My Letter To Los Angeles

Dear Los Angeles,

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. With these cloudy days and long winters I think about you all the time. Your golden sunsets, your evergreen palm trees, your cool ocean breezes on the west side. I miss you so much.

We haven't been together for a long time. Feels like only yesterday I was packing my apartment preparing to move out East, kicking and dragging my feet the whole way because I didn't want to leave you. Comparing my new digs to you just made life harder. No place seems to measure up to your sparkle, your energy, your know-all, your have-all ways.

Even now in Seattle, such a beautiful vibrant city, I long for you. It seems time has been kind to me as I only remember the good times. The Valley in the balmy evenings of summer, the romance of the Arclight Dome with its gourmet popcorn and Bon-Bons. Walking up the residential street after dark toward The Greek Theater where I could hear Jack White and his Airline guitar screaming into a crowd I would soon be standing among. Mornings at Wild Card boxing gym, seeing Freddie's smile. Jogs in the clean air and sunshine of Beverly Hills. Parties and rice pilaf at Amy Wade's animal-filled apartment. The Peninsula Hotel and spa staff  that became my source of pride. Drives to my dad's place in Ventura, the perfect city.  The religion of Playhouse West acting school. The contagious, palatable energy that buzzes in the air! Rolling around in your sand and staying up late, driving through Hollywood up into the fragrant hills, sneaking over the Mulholland fence, looking at all the bright stars in the night sky and dreaming of being one of them. Meeting my forever friends Josh D., Tyler D., Daryl M., and my love Paul. Many fond memories in every corner of the city.

 Oh and the food! The banana strawberry pancakes at Vivians Cafe, the chicken dinner plate with plantains at Bossa Nova, Tito's Tacos (not the burritos), The pineapple milkshakes at Astro Burger, Larchmont Pizzaria with THE best pepperoni pizza in ALL of L.A., Jamba Juice, Casa Bianca with their amazing pizza pies and salads - and where four of my family members went on their first date, Senor Fish downtown with the best fish tacos, Phillippe's french dip sandwiches, Nick's hole-in-the-wall diner on Pico where Cliff would make me the best not-on-the-menu Elvis shakes, Paquito Mas, Cafe 101 with the orgasm inducing chocolate brownie waffle sundae (and also the place where Scotty C. and gang would eat late after his plays - it's a whole thing.) Cafe La Brea with delish risottos, the cheap but hearty eats at Magnolia Grill, the blue corn enchiladas at El Cholo, a #13 and a Sunrise at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles, the chicken sun-dried tomato pasta at Spamoni's in Santa Monica, California Fresh, and of course, a Double-Double- protein style- animal style with a strawberry shake at In N Out. These are things I love most about you.

But you know what? I need you to know something. Thinking about you actually makes me UNhappy.   I just realized, I've got countless grand memories of being with you but when I think about them they only make me sad.

All this time I thought it was because I wasn't with you.

But that's not why I get sad at all! It's because you make me feel like I suck. If only I did everything I could to be good enough, to be with you again, you could make me better. But you know what? It's not me. It's you. You suck. You really do. You're a fraud and a liar and you only root for the winning team. I thought I was messed up and for awhile, sure, I was. But your people, the majority of those who feed you and keep you warm and keep your gears nice and oiled are pretty miserable too and everyone is scared. Why is everyone scared in LA? I felt pretty safe living there, but that's not the kind of fear I'm speaking of. People in LA are downright afraid of everyone. Most of all themselves. Toxic! And you get away with it L.A. because you dress empty desperation and discontent in the guise of hope and hard work.

I mean think about it: People with deep emotional needs not being met, with intense desires to be cherished, appreciated, recognized, celebrated, and those needs never NEVER being met (or worse, being met only temporarily and then having to start over) these people all flock to the same place- every one of them needing years of psychotherapy (and sometimes medication)- fighting over jobs that aren't available to them, unable to afford the cost of living, disillusioned by talents they don't possess, including finding a parking spot at the grocery store, getting $70 street sweeping parking tickets once a week, traffic, not speaking the same languages, the extreme levels of poverty and wealth, extreme differences of class and social acceptance, the vacuous, anchorless, sex-obsessed culture, thriving on the basis of exclusion?! You're going to tell me that LA isn't a town of nutjobs?!

