Work

The second day of my new job I had to lead a meeting with my team. Let’s slow down.

Lead. A. Meeting.

With. My. Team.

Still recovering.

Let’s start with having to say the words “my team” without sounding and feeling like a giant douche. I know it just means that I’m responsible for a group of people, but my god! Those words make me cringe. It’s silly and I’ll get over it. It’s just gonna take some time.

Now let’s talk about something I’ll probably never get used to and that’s talking in front of a bunch of people (my team!) and giving them assignments and deadlines and communicating expectations and

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Help.

Guys, I’m soooo far out of my comfort zone that it’ll cause me to grow and get better, but man…the journey is going to kick my ass.

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Also, I just wrote “journey” and now I’m feeling like a pretentious douche again.

Ok, now let’s talk about an aspect of my job that doesn‘t require steeling myself in the mornings with Jay-Z and Drake to get through.

Next month I’m going to Berlin and France on a work trip! France, kids! FRANCE. Also…Berlin. Let’s set aside the fact that I might have overstated my level of French on my resume. You see–that’s a drama of my own making and I won’t complain to you about that. I will tell you, though, that I’ve been listening and studying my ass off to get ready! French YouTubers, French music, French movies, french fries. You name it!

Ok, I’ve gotta get back to work!

Bisous !

Smile

I’m getting better at driving in L.A. But parallel parking? That’s a whole other can of worms.

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Don’t blame me–blame the southern school system into which I was thrust while all my Midwestern friends were taking drivers ed in school.

Guys, it’s difficult not to be in a good mood in Los Angeles. The sun is shining, it’s not too hot (yet), people are wearing sunglasses indoors, there are food trucks everywhere. I mean, come on!

Sometimes when I’m in Atlanta I listen to this song

on repeat in the mornings to get my mood into the right space, but here I don’t even have to do that! I still do, though, because this song is magical. If you want an instant good mood, just blast this song when you wake up. That’s it, you’re done–you’re happy as f*ck now.

And if that’s not enough, L.A. will send you uplifting messages throughout the day.

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This past weekend we did go to the Griffith Observatory at night, and it was pretty but there weren’t that many stars visible. The planetarium made up of for it, though. Beautiful. We also found some good French restaurants. My favorite, so far, was Oriel Chinatown.

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I also went to The Row store, which is my favorite clothing brand that I can’t afford. That’s okay, though. I just buy secondhand, which saves my bank account and the earth.

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I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to go to the store, though. The Olsens have great taste, and I had to see it firsthand.

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I live.

Alright–I’m hungry and there’s a taco truck somewhere with my name on it. G’bye!

Mission Accomplished

I completed my bed project. It’s comfortable and plush and lux just like a hotel bed you never want to leave. And in the mornings now, I don’t want to leave it. Seems I didn’t think this all the way through.

The addition that made the most difference to my bed was the mattress topper I bought. It’s three and a half inches of memory foam, and oh man, it’s heavenly. It has made my bed almost as high as the beds that used to be at my grandma’s house and that makes me laugh a little every time I get in. Are high beds a deep south thing? I don’t recall anyone else I know having beds that high.

I didn’t have to work today, and that’s lucky because I was in a blind, homicidal rage also known as PMS and there’s nothing of note to complain about right now but I was still in a funk and holding back tears all morning and then the cramps would spring up periodically that were so painful they would stop me in my tracks and AAAAGGHHHHHH! So after I got all of my necessary errands done, I went back home, climbed into my splendid bed, and watched every single second of the Michael Cohen testimony while scrolling through Twitter to read hilarious (but also informative!) commentary on it in real time. It was just what the doctor ordered. That’s not to say that I’m feeling tons better, but at least the psychotic fury has passed. Also, Twitter is always good for a few good belly laughs when you really need them (it’s also a cesspool that will make you buy extra locks for your doors and windows and make you think that most people are soulless lunatics, so I wouldn’t get addicted, if I were you!).

Tonight is fish taco night in the Toppsy Turvy household. I bought cilantro and cotija cheese so it’s gonna be very authentic. And I’m finally going to have the chance to use my new food processor and make the fish taco sauce! Things are looking up.

Talk later, kids!

Get Angry

Yesterday, in Chicago, Dr. Tamara O’Neal was shot multiple times and left to die by her ex-fiancĂ© because she dared to call off their engagement.

Recently, my anger has been bubbling to the surface more often. Anger over lots of things; children in cages, mass shootings, poor people getting poorer and being treated as if deserving of their poverty, cancer patients being bankrupted, domestic abusers and rapists being treated with kid gloves, sexual assault and harassment being waved and laughed off… The list (and the suffering) goes on and on. And fucking on and on and on.

I don’t know where the line is between staying informed and being crushed under the weight of our collective everyday anguish, but I’ve been skating a little too far toward being crushed. I could probably try therapy, as right now I’m lucky enough to have decent insurance. But…I’m not a sharer. Especially with strangers. And I hate crying about my feelings to people, even if I love you madly. So I joined a gym.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been to kickboxing class almost every single day. And beating the shit out of something for forty-five minutes a day has really turned my mood around! I have boundless energy, I’m always sailing on an endorphin rush, and my butt ain’t looking half bad either. And seriously, guys, don’t accidentally run into my thighs. They’re like brick walls right now. They can fracture bones.

I feel more like myself again–happier, calmer, belly-laughing, and more able to manage the world’s injustices. I mean, one day I’ll probably acquiesce to periodic therapy sessions but right now I’m just really interested to see how high and firm my butt can get.

If I were to offer my advice to anyone also struggling with the overwhelming, it would be to find whatever (or whomever) makes you feel like yourself again. And if that something happens to give you a nice butt? Stick wit’ it.