My Memorial Day weekend was extremely exhilarating to say the least. I went out to SB to reconnect with an old friend on Friday and see a film that he was in. It was in a film festival, and I also knew the filmmaker and the other person in the film, so it was a great opportunity for me to see something made by people that I care about. I was actually really moved by the film too, and I think it should have at least placed in the top three. Somehow some film with string dancing around in stop-animation placed second. Which is cool and all, if you really like string. I mean, maybe the judges were all big knitters. Regardless, it still ended up being a lovely beginning to a gorgeous and liberating weekend.

The trip was truly about my friend's homecoming. His family threw a barbecue for him, and his friends from both SB and LA all came out for it. I really loved seeing a lot of my college friends all together again in their upgraded states of living. I mean, getting better with age is an understatement with these people. I have the pictures to prove it. And we had some fun. Whether it was crashing a swingers hot tub party in the hills or dancing to various My Humps mixes, my debauchery was met with great kudos from my heart. Cause I felt happy. There was something so powerful to the whole experience.

I live my life in an incredibly structured manner. I go to the same coffee place - order the same thing every morning. I get to work and do the same thing each day. I work out after work like clockwork as much as I can. Of course this all varies, but my frame of mind towards it all rarely does. And for that reason, I probably miss out on a lot of opportunity for more enjoyment in my life. See I also take this outlook to my friends and family. They too I approach just like my day. With the same frame of mind so as not to set my reality of things off course. And by doing so, I think that I miss some of the growth and the nuance that comes with each relationship. And that is far worse than any movie about dancing string.

Talking to my friend who just got here from the East Coast, I told him that I was afraid to love. I think by loving that I let go of the control I have. And if I love too much, I don't know what feelings I will get myself into. I think that lack of control scares me more than anything. It's funny how I have always touted how badly I want love when the truth is that I am scared shitless of its possibility. Therefore, my control equates just how much someone is allowed in. And though my close friends are close, they are still at a forearms length away from my heart, and it stings me to see that. So I am grateful that this weekend I not only saw this issue, but I recognized it and accepted it.

This will be my summer of love.

What about it?

Astro.com is the best astrology site ever. You can enter your personal birth data and get daily horoscopes that are tailored solely to you. Everyone I have turned it on to loves it, and it's my source for when I need to look at someone's chart for a reading.



Anyhow, today is a new moon in Gemini, which stresses communication. I have a feeling that it will weigh heavily into my weekend, and all in a good way. I have been feeling this weight on me as of late that I know needs some lifting. So it's time I start looking for a window to climb through. You know how you see the clear skies outside and there is a light breeze, but none of the windows or doors open up? So you keep looking, knowing that a knob is going to turn eventually. Well that is how I feel right now. Except that my heart is the room that desperately needs a window, and I am ready to feel some light. God, am I ready for the light. Cause I love me some life, but I could use some clarity. I could use some breeze. I just don't know how to find it.

My life as of late has been quite full. I have discovered great ways to keep in shape. I have started a new job that kicks ass with a new boss that I adore. I have been writing with less restraint and self-criticism. I got handed Madonna tickets as a gift. And my smile is more honest. But still, there is a lock that I think I hid the key to a long time ago.

Well I want that fucking key right now.

My personal horoscope for today was so hopeful and promising. It told me that I "will strive now for a kind of freedom you have never known before. You will seek in every way to express what it means to be young and free." Also that this time "can open your eyes to new possibilities" in solving problems. I think part of the issue for me has been getting caught in the rut of problem-solving each personal situation out of habit as opposed to taking in the details in each experience.

Finally it states that "you can expect a sudden broadening of the scope of your life and the opportunity to encounter life from a new, richer and broader perspective. This may come about through a major transforming event or through a series of minor ones that collectively have a large impact."

I mean really, who knows. I can just look at the planets and use them as another way to hypothesize my existence the way some use yoga, drugs, or Buddha. And like the planets say, I am striving for a freedom that this closed window promises. I want to know what it means to be young and free. And I want to know what it is to encounter life more broadly and more richly. More than anything, I want to stop fear. Like now. Isn't that what it all comes down to?

Astro.com really is the best overall web site ever. It helps me get my shit together. And that ain't no easy job.