Now readers: don't even start in on how wonderfully diverse you think the "melting pot" is unless you can honestly claim you love living in Korea Town and you enjoy taking leisurely drives through Compton on Sunday afternoons. And don't go leaving me comments saying, "I live in LA and there are lot of sane, normal, nice people here." Because that's a total exaggeration. Maybe you know 3 people like that. And they live in Thousand Oaks or Pasadena. So that doesn't even count.

I'm not talking about the nice families you know. I'm talking about the world outside. When you climb into your car and go to the grocery store, The Grove, the gas station, a restaurant. The everyday things you experience. I walk out my door in Seattle and it's, "Hi how are you? Beautiful day isn't it? My what lovely children you have." And in LA it's, "What. What do you want from me? Why are you talking to me? Get away from me. Don't look at me." I didn't realize it was so bad until I moved away. Paul likes to laugh at remembering my feverish reactions to the LA grocery store checkers back when we lived there. When I would forget my Ralph's clubcard and they wouldn't give me the sale prices, at times I became so angry, I literally had to keep myself from cussing them out and causing them physical harm. Because of a freaking club card. That's just the way life was then. Those are the feelings LA fosters. Those are the kinds of experiences that make you not want to go outside. Or in order to do so, you must first put on a layer of skin so thick you don't feel anything.

Over time you forget what's normal. When I lived in LA I thought LA was the world. It moves faster than the rest of the world and therefore is ahead of the pack. How embarrassing if you live somewhere else and get left behind.

In all honesty L.A., I've lived away from you for four years now and I feel 88% detoxified from all the garbage I used to believe. But unfortunately, because I lived there for so long, and bought into all your Hollywood junk, the industry expectations, the so called "rules" of you can/you can't, the lifestyle, the fighting, the fear... I still have that. I still allow myself at times to be driven and motivated by all that. My creative goals, part of my self worth, is still definitely measured by your invisible standards. It makes me sick.... but unfortunately it's true. I lived there for almost nine years. A lot of this stuff really sunk in. But nobody is telling me anymore who I should be, how I should be it. I don't talk to anyone, ever, who says, "This is the way it is." So the worst part of all this is the only person who feeds me daily doses of bullsh*t now is myself. (with of course, contributions from Facebook and Google News.) 

So Los Angeles, what I'm trying to tell you is...that I don't need you. You need to back off and shut the hell up. Of course I want you, I want all those beautiful moments that we had at the beginning of this letter. But I don't need you. Because you make me unhappy at the very thought of you. You make me think that I am incapable of doing great things. You cause me to covet things that I don't have and don't need and you encourage me to loath what I do have. And. That. Is. Wrong. That's so wrong! Because what I have and what I can do is extraordinary.

Maybe in the future we can be friends again and I can swim in your ocean and you can teach people how to speak without using phrases like "totally organic" and "I really needed to transcend!" In the meantime, get out of my head and leave me alone.

Sincerely,
Rachel

Trivial Tuesday - My Recent Crushes

I've been seriously crushing on some shoes this past week. That's what Christmas money from relatives will do to a woman with internet access! The Huz doesn't understand the need, the pure burning and yearning I feel for the following:

Look at these babies!! Aren't they gorgeous?! I sent a link via Facebook to one of my girlfriends and her response was, "I NEED THOSE SHOES TO LIVE!" We girls get extra dramatic when it comes to red. Velvet or suede? We go nuts. Throw a bow on something and we get just plain dangerous!

I've been dreaming about these bad boys. Freaking heck! What am I to do with myself?!

I'm REALLY into shiny things. Sequin pumps for under 35 bucks? Yes please! In my last life (if I believed in reincarnation) I was probably a trout or something. I cannot resist things that sparkle! They've got these mamas in Red, Blue, Gold, Silver and even Hot Pink! Torture! How's a girl to choose? (First world problems...)

