Los Angeles

Happy 2023

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It’s been a week!

Shaka used to drive through Brentwood on his way home from a gaming company several years ago. He always loved the smell of an Italian restaurant in the vicinity but couldn’t find it.

Today, he was like, we should find that place and go.

And we were able to pinpoint where it might be. We headed out.

He asked me if I was okay since I seemed a little off.

I told him that the events of the past week have gotten me a bit blue.

I had time off between Christmas and New Year’s and was focused on the jury duty summons I received right before the break.

It would be for the first week of 2023. I didn’t want to go. I tried to meditate on the idea I would not get the call, but it was always in the back of my mind.

I had fantastic lunches and get togethers with friends and family.

From the new Academy Museum with Mads, Nat and Zappy, to a Duffy Boat ride in Huntington Beach canals with CW and her family, From a brunch and some stretching sessions with Penny, to a celebratory lunch with my writing partner C! From a beautiful catch up brunch with Faye at AllTime in Los Feliz to a Christmas Eve dinner with my relatives. We found ourselves on Christmas Day going to Shaka’s friend, Wolfie’s open house drop in. Her friends are the most eclectic group of creatives you will find. I was chatting with a conductor, a comic and a stunt woman all before we headed out to hang with Shaka’s family for a Christmas that would rival any you see on screen.

The holidays were wonderful and I felt so grateful.

During a delicious dinner at Mozza on 1/1/23 with Zappy, Mads and our hubbies, I told them how it’s important to be grateful for every moment we have since we don’t know when it will be our last.

Even if your life is long, life can seem short. I bet if you asked older people about their memories, it would feel to them that some of those moments happened last week.

I blah blah blahed about how this was the first holiday season in 4 years I wasn’t in treatment and wasn’t in pain.

They nodded in agreement as we sipped our lambrusco.

The next day, I was going to visit Leigh, who btw has breast cancer and is in treatment, to give her her Christmas gifts.

I went to Trader Joe’s to pick up some tulips for her. No lie, it felt like many of the other shoppers were in a zombie state. No one seemed like they had ever shopped before. After getting my items, I hightailed it out of there.

On my way home, as I was waiting to turn left onto my side street, a car at the stop sign FROM said side street was also waiting for the traffic to clear.

As the cars subsided, I made the turn. I happened to notice that car at the stop sign was now headed right for my car. I tried to finish my turn and was actually shocked that he hit me. In my car, now facing the other direction that it had previously been facing and having done some donuts on the main drag, I pulled onto the side street to get my self acclimated to what was to come.

The guy who hit me pulled up behind me. We exchanged info. My car looked to have minimal damage while his car looked like it had hit a brick wall.

I ended up taking Shaka’s car to Leigh’s after I called my insurance.

It was a nice evening. Almost made me forget the accident and the jury duty that awaited me.

Fast forward back to tonight. Shaka asks me how I am doing.

I tell him. First and foremost, I am grateful that the accident wasn’t more severe. I am also grateful that jury duty was complete without me having to go in (woo hoo)! I also had a mammogram that was normal and good!

But still dealing with my car repairs and my upcoming cystoscopy (to go in to see if my bladder from the previous treatments still looks good) as well as work and other stupid regular adulting items that were keeping my brain occupied.

Him listening helped a lot.

I felt a little release.

One of the things I told a friend recently is that no one gets off scott free in this life. The people who make it look easy, just sometimes make it look easy. Doesn’t mean they don’t have issues. I remind myself of this daily. And if sometimes, it actually IS easier for you than others, man, you should really feel the gratitude then.

So as we pull into this restaurant, wondering if it is the same one Shaka used to smell on his way home, we take a chance.

As he opens the door, I half expect it’s gonna be locked since it appears to be dead inside.

My bad.

It’s not full by any means at this time, but there is a lively bday celebration happening with silver haired, black glasses wearing industry types near us.

Our server Arturo is awesome and greets us like we’re old friends.

He knows all the people who enter the restaurant after us. There is a family that comes in. They are meeting another family but there’s isn’t enough room at one table for all of them. The kids will sit at a table near us and the adults will sit at a table on the other side of us.

The dad, a Bill Hader looking dude tells us the kids will behave.

The place starts to fill up with all kinds of Brentwood, Sunday evening, new year, rainy day patrons. We feel like we were dropped into a borrowed lifestyle.

Shaka is so happy with this place, the martinis, the garlic bread and the vibe. He looks at me and says, “I won the lottery with you!”

Aw, my response, “How so?”

Yeah, I am annoying, like that. Sue me… it’s been a tough week. Hahaha.

He tells me all the reasons we work well together. I agree, We are holding hands like it’s our first date.

I use the restroom.

Then Shaka needs to use the restroom.

He comes back and says, “Hey you know the Bill Hader looking dad? He was filming in the bathroom.”

“What? Are you sure he wasn’t watching something on his phone?”

“Well, that’s weird in a bathroom to do anyway. But it looked like he was filming me and I said, ‘hey, how about you don’t roll film on people in the bathroom.'”

“What did he say”

“He said, ‘what what?'”

Okay, so this borrowed lifestyle may have some kinks to work out. Or Shaka misread the scene but he usually doesn’t.

Our server, Arturo asks if we are in a hurry. When we tell him no, he brings some dessert wine to the table.

Yum. But like Cinderella feeling the pang of the clock, I feel like we gotta make our way home. It’s been a pleasure and a delicious one at that.

But tomorrow I gotta still deal with this accident nonsense.

We drive back over the Sepulveda Pass with the cool, post-rain air tickling our faces.

I am grateful. And even though my blah blah blahing on NYD was about feeling the gratitude in every moment, I truly mean it.

And even though my car got hit the next day, I still feel it.

I mean, I got to spend an amazing break with people I love, I didn’t have to serve jury duty, I have my health and tonight, I got to spend a fabulous meal with my honey with a crazy tableau of characters to watch.

2023 is off to an interesting start…and I am here for it!

Happy new year, everyone! Hope the start of your year is filled with fun, adventure, health, laughs and lots of abundance!

Star Cluster

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I was going to write about this when it happened. And then my birthday extravaganza took place. And then the Stay in Place orders came.

So, today, I will write about it, though it feels like a lifetime ago.