What about it?

As I walked out of the Forum last night, I obsessed over the last few minutes that I had spent inside. There was something so strangely soothing and liberating to the act of chanting "Time goes by, so slowly" over and over at the top of my lungs. I had just seen Madonna's Confessions Tour, and the show closed out with a kick-ass "Hung Up". As the song neared its end, Madonna asked the audience to join her in singing that line repeatedly. Everyone, including my friend and I, took the orders with great pleasure, and the energy exploded into a sea of ecstatic dancing and gold mylar balloons.

As we walked out, my friend and I commented on the feeling that the ending had given us. She observed that we are always so consumed with how quickly things happen and how fast time goes by, that it was nice to be reminded that we really do have time. If anything, that thinking helped with getting out of the parking lot, which took almost 45 minutes. But, it was no stress, as I knew that this was a small blip on the radar of time, and I had one of my best friends there to make me laugh and a Madonna mix to make me groove. And of course, my high from the show.

The show.

It was good times. Seats that allowed me to be about a dozen feet from her occasionally.

Disco balls. Like A Virgin. Hot dancers. Substitute For Love.

I mean, really.


Like going to gay church. And in the end, like church, Madonna asked, "Have you confessed?" My friend had to confess that she actually liked the New York song that night, even though she could still hear the silly lyrics. I was left wondering what it was I needed to confess. I'm not so sure I like some of the answers, but time goes by too slowly not to be honest and open with your life.

In all, I really enjoyed the show. I am infatuated with the latest album, so getting to hear all of my favorites (Jump is the hottest) was a treat. The small acoustic set was exquisite. I could've done without La Isla Bonita, though the set and the dancing were beautiful. And as always, I loved all of the political, spiritual, and religious undertones, though I could have done without the cross and the crown of thorns. However I still do give her props for tackling such a powerful image. And I admire her boldness and the fearless nature with which she approaches everything. It's inspiring. And all this at 47.






I mean, really.






Looking back, I think on how much I have let this famous stranger into my psyche. How at 8 or 9, I used to watch her first tour on VHS over and over in the living room. How I cried when my parents wouldn't take me to the Who's That Girl? concert. How I squirmed watching Truth or Dare at the Universal Citywalk theatres with my dad a few rows behind me (I begged him not to sit with my friends and me.) How I took my entire family on Christmas Eve to see Evita at the Dome. And how I hitched a ride with a stranger to see her Drownded World Tour, slightly fearing for my life. That trip ended up entailing a drug deal, karaoke at a gay punk rock bar in Santa Cruz, and sleeping roadside somewhere between San Francisco and Los Angeles. For a concert.

Yeah, it's crazy. At times, perhaps a bit embarrassing. But she has become more than just music for me, and for many like me. She is a symbol of that fearlessness for us in our lives. A reminder to be daring, and to be ourselves. And to fit as much into our lives that we possibly can. Perhaps if we do slow down, we'll find time to enjoy things a bit more as well.












So I'm hung up.

What about it?

Yesterday,
I realized that I could not control the rain, nor another's happiness. My mother however does have some sort of direct connection to Mother Nature, so I now know who to call.
I realized that my Catholic upbringing might still have some hold on me, and may be why I can be so neurotic and uptight.
I realized that I have some really brilliant friends here in Los Angeles, and it's time I stopped questioning that. And they are all so damn cute too. And fun!
I realized that some need more work than others, and that is okay.
I realized that seven large sausages of varying flavors does not a day's proper food intake make.
I realized that Red Bull, no matter what time of day, will fuck with you in the long run.
I realized that my roommate has an amazing remix of Hung Up on her Ipod that I never even knew existed.
I realized that I can successfully flirt with the most handsome stranger in the room.
I realized that I still can never tell if a man is particularly gay or not.
I realized that summer time is here, and for the first time in my life, I am excited for it.
I realized that I really do worry too damn much, and it's time to stop.
I realized that it's okay to let go and have a good time, always. That's the point, isn't it?

Today,
a friend at work said that I was what he used to call in junior high, "A luck-out".

After all that I experienced and realized yesterday, I would have to agree.

What about it?

E.T. is my favorite movie of all time.