Buy them:

Red Velvet Cuff Pumps - Ebay $25 plus $10 shipping
Blue and Purple Bamboo Olisa-02 - Zooshoo.com $33 plus FREE shipping and Urbanog.com (plus ship)
Gold Shiro sequin pumps - Zooshoo.com 

Making A (Town)House Our Home

I've been holed up in our apartment for a few days because I thought it wise to get a flu shot since it's "going around." Unfortunately within a matter of hours after the shot I woke up in the middle of the night FREEZING cold. I was shivering and my teeth were chattering and my back and skin felt positively raw. I woke Paul up who said, "You're burning up!" but it wasn't until he had piled a mound of blankets on me three feet thick, I had dressed in pants and a sweatshirt and cuddled a heating pad that I eventually warmed up.

Being sick is always an unfortunate opportunity to recognize the great blessings of comfort that bring joy into our lives that we normally fail to appreciate on a daily basis. A month ago Paul and I moved into this new townhouse. Our rented condo on the top of Queen Anne hill, though cute, was feeling too small and too expensive. We moved into this new two bedroom/two bath/two story townhouse on Dexter Ave. which is not only bigger but cheaper and much much closer to the bus stop and Amazon's headquarters. (It's a quadruple win! Come visit! We have room now!) So while it's raining outside (big surprise) I feel fortunate to be inside, warm, surrounded by the very American comfort of material goods.

The longer Paul and I are married the more we consider rejoicing in our progression toward settled adulthood and digressing from our more capricious non-absolutes, because honestly, what the latter truly means is abandoning our Ikea dorm-room furniture, and the former, buying better made furniture and decorating like real adults! Yay capitalism!

We're not quite there - I mean we're still renting for goodness sake so we still have the dining table from Wal-Mart and our mattress sits squarely on the floor because we haven't yet graduated to a grown-up king sized bed frame and the more I think of traveling the more I purge all our junk anyway so all this is pretty nonsensical and I try to convince myself that if I lived in a villa in Italy I would only give thought to the day (and the pasta) and not give a rat's tooth about couch pillows and curtains and decorative vases and matching dinnerware. Ugh.

But it's not one or the other really. It's not this way or that way. When we were in Southeast Asia for two months I thought I was going to have a huge spiritual awakening by not bringing any makeup or girl clothes and leaving all my modern conveniences behind but by the end of it, ALL I WANTED was some mascara, a skirt and my freaking automatic bread machine!! These silly material "things", they make us feel a bit more sane when we're feeling out of place and a bit out of touch. Whether we're sick at home with the flu or on the other side of the world with nothing but a mud hut and some chopsticks, my day is brighter when I feel the comforts of home around me when I don't have friends or family so near.

As I graduate into adulthood more and more I'm concerned with not what people think of my impeccable good taste (that was a joke. Laugh.) but with how people feel or how I make people feel when they're around me. I realized recently that because I'm holed up here inside by myself a lot, either due to illness or writing, I should ask myself 'how do I feel when I'm around me?' How do my surroundings influence thought? How do my surroundings influence feeling? Is it light or dark? Order or chaos? Is there room for the Spirit to influence me?

Here are some samples of the little things, material and spiritual, I find joy and comfort in lately.

 I got my green thumb from my mom who always planted rose bushes, daffodils, tulips and hyacinths growing up. Since we don't have space outside to plant I bought matching blue and white porcelain pots and planted Rosemary, Thyme, Cilantro, Basil, Forget-Me-Nots, African Violets and Crocus. They love the sun and lots of water and they add such warmth to our living room.