My dad sometimes drives these senior tour groups and on this particular week, the group was in Los Angeles.

They were going to be at the Griffith Observatory one evening. It had been awhile since I had been up there at night. One memory of the sort was when I spent the day with a friend’s kids (twin boy and girl) who were around 10 years old. We explored Hollywood and had lunch and then found ourselves at the Observatory at dusk. On this particular evening, the twins and I saw a line for the Zeiss Telescope. We joined the line and weren’t too far from the front but the line wasn’t moving. The telescope would be open soon, they assured us. This was good, since I hadn’t planned to have the twins out so late on a Sunday. But we waited and waited. Whispers among the adults. Apparently, there are only a handful of people in the world who know how to operate this telescope.telescope

The guy that whose shift was about to begin wasn’t there. And he wasn’t answering his phone. And he seemed to have disappeared. His back up lived kind of far, but they were trying to get him there. The kids were restless but not enough so to want to leave. FINALLY, someone arrived (not sure if it was Operator #1 or his back up) and we took our turn at stargazing through the giant telescope.

As we were leaving, there were several people on the lawn who had their own, personal telescopes out for the public to look through. We wandered up to one guy.

“What is is your telescoped aimed at,” I asked.

In a voice like the comic book store dude on the Simpsons, he replied, “Star Cluster.”

Twin Girl asks, “What’s a star cluster?”

But he heard, “Which Star Cluster?” and proceeded to tell us the numerical name with a manic smugness.

Twin Girl confused by his answer, asked, “What’s that?”

Telescope guy replied, “It’s a STAR CLUSTER!” and proceeded to laugh at his own humor. Twin Girl looks at me. I look back at her with an expression that says, I don’t get it either. We look through the lens at the star cluster. It’s a cluster of stars. It’s pretty cool. As we get in the car, we can’t stop laughing.

We make fun of this interaction for years. FOR YEARS!

Back to current day (pre-Covid Shut Down).

Shaka and I arrive at the Observatory before my dad and his group do. I am shocked that you have to pay for parking up there now. And not just in the lot, but along the road, even if you are quite away down the hill. Parking went from being free to $10/hour. It threw me. So much so, that when I am putting my money into the meter and choosing how long we want to be there, I promptly forget how much it is per hour and I put in 3 hours. Oh well…I mean, I don’t love that I did that, but what’s done is done. I take the parking slip and put it on the dashboard.

We wander up to the lawn where we see several people with their telescopes set up for the public to look through. That part hasn’t changed. What is different, is that each telescope has a little e-board letting you know what they are aimed at.

I gasp. I grab Shaka’s shoulder. There is a little e-board that says, “Star Cluster” and I start laughing. I get in line. I can’t tell if it’s the same guy or not. A woman in front of me asks him about something bright in the sky. “What is that?”

And in that same voice we have been imitating for nearly a decade, he says, “what do YOU think it is?”

She guesses. He says, No

Another person guesses. He says, No.

And yet, another person guesses. He says, No.

As he slightly giggles to himself like Rumpelstiltskin, I blurt out (not sure if I am correct or not), “That’s Venus,” and I take my turn at the lens and look at the Star Cluster.

“Well, yes…that is Venus.” I feel a little bad, but not not a lot bad. I ask him why he loves the Star Cluster.

He says, “My friends make fun of me since I go on about them, but I mean…how can you not? It’s a CLUSTER…of STARS!”

I guess he’s right. When you think of how many of our suns would make up a cluster, it’s pretty cool. I think of the synchronicity of things coming together and joining up to create that experience.

My dad shows up and we wander around the inside and the outside of the Observatory. It is busier than I would imagine. Its not a holiday. It’s the middle of the week and the parking is $$$$. But the crowds are here. I start snapping the evening skyline below us with my dad’s phone (at that point, I was having phone envy with everyone’s newer devices).

My dad was trying to wrangle his group who had already had a tour-filled day. They were heading back to their hotel. Shaka and I decided we would head out too.

My dad’s bus wasn’t too far from ours. He hadn’t paid for his parking and in typical fashion for him, no ticket.

We get in our car with a good amount of time remaining on our parking pass. Up ahead, I see my dad’s bus pull away and another large van park where he had been. We see the driver of the van get out and look at the signs. I could almost feel his disappointment at the prices, as I watched his shoulders slump with a sigh. We pull up next to him.

We ask if he’s planning to be there awhile. His foreign accent is thick and he tells us that his job brought him down here from Seattle and all he wanted to do was see the Observatory but hadn’t had time all week. He was leaving in the morning.

“Not sure how long you wanted to be here, but here’s our parking pass with an hour and a half left on it. Hopefully, you will get to see something you wanted tonight,” Shaka says.

His face lights up!

“Thank you so much! I hadn’t gotten paid on the job yet. Bless you both!!!!”

He fist bumps Shaka as we drive away.

I never felt so good to overpay for parking.

As the city twinkled below us and the stars twinkled above us, we made our way back home.

 

 

 

 

Get Hammered

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So I admit that I was reading too quickly when I saw that the Hammer Museum was opening an exhibit for Paul McCarthy called Headspace, I misread it. I was like, cool, a Beatle does art. I’ll check it out.

I invited Faye to join me. I had never been to the Hammer before and Faye had yet to visit an LA museum since she moved here. Win-Win. When she asked me what the exhibit was, I actually couldn’t even remember that I had thought it was Paul McCartney. I told her I didn’t know, but that it was an opening and…why not.

Why not, indeed. Whenever Faye and I get together, we have fun.

The weather was clear, the roads weren’t cloggy and anything could happen.

I picked her up and we caught up and chatted about all her current activities. Faye is an actress living her best life here in LA. She and I met doing theater in Portland several moons ago. She is so good that she moved to LA and didn’t need to get a job doing anything else. Her hustle is legit and she works EVERY DAY! So I like hearing about this voice over gig and that audition and this film and that commercial and this awards show and that theater role. Plus, she had just had some friends visiting so I got to hear about how she took them all over LA, like I had once taken her. But with her own spin on it, naturally.

We got to Westwood and started looking for parking. I wasn’t worried. We would find the best space. But we drove around a few times. I got disorientated. But then…voila! Space found. Almost like valet. not really. But not…not really.

She had just gotten the iphone 11 and I, with my phone envy, got very excited over the camera features.

