Awkwardly Social

I joined a gym.

It’s in Boys Town, so the men are beautiful, unavailable, and thankfully not looking at me.  (Except in cases of cattiness… Which I’m sure I’ll deserve.)  And the women, surprisingly, are a lot like me.  I wasn’t even scared to sign up.  I just walked in, plunked down my $10.00 initiation fee and told the dude I wanted to start that day.  It’s been 10 years since I’ve had a gym membership, and right now I’m pretty much sticking to the treadmill, but I was suckered into three personal training sessions (hold me…).

Seth started working again and in our business, late nights are a given.  He’s not crazy about me running alone at night.  I gently reminded him that I was running alone at night for almost 10 years before he came along, but there was talk of pepper spray, code words, taser certification, a whistle, and getting a pit bull (that last part was me, I’m still angling for another dog even though right now I kind of want to kill Lula).  I’m not one to let fear keep me from going out by myself and I refuse to behave as though because I’m a woman I’m a natural born victim, but something happened, and it has given me pause.  Saying the words ‘I’m going to the memorial of the girl who was murdered’ as how you spent your weekend, changes how you feel a little about being a woman of the world and someone who can take care of herself.  So, I’m taking a little time off being a tough guy and working out in the safety of a gym.

But that’s not even the half of it.  I’ve been having some issues.

I’ll get into that at some point, but I’ll leave it at this, I’m getting help with the writing block and the drinking.  I thought going to the gym for a half hour a day was hard.  Turns out, it was nothing compared to the next big bunch of Saturdays.

One morning we both were putting on our shoes and assembling last bits of detritus to shove in our respective shoulder bags before we double locked and double checked and double-you-tee-effed our way out the door and Seth said something like, “Look at us, two little worker bees, on our way to work.” And I said, “Two stupid douchebags, ‘living the dream.’”

I sometimes wish I could be one of the thousands of people I see on my way to work, the people who live in LA and don’t seem to have to make a living while they’re here.  They can afford to sit at Intellegentsia and sip fancy coffee with their designer ‘rescue’ mutts, and their unwashed expensive haircuts.  While I drive my dented Civic in one direction and my boyfriend drives his tank in the other, I wonder what I’m going to forget to do that day and how many late fees it will accrue.

One night, after a long lonely stretch waiting for Seth to come home, I’d gone for my run, I’d done my stupid pilates tape, I’d walked the dog, and I’d refused to turn on the TV (watching TV alone now is just depressing to me, way too many memories of Louie in one room doing whatever it was he was doing, and me in another mindlessly watching crap television I’d Tivo’d for no reason except to avoid having Louie in the same room with me) when he finally walked in the door I wanted to punch him.  I told him I was sick of being the first one home.  I AM sick of it.  It’s been 6 weeks.  I miss my stay at home husband.  I know that makes me selfish.  I enjoy the benefits of him working, but I would take a smaller house, I’d take the bus to work, I’d give up Sunday brunch at Dusty’s if I had 10 more waking hours a week with him.  But when you’re in this business that we’re in, you have a lot of time for solitary reflection while your life partner gets the first cut done, or finishes the first draft, or hands in the notes addressed version, or sits with producers, or is on location, or is whatever it is they’re doing that you hope isn’t, in fact, just ‘doing’ someone else, so I’m sitting here trying to reflect.  And all that’s coming up is some kind of lame analogy to me being a vampire when it comes to self reflection these days - the mirror is empty.  Which is fucking sad.  I need to get my reflection mojo back.

So here I sit.  I ate dinner alone.  I walked Lula alone.  I tap tap tap the keys alone.  Hoping he’ll get home soon, knowing I’ll be deep in a xanax inspired alternate reality when he finally slides into bed next to me and pulls my body close to his.  And the alarm will ring and I’ll have to hop out of bed and watch as he takes over my pillow and rests for another couple of minutes.  It’s not exactly Ladyhawke, but then again, it’s kind of close.

*I think it’s hilarious to make references to movies that Seth actually worked on.  When I was 9…

I have some things to tell you, but I also have a Sangria recipe to track down. Priorities, people!

In the meantime, let me tell you, it’s creepy seeing a mushroom cloud on your horizon.  I’m worried about the ponies firemen, the dogs people who lost their homes, and the morons people who refused to evacuate.  But I’m also worried about normal shit like my sister and my niece are coming into town and will the hurricane currently swooping up Baja make it uncomfortable at Disneyland.

I’m only human.

Now, off to find that recipe.  I’ve got some fruit stewing to do.