 Smarty Fins is the latest addition to our home. I wasn't keen on buying any new creepy crawlies since my hermit crabs died (may they rest in peace(s) )...(Accept for Arielle. She can go to heck.) But a five dollar all-in-one starter kit at Ross sparked the idea so I purchased the 1/2 gallon "tank". But because I am bound to only take EXCEPTIONAL care of animals (after a childhood of poor neglected pets through my ignorance) I found out that Betta fish are just not happy in anything less than 2 gallons. So of course I went straight away to the pet store and purchased Smarty Fins a 3 1/2 gallon Shangri-La complete with filter, rocks, plants, and heater so as to achieve perfect equilibrium. Two days later he got not one but TWO illnesses. A parasite AND a fungus which if not treated immediately become deadly. So I rushed to the pet store again to buy him his medicine. Seventy five dollars later....I'm happy to report that our five dollar fish is happy and feels at home. (!!!)

 With the blue and white porcelain pots I expanded the idea to the wall where I had a lot of fun digging through dusty piles in antique shops to find these beautiful English Flow Blue plates. They add a real unique brightness to the room.

Spending money on fish supplies and blue and white decorations really started to add up so Paul and I created the "Sunny Day Jar" as we save money for a sunny day. (It's a little backward in Seattle.) All the money we don't spend we write down the amount and put it in this jar. Then at the end of the month we add it up and we transfer that amount of money into a savings account specifically for a sunny trip somewhere warmer during the unbearable sunless winter.

For example, the other night we were downtown next to a Walgreens store and inquired as to how much their flu shots are. For seven dollars less, I knew we could get one cheaper up at the QFC store near our place so we went there instead! That seven dollars we saved now goes into the Sunny Day Jar! Not spending money has never been so much fun! Plus I love that our 'jar' is one of the vases from our wedding reception centerpieces.

 I've never been the kind of girl to hang religious pictures in my home. I know it's quite common for people to do, especially Mormons, but I never gave it that much thought.

I don't recall growing up with them around our house (and maybe weird velvet portraits in neighbor's living rooms scared me away.) but during my Hollywood years the first taste I had of it was when my good roommate, Rachel #2 hung pictures of Jesus and little sayings like, "Happiness is a grateful heart" (so true) and only then did I notice how it brought a change of feeling into the room. But it wasn't until the prompting of my good hubby that I actually did anything. So I hung up these paintings of Christ and of The Family: A Proclamation to the World and my favorite wedding temple photo and since then our home has truly become a more peaceful feeling place. A temple in its own respect. I love the feeling of warmth, respect and love these pictures evoke.

 I'm just proud of these curtains (Ikea...Don't judge!) I busted out the drill for hanging these babies! Drill, tape measure, pencil markings, level - I did it all by myself!

 This water color is my favorite. I purchased it from a local L.A. artist for my 26th birthday (that was like a a few months ago--nervous laugh--look away!) I love the colors of bright yellow and purple. Every time I look at it it changes. Sometimes it looks like the sea, other times it looks like a meadow... It helps to get my creative juices flowing when it's time to day dream.

At times my faith to attack large tasks is AMAZING and UNSTOPPABLE  and then the next day it is itty bitty. Hanging quotes like this around my living space reminds me that things we consider to be difficult are really not that hard. Really. Or as we say around here, "It takes a lot more than that to bring me down!"

What are some things you've done around your house to inspire you and make it feel more like a home?

Ikea?

Inside A Writer's Head - Part 2

I can't help but count the number of stairs as I go up them.

When I'm really stressed I'll have nightmares that I'm working at Westside Rentals again.

A worse nightmare for me is spending the whole dream trying to figure out what 8 subtracted from $17.95 is.

I don't like drinking soda straight from the can. Unless it's one of those mini-sized cans.

I organize my closet by keeping in mind what people will find in there if I suddenly die and women come to help Paul clean out my things.

I'm superstitious when it comes to picking one item from many similar items. When choosing a pen out of a drawer full of pens, a fork from the other forks, a new scarf at Nordstrom from the other same colored scarves etc. It takes me three moments longer to pick something than it does other people. I believe there is either a negative or positive energy attached to the items and by choosing the wrong item bad things or good things will happen to me. So I try not to touch the items until I know which one I'll pick. So I stand there looking everything over before I choose it. This all goes through my brain in under 2 seconds.