We wandered into various exhibits and sat in crazy swivel chairs that I knew I was going to break or fall out of (I didn’t).

Dude in one of the swivel art chairs

Then we continued chatting as we entered each exhibit. One was really cool where it was photographs deconstructed in a way that looked like salacious parts of the body but in reality was like a knuckle or a belly button.

I kept saying, “that’s a penis. Or a butthole.”

And Faye would point out my mistake. “That’s a belly button.”

“Oh, but that one there is definitely a butthole…and a penis.”

“Uh, wrong again. You seem to be able to see ONLY those two things.”

I laughed. But wondered why my brain was stuck in 8 year old boy mode.

Then we entered the Paul McCarthy exhibit.

I once saw the Basquiat exhibit at MOCA with Mads and I had to leave the room because the energy coming off the canvas was so dark and negative that I couldn’t breathe (sue me, I am dramatic), but in the same museum, I was admiring Warhol’s suicide/death series and was like, “hmmmmm, interesting.” I loved the film about Basquiat, but that exhibit was too intense. I don’t even remember what the paintings were of. So it’s not subject matter, apparently, it’s how it makes me feel.

And McCarthy’s work felt aggressive and like he was working some stuff out of his soul.

And then Faye says, “Well, here’s your penis. And your butthole. And there is another one. You were in the wrong exhibit.” And we laughed as we hightailed it outta there.

We drank some wine. Took in the people-watching. Took snaps with her phone. In fact, she handed it to me and said, go wild! So I did! Love that girl.

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An older gentleman walked up to us and asked us about one of the exhibits (Max Hooper Schneider’s ‘Transfer Station,’ 2019. Mixed media) and we told him it was interesting and to take a look,

“But it’s a long line. Is it worth it?” Dude, you’re here. Why not?

“Check it out and see,” we said.

Then he said, “Did you check out the big exhibit by McCarthy? Disturbed!”

And it hit me that I sounded like that old man. BLECH!

“Well, it’s art,” I said, “and everyone gets something out of some things,”

What a nonsensical thing to say, but it got me out of the conversation. I mean, I did think it was disturbed, but I was never gonna try and encaspsulate art into something. It’s ART! You don’t have to love it.

We felt the rumble in our bellies and knew the cheese sticks they were passing out weren’t going to do the trick. We left the Hammer and wandered Westwood Village on a Saturday night. How was it possible that everything was closing? It was 9:30!!!! This is a college town! But we ended up at the Napa Valley Grille and as Faye/Poppeacock luck dictates, it was HAPPY HOUR!!!!

Our server was great, the food was delish and the rose was perfect! We played around with various settings on her phone as we finished up. As I went to the restroom, I realized, we were leaving before their posted closed hour, but we were the only people there who didn’t work there. Oops. Time to boogie.

We made our way down Wilshire back to her place. The air was still perfect and roads were still clear.

Getting cultured and shit.

We’re classy like that.

Kancer with a “K”

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I take turmeric daily. I thought the odds of me getting cancer were slimmer than say, me getting a heart attack or dying in a car crash involving a rideshare.

I have always had a tiny bladder. “Hold me closer tiny bladder,” I would hear in my head as I would tell people I had to pee. Their eye-rolls and sighs of “not again” would only spear me on to think…this is me – take it or leave it. But seriously, don’t leave…you’re my ride and I really have to pee. BRB.

Last year, my husband and I were in Hawaii. Only two years before, we were getting married on Oahu and it was a fun, exciting, chaotic time. So visiting again last year was like taking all the best moments of our wedding week and expanding and treasuring them, just for the two of us. Our last day, we had an evening flight so the day was going to be filled with wandering, lunch, drinks, more wandering and sitting by the beach. The morning of our last day, I woke up with a terrible burning sensation. I felt like every time I peed, I still needed to. And the pain!!!!!

I called my doctor and asked if she could prescribe me something to make the pain ease up. I had never had a UTI, but I figured this was one. The doc wouldn’t prescribe me anything until I came in to get tested (damn ethical doctor! j/k I love her). I finally went to the drug store to see if there was an OTC remedy which there was. It helped. But our last day in paradise was kind of a mess since I had to be near a toilet and seated.

Upon returning home, I got tested. The results were negative for UTI.

Weird.

There was still pain. But it came and went.

When I talked to the doctor, she said that it was possible that my body was changing and maybe this was part of aging for my body. She said that some medicines for bladder issues made people feel worse than the thing they were trying to cure.

We waited.

It continued.

I went back.

Got tested again.

I told her I needed to see a urologist since this waiting game was yielding no winners.

I meet with the urologist. The conclusion is there is some kind of blockage in my bladder. I assume it’s a cyst that will need to come out eventually. This is good news.

We schedule a cystoscopy for November 7 (a year ago TODAY), where he goes in with a camera to see what the block is and its size.

My appt is in the morning. That same night, I will be heading to LACMA for an event with Shaka, Mads, Jazzy and JRo. I head to the appt. I even have the strangest thought: I am not a person that will ever get cancer. Weird, right? And cocky. But more weird. And cocky.

The nurse numbs me and tells me this is not gonna hurt. She swabs iodine and lots of fluid down there. Doc comes in. Guess what…that camera going up my hoo hoo…it hurts. A lot! He is showing me the live version on a monitor. “There it is…that’s the tumor.”

“What? But but like a benign tumor, right” I laugh

“No, that’s cancerous. And it’s half a golf ball size.”

Those words float in the air as I deal with the pain of the actual camera and the new news of my bladder having a cancerous tumor.

I go to clean up. I use the toilet and out of habit, I put a seat cover down. I am not aware that my whole ass is wet from the fluids they pumped in me. As I stand up from the toilet, I have wet seat cover sticking to my iodine stained butt. I would laugh but I am trying to get dressed to meet with the doctor. But I can NOT figure out how to be an adult at this moment AND get my skin paper-free. I finally work it out and meet with the doctor.

“I didn’t expect THAT news,” I say.

“I didn’t either. Your symptoms weren’t indicating that it was that large or that it was a cancerous tumor.”

He went over the next steps we would take. I would not need radiation or chemo.

