The weirdest thing happened today. As a prelude to the story you must know that Matt is in New York for work. We had a rushed phone conversation, which left me with the (mistaken) impression that he was being coaxed into moving back to NYC by his persuasive workmates. After we hung up, I paused to breathe deeply, telling myself not to think about it. But on the way home -- after a pretty damn hysterical and raucus pool party with my new co-workers – I thought to myself, 'There is no way in hell I am going back.'
For so many years I felt like I was on my own in NYC. Here, everything is familiar on a sensory level. And my people are here. In less than four months, I have visited my dad at least three times, gone to Hawaii with my girlfriends, had my college roommate come stay for the weekend and, most recently, gone to the Sierra Mountains with my mom -- a great trip to a place I have been visiting regularly since I was born.
I'm not saying it's forever, but for now it's good to be home.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
A Miracle on Cornelia Street
Today, the board of my co-op approved the buyer for my apartment in NYC. When I heard the news I started to laugh and cry from the flood of relief. I have been carrying this apt. with me – it's heavy! – and now I can put it down. I'll miss the place. It was my first apt. I loved it and was proud of owning it, of having my own tiny slice of the West Village of Manhattan. But now I can step into the future – which may eventually include a little Spanish bungalow near the beach!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Spider Hunters
On this blog I have related some of Matt and my adventures with bugs -- specifically the great roach battle of May 2007. (Still, nothing can top our katydid caper in NYC.) Well, last night we the spider fake-out of August 2007.
It started when I was getting ready for bed, spotted a giant orange spider on the wall and screamed, "Matt, come in here now!" We've had enough encounters with bugs for him to know what this was about. "Wow," he said as he came in. "That's quite beautiful, isn't it?" I agreed that it was lovely indeed as I ran out of the room and downstairs to retrieve our official bug-catching container, an old plastic pasta sauce jar we keep under the sink.
Our game plan was that Matt would try to capture the spider, but if he missed and the spider bolted -- the thing was fast and agile -- I'd smash it with a shoe (which, for the record I really did not want to do!) While I was still looking for a hefty-soled weapon, Matt got the container around the spider against the wall. It was pretty easy to knock it into the container and seal the lid. We were about to release it outside when I suggested we look it up online. It's such an unusual bright spider -- maybe we could find out what it was.
After a lot of searching we started to suspect we'd caught a brown widow, which has deadly venom. We looked at each other wide-eyed. Could it be? No. Maybe. It kinda looks like it. Hmmmmm.
During our search, we stumbled onto a project at the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History in which they ask regular citizens to capture spiders and send them in for study. To preserve the spider, the web site suggests sticking it in the freezer for 15 minutes to kill it, then soaking it in rubbing alcohol. Together, Matt and I carried our specimen to the fridge. After what I swore was way less than 15 mins, Matt said it was surely dead and we should transfer him to a smaller container. Indeed, the poor little guy seemed utterly frozen. We slipped him into a smaller Tupperware container and debated picking him up to get a better look at the possible brown widow markings on his belly. But I was jittery and wanted the spider under a sealed lid again.
I poured the alcohol into the small container and Matt said, "Oh he didn't like that," which I thought was odd because the spider was dead. Then all of a sudden, with amazing force, it started to swim -- hard! It was like Glenn Close coming alive in the bathtub at the end of "Fatal Attraction." Like a great naturalist, I screamed and ran out of the kitchen. Matt slammed a lid over it -- and we both had to catch our breath for a minute afterward.
We haven't done it yet, but we're going to bring our spider specimen to the museum, and someone will eventually get back to us and tell us what type of spider it really is -- a deadly venomous brown widow, a common garden spider or something else all together.
It started when I was getting ready for bed, spotted a giant orange spider on the wall and screamed, "Matt, come in here now!" We've had enough encounters with bugs for him to know what this was about. "Wow," he said as he came in. "That's quite beautiful, isn't it?" I agreed that it was lovely indeed as I ran out of the room and downstairs to retrieve our official bug-catching container, an old plastic pasta sauce jar we keep under the sink.