I know. It's weird. It's crazy! This is the section of my brain I like to avoid at all costs. It usually takes over when I'm dreaming... or cleaning the kitchen for the third time in one day...  but it's not the same section as  my "writer's brain" (but it definitely resides next door.) In fact a lot of good ideas and humor come from this neurotic thinking and I can channel it into something creative. (And if not, well, then I have a dream about James Franco at least once a week. ) ...(Don't ask.)

The writer's brain however, is capable of amazing things. Ideas and thoughts play out as fragments of scenes meaning nothing and only looking sad, beautiful, fearful, or happy until they connect as miniature pictures and then more ideas and pieces latch on and before you know it there's a whole tapestry you just breathed life and meaning into. During the edit ideas can change within the change and before you know it, dialogue is coming from your finger tips in the best kind of way; eyes glaze over and all there is is the mind firing off electricity into your hands and when you come to, your jaw hits your chest when you read what's on the page and you say out loud, "Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh! That's it! That's IT!!"

And the most brilliant part about it is you have no idea how it got there. You think it came from nowhere. But those little fragments and puzzle pieces have been floating around your universe the whole time. For years. So it really wasn't a new idea. Your story was already written. You just had to put it all together one piece at a time. One thought at a time.

The same goes for me as I struggle along with it. As the pieces of the story grow and change, pieces of me grow and change by constantly striving to make it better, extending a part of myself I didn't know was there. Wanting more to be there. Even by draft thirteen.


Sounds crazy doesn't it.

Inside a Writer's Head - Part 1

I've come to the conclusion that the actual act of writing, (the working of thoughts into ideas, working ideas into character into story, into dialogue, then into little black and white symbols on a white background, editing, deleting, re-writing, making it flow and make sense,  and even then (hopefully) moving a stranger emotionally) is quite maddening. But when you get it right, (and it happens SOMEtimes) when you get it right, MAN IT IS BLISS!

But I swear, the very next day you write, everything stinks. It's awful. Nothing makes sense. You don't know where it went wrong! We were just so happy yesterday! What changed since then?! So you tackle it. You chew it up. You spit it out. You see what tastes good and what is bitter. Then you roll around with the bitter for awhile hoping there's SOMEthing of value in it before you finally toss it out (or SAVE it in a new folder on your desktop) and by day's end little bits of paper are crumpled and strewn about your office floor along with articles of clothing.

Wait, what?

That's right. You heard me. You see, writing is like being married to the most gorgeous tortured artist you've ever met. He's all soul and raw nerves and wants nothing but praise and a clear path to his most meaningful endeavors but you're just there to listen and make him toast and coffee in the morning. He's selfish. He never chips in to help you around the apartment. "What. I live here." is his reply when you ask for help cleaning up his messes. He smokes like a chimney. He can't hold down a real job. He works at the record store part-time only because "it helps him get in the zone" so he can "create beauty." And you just wish he'd wash his hair once in a while!!

But he's so dang hot.

And when he gets it right, he gets it right. Despite his obnoxiousness he can be really generous and romantic a lot of the time. (You should hear him sing and play guitar. To die for!) He even surprises me once in a while and just says the most beautiful lines of dialogue and I'm like, "Thank you! Where did that come from?" And he's like, "I got it all right here, baby." as he holds his heart.

And when you win an argument, it's pure triumph! I'm sooooo much smarter than he is. "I'll change him!"

That's seriously what it's like to be me during the hours of eleven AM to five PM and then again at ten forty five PM to one forty five AM. Writing is like texting about the nature of the Universe all day long and you're like, "Just freaking CALL ME!"

Then he finally calls you, because he realizes that marriage is all about serving each other and communication, and he tells you he picked up the dry cleaning, washed his hair and made dinner!!! And suddenly everything you've mulled over all those hours just magically fills your mind and the page and I'm like, "I love him so much! I want to have his babies forever!" And you know you're going to live happily ever after...

That is, until tomorrow.

Driggs, Idaho