We will, instead, do immunotherapy with BCG treatments. It’s a form of TB that when coating the bladder (after they do surgery to remove the tumor), helps the bladder keep any cancerous tumors from recurring. Who was the person who was like, let’s see what happens when I shoot a TB strain into the bladder? Sick person. But I am glad they tried it. Success rate is supposed to be good. Also, bladder tumors happen for the most part, in older men. Who smoke. Or who are around a lot of toxic fumes. I am wondering…how did I get this? Last I checked…I am none of those things. Do toxic people count? Ha, I kid. But seriously…how did I get this?

We schedule the surgery (I will have another doctor since I want it done sooner and mine isn’t available). I have never had surgery. I have never even been under.

After meeting with the doctor, I call Shaka and break into sobs. It’s hitting me in fits and starts. I tell him I still want to go to the LACMA event.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, the only thing different right now is that I know what’s wrong with me.”

We head there. I tell Mads and Jazzy. Their reaction is confusion, like mine was when the doctor announced it to me. Only theirs has the added bonus of me saying it as if I am telling them about my new hair cut. Like that scene from “The Room” (go to :30), I just slip it in nonchalantly while I stand up to get more tacos and wine.

We take pictures and check out the cool exhibit and cough at the prices of wine! GASP!!!!

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It is exactly the kind of LA night I love and the kind of outing I need to remind myself I am more than this news.

SKIP SKIP SKIP

I go in for the surgery. I am told by friends and relatives that I will wake up and be amazed that it’s over and that I will feel dreamy. My pre-op nurse is a jokester and keeps saying things like, “I don’t know how to put an IV in…just kidding. I DO!” I love a good joking nurse, but am all but looking like I belong on a fainting couch with requisite wrist to my forehead as I see the IV needle out of the corner of my eye. On the upside…I am in a toasty gurney with cute socks and I feel comfortable. They give me something (they equate to a cocktail) so I will relax as I am wheeled to the OR where they will do the countdown. But as it turns out…I was out before we left the pre-op room. I only vaguely remember them wheeling me and me seeing fuzzy figures around me as I try and lift the oxygen mask and yell, “Is this an oxygen mask????”

The next thing I remember is waking up with a lot of pain and a calmer post-op nurse. And Shaka there with all my meds. The doctor comes and tells me it all went well and we will find out the results of if it reached the walls of my bladder later that week and I will have the catheter in for several days. SEVERAL DAYS!!!!! This is almost as horrific to me as the news about the cancerous tumor.

Thanksgiving was 2 days after the surgery, where I will binge-watch episodes of “The Office”, while perusing everyone’s holiday photos on social media. The catheter is making me so nervous. I also worry because my cat, Buster, likes to chew cords and I am a heavy sleeper. I imagine waking up with the catheter all chewed to bits and me having to get another one!!! But Buster behaved and that didn’t happen.

10 days later, the catheter comes out and the doc says they got all of the tumor. It was a pretty aggressive tumor but still contained (which he found unusual). It hadn’t spread to the bladder walls. I ask the doctor, “so I had a cancerous tumor but going forward, what should I tell people or list on forms? Like, what would you say I had?”

“You had cancer”

“Oh”

I wasn’t trying to be stoopid. I was trying NOT to overthink it.

A co-worker of mine says, “what did you think you had? Cancer with a “K”?

I guess I kind of did.

In the new year (this year), I have to go through the treatments. They insert a catheter into the bladder to administer the medicine. The first nurse (whom I adore), says, your urethra is easy to find. This shouldn’t hurt. Though I love this nurse, I realize she is a LIAR! It hurt so badly. I will say, that was the last time my urethra was easy to find cause I tense that shit up from the pain, every subsequent appt. The next 5 treatments have varied results. Crying, calming meditation, calming medication, me yelling OW OW OW! I must have a mark by name that I am difficult but it might also be that I announce it if I get a new nurse. Finally the 6 weeks are up.

In my naiveté, I assume the pumpkin bread I made them to apologize for my behavior was all I would need to part ways.

But the doctor informs me (and maybe he had before and I hadn’t realized it), I will need a regular cystoscopy every 3-4 months (remember iodine-butt) and then BCG treatments every 3 months and then it moves to every 6 months (3 sessions only instead of 6) and this will happen for 3 YEARS!!!

I almost cry again. But that same day,  I hear the news that a healthy friend of mine who had gotten out of a bad marriage and had found the love of his life and was thriving had been working out, felt weird, went home, felt weirder, called 911 and died on the way to the hospital (I think an undiagnosed heart condition). I mean, tomorrow is not promised to anyone, but DAMN!

So, I turned my  idea of feeling sorry for myself into self care and gratitude that I had a doctor who wanted me to get better. And that I was surrounded by so much love and family and friends. And yeah, tomorrow isn’t promised, so I better like today. I better like this moment. Every moment.

So the second round of 3 treatments happens and on the second one, I get a new nurse. I go through my usual, “I am a bad patient, so you will want to make sure I am blah blah blah and yadda yadda yadda…” I see her eyes get big with concern.

I feel her poking around down there and I think, Damn it, she is new at this.

I ask, “have you found the urethra yet?”

And she says, get this, she says, “We are almost done!” WHAT!?!?!?!?!

There was absolutely no pain.

The next and final treatment of that session, I have her again. I wonder if that pain-free session had been a one off.

But nope. Same thing! No pain!

I think, she must be a witch and has put a spell on me to make this easier. Whatever, I will take it!!!!

So with my gratitude and my summer plans, I enjoy my life.

In September, I go back in for another follow up cystoscopy (iodine-butt).

He says, “Hmmmm, there’s a tiny growth there. It’s not anything serious but it wasn’t there before, so I want to remove it.”

I have to go in for ANOTHER surgery.  I am happy it’s benign but I am not happy that I have to go through this again.

I have the surgery. It goes well. The first 4 days after, I am pain free and feeling amazing (no at-home catheter this time – YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!)

Then the 5th day, the pain starts up. OUCH.

In fact, I am just NOW, nearly 6 weeks later, just feeling the pain subsiding.

A few weeks after the surgery, I have a post-op appt with the doc.

He tells me that they biopsied my tiny little growth and it was indeed, CANCER (FUCK! Again!). It was a different kind than the last one. This one is the more aggressive kind (apparently there are various KINDS that get to invade my bladder like some messed-up video game with Bladder Monsters). The doc is shocked since, like with the first one, this growth wasn’t acting like the usual kind of aggressive tumor.

