Nine

Hello. Remember me? Yes, I know it's been a while. I needed a little break. Some time to sort things out. Replenish the well. And, truth be told, I was a little cranky. Unemployment seems to have the effect on me. And, fortunately for you, my misery does not love company. You're welcome.

This happens to me (and I'm sure all writers) every once in a while, where I have so much to express but absolutely nothing to say. As bitchy as my blog can be, I don't like to rant all the time. Who wants to hear me moan about the job market and mounting debt? Aren't we all dealing with that in one way or another? I kept hoping that I would have something more interesting to say. Turns out I didn't. It's hard to have adventures when you don't leave your house so as to not to spend a dime and you're conjoined to Craigslist hoping there will be a job that you'll be right for...and pays more than $9/hour. When you don't have enough money for booze or chocolate, it's best to just keep to yourself. And, so, for the most part, I did.

By the time October arrived, the toll hit me physically. I suffered the worst bout of gastritis I'd had since I was diagnosed three years ago. I couldn't eat for four days, and became quite impressed with functioning self-starvers. Really. I couldn't stand up to brush my teeth by day two and needed a nap after showering. Being dizzy isn't much fun when it's not cocktail induced. Also, having to buy easy-on-the-tummy foods isn't as inexpensive as one might think. But, in case you didn't know, if you eat organic cinnamon apple sauce with organic saltines, it tastes kind of like really cheap apple pie. I became a connoisseur of the bland. Do NOT buy low sodium chicken broth. You can't add enough salt to make it palatable. Ginger ale should be served in a champagne flute. And you should only get rotisserie chicken from Rainbow Acres. I was deeply disappointed to find that the chicken from my Whole Foods as dry as Death Valley. After a couple of weeks of that diet, and a new addiction to Reed's Ginger Candies, I was a few pounds lighter, leaving me with an ill-fitting wardrobe. My curvy 6's too loose, my 4's too snug...not to mention a little out of style. I haven't been a 4 in five years. And I will never forgive Seasonale for that.

Fortunately, the day before Thanksgiving, I was offered a job, making my stint of un- or under-employment just two weeks shy of eight months. I survived that time only because of my incredible friends, who rallied around me, supported me (at times literally) and wouldn't let me give up or give in. They are as stubborn as I am. The hole I have to dig myself out of ends somewhere near Shanghai. And, so what? I'll get out of it one day. I've learned a little about patience during this time and the art of going with the flow. Which, for an A-type Aries, borders on alchemy. By the end of the year, I was so exhausted that I spent New Year's Eve with Netflix watching Bogie and Bacall (The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep), Cary Grant (Arsenic and Old Lace) and Grace Kelly (Dial M for Murder). I fell asleep about 10:30. New Year's Eve is one of my favorite events, but after the way it treated me, I didn't even feel the need to show 2009 to the door.

2009 was much like my last boyfriend -- coming in with so much promise and beauty, but ending up a cloying, annoying, utter disappointment. Last year was almost arrogant in its cruelty. Let's just say it: Last year was an asshole. And, like my last boyfriend, I'm not looking back to wonder, "What happened?" No. I've got better things to do. Top on my list: I am going to fall in love with this year.

I've been looking forward to 2010 like meeting the hot guy at the gym whose 6-pack remains on his abs, not sitting in his fridge; the only spare tire he's got is in the trunk of his car; and 'tight ass' refers to his bum not his wallet. Yes, I expect this year to be a perfect '10. And I am going to seduce it.

I realize I'm going in to the New Year with the same level of optimism and hope I did for '09, except, this year, I'm stronger and wiser, and have even less of a tolerance for bullshit. And that kind of feels fabulous. There's a level of fear that falls away once you have lost your illusion of security. I find myself walking into situations like, "Bring it!" Any minute shred of doubt about who I am, what I want, what I am capable of has been obliterated. Now I probably sound pretty arrogant. But I simply lost tolerance for even my own bullshit. You kind of have to at some point, if you are really going to survive.

And while we are celebrating '10 (which, by the way, I will say as two-thousand-ten because it just sounds better), today is a 9...the 9th anniversary of RUAWAKE. I know. Crazy, right? And I'm pretty sure this will be the last year for it. It's time to wrap it up. It's time to start moving on.

There are sure to be lots of adventures this year, including revealing some secrets I haven't yet shared. Which should seem shocking. What haven't I talked about here over these last nine years? You might be surprised. It's time for some light and laugher and some bloody effing fun.

Thanks so much for staying tuned even when I tune out. Thanks so much for your emails and comments and friendships. You make me laugh and think, and realize that I'm not just shouting into the abyss. So, happy damn New Year, friends. Let's show this one who's boss. xo

Little Miracles

I believe in magic. I always have. I think it's the best part of life.

My paternal grandmother was a pray-er. She got me started on the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer early. I said it looking at the nightlight she gave me, because I was also afraid of the dark. I believed in boogie men, too. I was also terribly shy. No one believed I was shy, because I was also brazenly bold. It's tough being a dichotomy when you are two and three years old. What can I tell you? I'm a little complicated. And it was a miracle for me to leave my room sometimes when we had company (if newbies were involved).

I think it was one of the goodie-goodie girls who went to the Southern Baptist Church I lived next door to who enlightened me to the fact that you could pray for stuff. I remember being about five and praying really, really hard to wake up with the powers of Jeanie (as in "I Dream of..."). When that didn't happen, I went for the nose-wrinkling mojo of Samantha (as in "Bewitched"). Another fail. So I requested/prayed for/demanded the power of flight, or at least to be invisible when I wanted to be. I was also rather nosy as a kid, and I hated it when I was sent out of the room so the grown-ups could talk. Finally, I realized I was destined to be a mere mortal without any supernatural talents. I'm still getting over the devastation.

That didn't stop me from believing in magic, though. Not like the silly pull-money-from-your-ear magic (which I never bought), but the stuff that angels and fairy godmothers could bring about. Little things like getting an A on a test I didn't study for. Or walking a straight line from the kitchen door, past my mother sleeping on the sofa and to my room without her noticing I was a tad tipsy. You'd think the hiccups would have given me away, but that's magic for you. Or maybe parental denial.

I've always gotten a kick out of getting a call from the person I was thinking of, or finding a parking spot when I'm desperate, or somehow defying physics and being on time when I was running so far behind. This magic can be miraculous.

I've gone big with my prayers and had those answered, too. Regularly, I recite my gratitude for each. But it's the little miracles that happen all the time tickle me so. Nabbing that perfect parking space is always a blessing in L.A. Or when The Gap gives you an additional 30% off when you had no business shopping anyway ($8 jeans are a miracle no matter how you slice it). A job offer right when you need it. An email announcing another step forward. A phone call that goes from tears to laughter. Being so connected to someone that you feel them even though they are hundreds of miles away. Realizing your mistakes and weaknesses, and moving to a place beyond that. Opening up and letting go. These are the little miracles that I adore. And they are what keep me believing in magic. Even if I still can't fly or turn invisible.