Our game plan was that Matt would try to capture the spider, but if he missed and the spider bolted -- the thing was fast and agile -- I'd smash it with a shoe (which, for the record I really did not want to do!) While I was still looking for a hefty-soled weapon, Matt got the container around the spider against the wall. It was pretty easy to knock it into the container and seal the lid. We were about to release it outside when I suggested we look it up online. It's such an unusual bright spider -- maybe we could find out what it was.
After a lot of searching we started to suspect we'd caught a brown widow, which has deadly venom. We looked at each other wide-eyed. Could it be? No. Maybe. It kinda looks like it. Hmmmmm.
During our search, we stumbled onto a project at the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History in which they ask regular citizens to capture spiders and send them in for study. To preserve the spider, the web site suggests sticking it in the freezer for 15 minutes to kill it, then soaking it in rubbing alcohol. Together, Matt and I carried our specimen to the fridge. After what I swore was way less than 15 mins, Matt said it was surely dead and we should transfer him to a smaller container. Indeed, the poor little guy seemed utterly frozen. We slipped him into a smaller Tupperware container and debated picking him up to get a better look at the possible brown widow markings on his belly. But I was jittery and wanted the spider under a sealed lid again.
I poured the alcohol into the small container and Matt said, "Oh he didn't like that," which I thought was odd because the spider was dead. Then all of a sudden, with amazing force, it started to swim -- hard! It was like Glenn Close coming alive in the bathtub at the end of "Fatal Attraction." Like a great naturalist, I screamed and ran out of the kitchen. Matt slammed a lid over it -- and we both had to catch our breath for a minute afterward.
We haven't done it yet, but we're going to bring our spider specimen to the museum, and someone will eventually get back to us and tell us what type of spider it really is -- a deadly venomous brown widow, a common garden spider or something else all together.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Malfunction Light Is Illuminated
I noticed yesterday that the "malfunction indicator light" on the dashboard of my car had gone it. It made me laugh out loud. Of course it did. How perfectly appropriate. "The malfunction light can indicate hundred of potential problems," the VW operator told me, and asked if I wanted to bring the car in for a diagnostic test. Actually, I wanted to say, could I bring my self in. I could use a complete diagnostic examination to try to locate sources of the many malfunctions in my malfunctioning L.A. life.
On the phone, the operator told me the light could merely be calling to attention to a small problem like the gas cap not being put on properly. This afternoon, I popped open the door to the gas tank -- and the cap was not screwed on at all. So I screwed it on tight -- and the light went off. If only it were that simple for me.
Though there is no diagnostic for my life, I'm going to give myself the next best thing: A long weekend out in the desert at my dad's. I'll have some peace and quiet, be taken care of, get taken out to dinner and the movies. Maybe that will help shut off my own malfunction indicator light.
On the phone, the operator told me the light could merely be calling to attention to a small problem like the gas cap not being put on properly. This afternoon, I popped open the door to the gas tank -- and the cap was not screwed on at all. So I screwed it on tight -- and the light went off. If only it were that simple for me.
Though there is no diagnostic for my life, I'm going to give myself the next best thing: A long weekend out in the desert at my dad's. I'll have some peace and quiet, be taken care of, get taken out to dinner and the movies. Maybe that will help shut off my own malfunction indicator light.
Friday, August 10, 2007
There's No Place Like Home
I made the most of my trip to NYC. I saw a lot of friends, I felt good about work again -- amazing what human interaction and a window can do -- had my prescription renewed, got a really good haircut, vented about L.A., slept in my own bed, saw the trees in full bloom outside my West Village window and had a chocolate croissant from my fave patisserie. There is no doubt I love New York. There is no place like it. But as Dorothy says, there is also no place like home. And for me, California is that. It doesn't necessarily feel that way right now. I'm often confused about where I am and I regularly experience difficulty identifying my car in a parking garage -- thank god for the blinking lights triggered by my automatic key thingy. But I am in this for the long haul, for trips to Hawaii with my wonderful girlfriends, for drives -- instead of flights -- to see my parents, for trips to the beach and the mountains, for a sense that even if my world falls apart, I will be ok because I am home. That is a feeling I never had in New York.
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