But now I have to start all the treatments again. Like from the beginning.

My first session of 6 starts next Friday.

I am not happy about it. In fact, I have been feeling very uneasy that I don’t know what’s to come, since my poor bladder has been through the ringer already. I write this today and can’t believe it’s only been a year since I got the news of the diagnosis. I had been planning on writing this post for awhile, but that was before the second diagnosis.

On this day, 4 years ago, our kittens came home with us (after they had almost died due to an infection)

That is a good memory of this day. And my sister told me today is the day my teenage niece came home from the hospital 2 years ago after being very sick for like 2 months. So it’s a strange day of highs and lows in my family, I guess.

The other thought I had was that since my tumors (gosh, plural) have not acted or behaved like NORMAL bladder tumors and since these have been caught early and I have a good team, I will take it, that perhaps, I do have Cancer with a K.

Maybe it’s the imitation kind of cancer.

Wish me luck that I get the witch nurse again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Residue from the Cult-of-Personality

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I was a little surprised to be getting a call from Faye the day before we were gonna meet for brunch. We usually text.

I was out running errands and took the call.

“Do you know who Caroline Calloway or Natalie Beach are,” she asks.

I don’t.

She begins to tell me about them.

Caroline Calloway  is an Instagram influencer who has also been accused of scamming her followers for a “Creativity Workshop” that failed. She has been compared to the likes of Billy McFarland (Fyre Festival CEO), but I wouldn’t go that far. Caroline seems to take her critics to the bank as she turns their insults into merchandise. She became Insta-famous for writing longer (bloggish) captions on her IG posts before anyone else was doing that. She had a college friend who was like her invisible, talented, ghost-writer side- kick, named Natalie, who helped write some of those captions. Things were sort of good. Then they weren’t. And the friendship ended. Now Natalie has written an article for “The Cut” and before it came out, Caroline was giving it press in her anxiety of what was to be written.

It did come out. And now, Natalie has a deal with Ryan Murphy for the rights.

Natalie’s side of things

Faye wanted me to read up on it for our brunch the next day so that we could discuss, since we both love all things pop culture, real housewives and social media. It also touched a nerve with regard to fame, friendship and that elusive quality of being IT.

We met at Faye’s and walked to   Loupiotte Kitchen   in Los Feliz. It was HOT outside. Not cool, global warming! (ha literally). These temps lately have been making my eyebrows sweat off. Actually, just one eyebrow. Which is worse, because it looks like I gave 1/2 a shit. It never looks like I put the effort into it that I did. And it definitely never looks like the cool, no make-up/make-up, effortless look the French girls have like   Camille Rowe.

I used to live in Los Feliz but it’s been awhile since I have walked to brunch there. So much has changed (she said with the sort of awe of a person who has been gone from her hometown for ages). Loupiotte was a perfect choice! If I can’t have French style, I can have French brunch. We sat down and ordered our food with a side of the pastries sampling (can you say petit pain au chocolat? YUM) The food came fast and the oat milk latte (you heard me) I ordered was fantastic!

So Faye and I discussed the whole Caroline/Natalie saga as if it were our jobs.

But it began to turn into something much more. We discussed why the story touched a nerve. How, when you’re young (though it’s not only reserved for the young), you are trying to figure out who you are and you find people in your life that spark you. So much of the time, those sparking people are incredibly toxic. Which is why your friends and family scratch their heads wondering what you see in that person.

We pondered are we more a Natalie or a Caroline? Or both? And Faye pointed out that your answer of who you think the villain is depends on your own experience. Were you an alpha or a beta in those relationships? I have been both. I never think of myself as the villain, however I told her that in high school, I wrote so many papers sympathizing with the antagonists that my teachers started to worry for me.

Caroline is pretty. But she’s not the most gorgeous woman you will see. And Natalie describes herself in more understated adjectives, however, from the rare photos, she isn’t unattractive. What makes someone like a Caroline shine, while someone like a Natalie feels sidelined? Privilege plays a role, as do certain influences and experiences from a young age. But really, a lot of it is how you see yourself and value your own worth. We both agreed that neither of us saw either as the villain. But that Natalie’s article almost birthed Caroline into a literary character. Maybe she already was and Natalie captured it. We love messy, complex women. And we also don’t.

Our discussion continued as we talked About how society is training young girls to be strong and speak their minds but that there is always a limit. Who decides that limit? Why do people love an underdog but only to a point? Why do people love to hate/watch social media posts about the wealthy/successful/clever/narcissistic? Schadenfreude is a component, for sure, but I think there are more layers. We opened the vaults to our own experiences with these situations. About giving our power away to people so easily. About our own culpability in those moments. About the lessons we now can say we learned.

Loupiotte was busy. But we seemed to fade into our own world. No one pushed us to leave or hurry up. The vibe in there was lovely. Our discussion rambled into various phases of hypotheticals about social media and devil’s advocate stances to oppose. I hadn’t had that kind of marathon philosophical/social/real world kind of discussion since post-college, I would imagine. Or perhaps when I was high in Palm Springs on one of my many girls’ trips (but who can remember? ah weed).

We met the owner (an effortless French woman) and paid our bill. We continued our discussion walking up Vermont Ave, peering into shops. Once back at Faye’s, we began to talk about other things that were equally important but which we hadn’t given enough time. Then, her cell rang; her mom. My cell rang; my dad. It was strange that we had been talking about youthful experiences and behaviors, only to have our parents tell us it was time to go home and get ready for the week.

Faye looked at her phone to see her IG showed a post of Caroline at Glossier here in LA. We laughed. We have no idea why this girl is interesting. But we follow her anyway. I guess we will continue to try and find the answers. Maybe youtube has a video on it. Don’t mind me while I do some research.

 

Contact Highs and Lows

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“I can’t believe you have never been to the Annenberg Space for Photography,” Mads said while sipping a very large vodka soda. It was Friday night and I was exhausted and feeling like the day had its stank on me. Mads texted, do you and Shaka want to go out tonight? I wanted to. But, I also knew I was pooped from a really strange week.

Shaka agreed we should go and there was no looking back on that decision. A night out with Mads and ST8 is always fun, if not funny. Plus it’s good when you’re feeling low, to make contact with people who will bring up your energy.

