the droids you were looking for," and everything is a green light for the rest of the project

Ever since I started working, it's been back to the same schedule of work, eat, shop, salsa, sleep. I haven't watched a movie or cracked a book in the past five weeks, and my blog has been...well, let's just say 2008 hasn't been The Year Of The Blog. It's not a healthy life. But it is an employed one.

Just for today, I can try to be grateful for my job.

...as in, I bit the dust. Or, I made love to the pavement. I was jogging towards the beach where I usually run in the late evening on nights when I don't have anything to do.

I used to be scared of night time running due to the fact that beach is the perfect place to rob somebody because nobody could hear a person screaming. But at night, the only people I see are probably too high to run after me, let alone wrangle me.

Anyway, danger aside, I was heading out of my apartment and towards the beach when I looked out and noticed an exceptionally dark night. (Many moonlit nights are actually really bright and I can see my shadow). However, this night was dark, and I was thinking it looked kind of scary when the next thing to know I was flat on the pavement. Nobody saw me (except God), and after that I went on my merry way.

There's really no other point to this story...

Just for today, I can fall down.

Without being too explicit, I'll just say that I have recently encountered a group of people who are living in 1990.

I've said it before (and I don't know if I'll say it again...), that if there's one thing that I've learned in the past 36 years - and is a syndrome that I live in fear of - is that we are all susceptible to a little known disease that I refer to as the Stuck In A Previous Decade Syndrome (I'm working on a shorter name), whose symptoms consist of embodying the spirit, customs, music, and, in a worst case scenario, fashion sense of a previous decade. It could be the last one, or it could be three decades ago. Usually, as someone once told me, it's the decade in which said person had the most sex and felt the hottest. If life is good the way it is, why be open to change?

For this particular group, mostly men in their late 30's and early 40's, that decade was the late 80's or early 90's. These guys are like the hot cool guys that Ralph Macchio fought in Karate Kid, only twenty years down the road. I'm not saying they would swipe anyone's foot in a championship karate match, but they might shed a tear or two listening to Survivor.

Ok, 'nuff said. Because I feel like I'm being mean, I will qualify that I am PMSing...

Just for today, I can hope and pray that I never suffer unknowingly from SIAPDS.

I have no friends at work. Well, that's not true, I do have Food Guy and the Receptionist, who has been here all of three days. Actually, I was friends with the last Receptionist but that's only because he thought I might be able to "help his career." I once mentioned that I used to know some people on TV and, thus, he wanted to have coffee with me....He has a law degree, but hates lawyering and blah, blah, blah...(see how jaded and cynical I've become?...it's so awesome).

Anyway, having no friends at work except Food Guy is not so bad, as it turns out. I told him I live on cheerios and BAM! the kitchen is stocked with cheerios. I told him I don't eat wheat and BAM! a box of Cliff bars shows up. It goes without saying that he's my new BFF. But it's not one-sided. I listen to him talk about his personal life and offer my pathetic, I'm-no-one-to-give-advice advice.

Still, I'm kind of lonely.

Just for today, I can wish for more friends at work.