We met at Mucho Mas (“full bar and old El Coyote drink prices” her text promised).

We had old people conversation (health talk) and hip people conversation (film and music schtuff). I mentioned we were going to the Annenberg to see the exhibit “Contact High: A Visual History of Hip Hop” but that I had never been to the Annenberg before. Mads and ST8 had already seen the exhibit but recommended it. It is strange that I had never been before but there’s a first time for everything.

Saturday, I picked up my new glasses. I must have been drinking when I picked them out a few weeks ago. I don’t remember choosing THESE. I mean. I like them, but I actually had no memory of saying, “Yes, these are my next pair!” But they are…soooo. I love them…now.

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Crosseyed AF

 

Then I headed to get my haircut. Kristen used to work at a salon near me but has her own place now in Woodland Hills. I hadn’t gone to her in over a year and she can shape up this mane like nobody’s business. (https://kristenscurltherapy.com/)

Loved her new place and we chatted about a myriad of topics. Mostly politics (we are on the same page – phew), meditation, spirituality, travel, etc. It was great reconnecting with her and I love my new cut!!!

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New glasses, new cut (and after today, new color) – ohhhhh somebody STOP ME!

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When I got home, Shaka and I started to catch up on Mindhunter first season. I wasn’t in a particularly bingey mood but Netflix has a way of making that happen even if you didn’t plan on it. *Shakes fist to the Streaming Gods!* We are liking the series…that sounds weird since it’s about serial killers.

Today, Shaka and I headed to Century City to see the exhibit which has been extended until next week, I believe.

We decided to go to Eataly in Century City and nosh on some yummy pasta.

With our bellies full of Italian food goodness, we made our way down the street to the Annenberg.

We parked in a pretty amazing spot. And headed to the stairwell.

We followed a man up the stairs. Shaka asked, “Is this the way to the museum?” The man nodded. We followed him. Up a flight of stairs. Then another. Then down the stairs. The man looked at us and said, “Where is it?” and we realized we had been following a red herring irl. Ugh. Then there was another couple and the man followed them. But they were lost TOO! The five of us rambling up and down the stairs like that scene in Spinal Tap where they can’t find the stage.

We finally make it to a long hallway and to the outside world. We almost followed the group as they headed the wrong way AGAIN! We stood back and watched them go one direction and then come back our way. The man in the couple looked at me after returning and said, “that’s the wrong way. That’s CAA…it’s an agency. A really big agency.” I politely nodded while simultaneously unpolitely saying, “I know.” I can’t fault him though…we were a group unable to find our way out of a stairwell…he probably assumes I am a stoopid.

But the direction gods got us to the right place.

 

The exhibit was really cool. There was a short film too. I absolutely adore photography about pop culture and music.

It was cool to see actual proof sheets too. There was a series of shots with Aaliyah where she had marked big Xs on the proof sheets on the ones she didn’t like (many) and Os on the ones she liked. Throughout the exhibit, even though they were photographs, there was something so visceral and alive about many of the shots.

 

As we left, the line to get in had gotten longer. We decided to try an elevator back to our car which ALMOST didn’t turn out well. But the direction gods were back with us after momentarily tying one on and we found our car.

We drove home over the canyons and past the palm trees.

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After a crazy week of highs and lows, it was nice to end it on an such a high note.

Fairy Tale of Hollywood

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My expectation and excitement for “Once Upon A Time…in Hollywood” was off the charts! The trailer! The cast! The iconic filming locations! And Quentin!

A facebook friend, (I have met in person more than a few times) a curmudgeon journalist (CJ), was RAVING about the film. And he rarely raves about anything unless it’s about obscure musicians.

So Friday night, I bounced my energy into a request to Shaka that we go see the film.

“I don’t know how long it’s been that I have seen a movie on opening night,” he says.

“YES!!!!!”

But CJ had mentioned seeing the film in 35mm. So Shaka, taking CJ’s recommendation seriously says his only request is that we see it in 35 mm.

Well, the Arclight was showing a LOT of screenings but the next 35mm version was at 11pm on Friday. It’s a 2 hour 40 min flick. Um…

So we buy tickets for Saturday, happy with our decision.

Saturday morning, we wake up to find out that Mads and ST8 had gone to the opening night 7pm show in 70mm! Shaka was like, “Aw man! We should have seen it in 70mm!”

I had no retort because I would have seen the film projected on a sheet at this point. Then we see photos of Zappy and Roni who went to the screening AFTER Mads and St8!!!!! We really should have rallied.

But regrets aside, we went to the Saturday matinee to see it in 35mm. And it that kind of timing was fine by me.

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I will not spoil anything, but I will say, my expectations were not exactly met.

BUT BUT BUT I loved it!!!!

AND, it stayed with me for the next week.

A friend of mine’s daughter is in it and is fantastic!

Another friend’s brother is in it! So many cameos.

So many layers.

Mads, Zappy and Jazzy and I are regulars (well not as much lately) at El Coyote. In the film, Sharon Tate and her friends are seen in El Coyote (where Sharon had her last meal). I was under the assumption I knew where the booth they sat was. In the film, Sharon and her friends are ushered to a different table.

With Quentin’s attention to detail, I was wondering if he was wrong…or I was.

I was a little uneasy typing Sharon Tate El Coyote last meal booth

But I did. And every result said that it was the correct booth in the film.

Mads and Zappy and I were texting how much we all loved the film and wanted to meet up to go over our thoughts on it.

Musso and Frank’s or El Coyote. I voted for El Coyote cuz…chips.

So we gathered in a booth and caught up on our weeks. I mentioned something about someone I met being good good looking and Zappy sighed, “Talk about good looking…BRAD PITT!”

And just like that, we were on the topic that brought us together to drink margaritas.

Two of my co-workers did not like the film. Like, at all. When I told Shaka, he thought it was because they are too young to understand the tapestry of the culture at that time. I mean, we are too, but we are still closer to that time than my co-workers. Zappy thought it was because younger people are used to the idea of crazy groups rather than just crazy individuals. And back in 1969, the stakes were pretty high for letting go of your innocence to understand that dark group-think was present. Mads added that it’s quite a polarizing film for these various reasons.

I asked Mads if she knew where the actual booth was. She thought it was where I had thought it was. She tried to nudge me into asking the waiter. If I felt weird typing that shit, I sure as bubs wasn’t going to say it out loud to someone. Plus, I kind of liked knowing I may be wrong. I never wanted to sit in the booth I thought it was. I don’t need any ghost encounters or weird vibes with my guacamole. But if I didn’t know, then all booths were safe. A sort of bastardized Schrödinger’s cat experiment.

The CJ was deleting people on social media who were trashing the film before they had seen it. Shaka supported that. I get that it’s not just a movie for some. It’s more about what the movie represents.

I found it intriguing how the Manson story was always in the background, weaving its way through the film, building tension when you see the world of the past, intersecting with the world of the future.

Mads, Zappy and I decided we definitely wanted to see it again.

One of my favorite visuals in the film was watching a dusk shot of neon signs all over LA turning on to welcome evening. Its significance felt like the end of the line for some of the characters, the end of the literal day, the end of a summer of innocence and the end of an era. Also it felt like it was signalling the end of the film (which was fine since I needed to pee).

As we left El Coyote and headed to the parking lot to get our cars (under one of those flickering neon signs), we waited in a longer line than I had EVER seen. We surmised it was due to the film’s release.

How meta.

I drove back home with warm summer evening air, barely breezing my skin as I drove past the Hollywood Blvd, and then passing the crowds at the Hollywood Bowl.

I love this town.

I love its history – both the roses and thorns.

I love the industry.

I love films ABOUT this town.

I love good storytelling.

I love fairy tales, even this  Tarantino-esque form of one.

And although my expectations were not met in some ways, I loved this film for things I never expected! That a movie like this can spur on conversations that lead me to a night like this.

A weird happily ever after.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Big Little Expectations

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This season of HBO’s “Big Little Lies” has left me feeling a little cold (and not in that Monterey fog kind of sit on your deck with a glass of wine cold). The first season held such beautiful imagery and mystique of a No Cal beach community. Paired with the amazing soundtrack, I, like every other fan, was hooked and was excited for this season. Meh. But every Sunday, I still tuned in.

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I was tepid about tonight’s finale. That’s only because I had such high expectations for it. I am not a believer in keeping expectations low and you won’t be disappointed, though I understand that line of reasoning works.

I am more of a “let’s aim for the moon and land among the stars” kinda gal.

A long work week for both Shaka and me, made us exhausted and ready for Friday evening in the biggest way. That isn’t to say it was a bad week. It was just very long.

Heading into this weekend, though, I realize, my expectations were high. I had big plans…HUGE PLANS! But I detest Sundayitis when the realization hits that all wasn’t accomplished before you begin a new work week.

But I am ahead of myself.

Every Friday, my department at work begins the weekend off with a bar. I haven’t gone in some time, but was happy to join in last Friday. We even secured a little turntable and were ready to play some cool vinyl that has been inherited or procured by Sutton, my cool co-worker whose stories are really cinematic and true! oxnard paakIt was a great way to make my way to Shaka. After a little deliberation of where to go for dinner (how come you have so many ideas of where to eat until the moment it’s time to eat?), we headed to Hugos (https://www.yelp.com/biz/hugos-studio-city-4). I hadn’t been there in awhile and it was delicious!

Saturday morning, while getting ready for a friend’s epic bday celebration at their newly renovated house, I began watching some season 4 Queer Eye. queer eye

I was in it for every emotional heart tug. I love those guys. Jonathan’s comments give me life!!!! I wish I showed some restraint to savor and not binge, but I know who I am. And well…by the end of the weekend, I am finished.

Sorry not sorry.

Then we headed to our friend’s pool party. The house is amazing! And there were kids everywhere. The last time we went to their house for a party, the house was a quarter of the size and many of the children weren’t even born. It was so much fun seeing Coll and Roo! And then Mads and (and correction here…her husband wanted to be called Sugar Tush 8 and not Sweet Tush 45. So his new moniker is “ST8”) ST8 arrived and we savored the tacos being served and marveled at the spaciousness of the house.

Nice people, fun times, happy birthday Roo!

In the evening, Shaka and I saw Awkwafina’s new film, “The Farewell.” farewellI really enjoyed it. I am still processing parts of it and will most likely discuss with my walking partner, Zam tomorrow.

My dreams were filled with Queer Eye moments mixed with The Farewell. I am sooooo on the nose sometimes. Even in slumber.

Today, was pretty chill. Shaka has been re-recording the first song he ever wrote and getting it just right, so it’s on repeat in the background. Even when it’s not playing, it’s STILL in my head. It’s really good! I can’t wait to share it here once it’s finished.

After running a few errands, I came home to Shaka sauteeing mushrooms in garlic and onions and it smelled heavenly. Even though I had been milquetoast on the BLL season, I was still invested and ready to watch. The vibe of wanting to drink a glass of wine, while watching the waves as the weather turns moody was alive in me. Though, the weather at the moment, is hot hot hot and there are no waves nearby, I decided to open one of Moondoggie’s wines.

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Sipping this delicious vino, eating good pasta with my honey, I was in the right head space to watch Nicole Kidman go head to head with Meryl. And you know what? I LOVED that finale!!!! Loved it! And I don’t think it was the wine mellowing me into saying that. It checked all the boxes for me of mostly what I loved about the first season. Was there a lot unanswered? Sure. But that last song with the montage of the last few minutes got me in my heart meat. And was there for it!

As I clinked my second glass with Shaka, I had to admit, I had met my expectations for this weekend. And there is no Sundayitis in sight. Only dreams of all I watched, accomplished and wanted mixed with what I hope to see play out this coming week. Clink!

 

Waves and Particles

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I have spoken about my meditation journey here a little bit. But what I haven’t mentioned is how I came into a group that is still a very big part of my life, even if we don’t meet as often these days.

Here’s the short-ish version:

Mads worked with a woman she thought I would get along with. The three of us met up for after-work drinks. Another co-worker of theirs joined. I didn’t like her (the newest addition). But she would interrupt something I would be saying and say something like, “your guides want me to tell you this…” and she would proceed to tell me stuff about my life that she couldn’t have known. Apparently, she is a psychic. Shortly thereafter, she quit her “day job” with Mads and did the psychic healing stuff full time. My initial thoughts about her shifted when I went to a class she taught. We were never gonna be friends but I softened on her.

Not everyone makes a good first impression (case in point…I have no idea what the name of the woman Mads wanted to introduce me to was. I doubt she would remember mine either).

So this psychic sent out an email blast that a friend of hers was starting a meditation group. For some reason, even though my meditation skills were pretty rough, I jumped at this chance. I met up with this group of total strangers like 14 years ago. The people in the group have shifted. Some have left, some have passed on, some come and go, and some, stay in your friendship group. The woman who created the group and leads the meditations is still a dear friend.

There was also a couple who joined a few years later. Sula and Moondoggie came from quite a distance to join us to meditate. They are like-minded souls seeking answers like the rest of us, but had it not been for this group, our paths would have never crossed.

Moondoggie is in the wine business and after every meditation, he breaks out a sampling of some really good vino.

He has taught Shaka and me a lot about wines. I can even say, we have a quite a collection these days.

His IG account (which I prompted him to create http://www.instagram.com/itsallvine ) has a nice array of various varietals from affordable to high end. He has great stories too and knows a lot about the different wineries.

Sula is an amazing artist and is in the process of illustrating a children’s book.

We live quite a distance from each other so we only visit twice a year outside the meditation gatherings.

Last night was one of those nights!

A hot July evening was the perfect setting to try Ice Wine, exquisite chardonnay and pinot noir. A BBQ dinner with a seasonal salad paired nicely.  We played catch up with our lives (the highs and the lows) and talked music. We connected on a social level and then also on a very spiritual level. Waves and particles. We come from different worlds, backgrounds and ages, but nonetheless, in these moments, we are quite connected.

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Shaka and I brought desserts (a nice sampling from chocolate to raspberry and passion fruit macaron) from Portos (https://www.portosbakery.com/) which is always a hit. I almost didn’t bring the carrot cake but I am glad I did.

And as the wine kept pouring, things got dancy and singy.

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We ate dessert on the patio with the sounds of crickets and other neighbors having a similar evening. We talked about the cosmos and tv shows. We told off color jokes (mostly the fart variety).

I hate cutting myself off when the wine is so delicious but I know my limits and started to let the water (with lemons, of course, cuz Sula pays attention to those kind of details) be my libation way before it was time to head back home.

It seems random how I came into the mediation group. But after being in this group for so long, I know things aren’t usually random.

The universe is vast. But last night, two couples from different SoCal cities met up to cause a ripple in the time space continuum.

 

It might have been our deep conversations about quantum physics, or our laughter.

Or it might just have been our fart jokes. We are deep like that.

 

Om and Getty It

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When I meditate now, I can go deep.

I can release myself to the practice. That wasn’t always the case. I would say things like, “I just can’t turn off my thoughts,” like that was what made me special. I hear it time and again from other people and I try not to laugh cuz, I too, believed it about myself.

Shaka and I have a group we go to 4 times a year or so where we are led in a guided meditation. It is as much social as it is spiritual. And there’s usually really good wine too.

I have also led some smaller groups in mediation.

I think that meditation can cure a lot of what’s ailing us. And voting blue in the next election…but I digress.

So when Zappy and Roni were headed to the Getty for a record release/group meditation and asked if we wanted to join, I was like OM, Yes!

Lest you think that my years of mediation have made calm my natural state, I am actually quite prone to irritation and freak out. Just ask Shaka.

There is a question that you ask yourself in doing this kind of work:  “Do conditions need to be perfect for me to be happy?”

I used to want to say no, but felt that conditions DID need to be perfect.

Now I know better. So even if there is noise, or thoughts or physical issues, I can just release them. Most of the time.

Zappy and Roni had already arrived at the Getty on a beautiful So Cal summer evening and were seated on the lawn with these big pillows that the organizers had handed out. By the time we arrived, all the pillows had all been claimed.

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Some ambient music started playing, so we just assumed the meditation had started. We lay down on the lawn and listened to the sounds of the music, Getty patrons and others like us who were there to get their spirituality on. A slight breeze became a little cooler though the sun was still shining in a blue sky with a few clouds.

I closed my eyes. I let the natural waves of sound blend into a rhythm with my breath.

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And then…

She started talking. She, the woman behind us. She, the woman who decided it was a good time to chat with other blanket owners. She, who was mentioning she was an influencer (I was getting as curious as I was heated).  I was proud of myself for letting her sharp tones and jabbery ways sink into the background noise. UNTIL…

She stood over Zappy (whose eyes were shut) with a piping hot coffee (I was as much in love with the smell of her coffee drink as I was pissed at her audacity) and said, “Excuse me. Where did you get those pillow things?” Zappy opened her eyes and told her the Getty passed them out earlier.

“Cool cool cool, so are they like, gone?”

“I would imagine,” Zappy said, friendlier than I would have.

“Cool cool cool, okay so there are like no more?”

“Guess not”

She went back to her blanket right behind us.

I was fighting my own demons of impatience and at how conditions don’t need to be perfect for me to be happy. But they could be a lot less rude. We are at a meditation. SHE is at the same meditation. What in Gaia’s name is this madness????

Stewing stewing stewing, I sat up. I tried to relax into breath.

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And then, just as I was getting back into a good rhythm, a voice came on the mic.

“Hi, everyone, thank you for coming to my record release. We will begin the GUIDED meditation in a few moments. I would like to thank ____[ambient musician recording we just heard]___ for opening for me today.

I looked at Zappy and Shaka and started laughing. The meditation hadn’t even begun yet.

We were so anxious to relax, we found ourselves in knots at “rudeness” (I still stand by the fact she was rude…but more your average “bother someone while their eyes are shut rude” and not “interrupt a mediation rude”).

The guided meditation was great. Decompression at the Getty. How LA is that?

I don’t think it lasted longer than a half hour. Maybe it did. Time is slippery like that when you breathe into moments. The sun was starting to set and the lovely weather made all of LA shine below us.

After we made our way walking down the hill, we met up on Fairfax for some Ethiopian food at Messob. It was delicious and a perfect way to end the evening.

 

My take away from the Getty Medi, was a chance to see where I can still improve when pushed into my irritation zone.  I have heard that there is a universe between every breath.  If that is true, mine went from a universe of anger to a universe of savoring good food with good friends on a very LA night. Breathe in. Breathe out.