Last night cemented that fact for me as I watched it at the Arclight, which ran it as part of their AFI series. There is something so damn magical to that film. Its human characters have this "ahead of their time feeling" to me, given that they were allowed to wear their dysfunctions on their sleeves. And let's face it. You have to believe that E.T. is a pretty endearing character. He makes flowers grow, drinks beer, dresses in drag, AND is handy with tools and a speak-n-spell.

My stuffed E.T. was my best friend growing up, and I completely recall my childhood visit to Universal Studios after the film came out where I got to go inside the space ship gift shop and take my picture on the bike. Man, I would give anything for that picture. Anyway, I was only about five or so when the movie came out, but the thrill of its story and excitement wasn't the only thing that floored me about watching it. I remember knowing that it was a movie and that Steven Spielberg was the man who created it all. I remember wanting to meet him. Not E.T. I wanted to make movies, like him. And so almost twenty-five years later now, I get to work on that same lot where the film probably had its creative inception, and something about all that means a lot to me.

So, back to last night. Yes, the movie was great. It got me crying when he was pronounced dead, and I got chills at the ending as the rainbow swept across the sky. But next to my friend and I was this couple. The whole time, the guy kept mocking the movie and the girl he was watching it with, as she teared up and got really into it. It was annoying. I mean, really. If you didn't want to see it, why'd you come? And why was she with some loser who made fun of her for feeling and enjoying what was probably HER favorite movie. This guy needed E.T. to land in his back yard right quick and teach him a lesson. Well instead, he got up right when the movie ended and tripped over my friend's feet walking out. His girlfriend made a huge apology for him, which we just stared at. They left. After they were gone from the theater, my friend leaned into me and said, "I'd been waiting to do that all night."

"You mean, you tripped him?"

"Yeah. He was an asshole. We can go whenever you like." I love her. Total theater seat vigilante. It made me laugh.

Afterwards we went to the Hungry Cat, which is now one of my new favorite places in the galaxy.



They did something with rum and a kumquat that is out of this, or E.T.'s world. And I flirted with a hot and probably very straight bartender. AND I saw my favorite L Word star. Leisha Hailey. When she heard we had just saw E.T., I said, "Nothing goes better with E.T. than a stiff drink." She did not laugh. Oh well. I guess Lush is not her L word. And that is O.K. by me.

Hmm. Perhaps the reason that I love E.T so much is because I too wear my dysfunctions on my sleeve.

What about it?

I've been writing since I was a very little kid. My mother still has the book that I wrote when I was like nine - I think it was like some graphic horror story where kids were being murdered one by one in a house. Oh, those were the light care-free days, weren't they?

As I got into high school and college, I began to write plays and found myself pretty skilled at it. I had a knack for the dialogue, as I like to listen to people and analyze conversation. I later segued into screenplay writing, but I just never felt like I had the necessary drive for it. And I would beat myself up about it too. How was I to become the person I was meant to be if I wasn't writing? Well now, having worked my way into a job where I read scripts, I have come to a grateful reconciliation with it all. Maybe I am not meant to be a screenwriter. And if that fact is true, then it's okay.

Of course, as this blog proves, I do love to write. A friend and I are also looking into collaborating as a team on some ideas. It's just completely in my soul to wed words. I mean, really. A graphic novel at age 9. And now that I read at least a script a day, I see how many good stories there are out there and just how hard it is to tell one. Ideas are abundant, but good translation is not. So for me, the thought of getting to have a job where I help writers convey their ideas and their emotions seems really rather brilliant. I mean, I always loved directing for that reason, because it allowed me to be the conduit between different sources of creativity. And with this career, I can do that, but on a completely larger-scale level. So I think I am at the beginning of exactly where I want to be. Sure, I am still scheduling meetings and answering phones. But I am now right outside the door instead of back somewhere in the crowd. I like that. And I also like that in life, I could easily be wrong, and I could still become a writer. I am certainly excited in a way that I never have been to see what's in store for me.

So today will be the first day of a new year. One where I will not look to judge myself and whether I am a success or not. The fact that just two years ago I saw myself as a complete failure is so disheartening to me. I am no failure. I am like Keira Knightley's Lizzie Bennett in "Pride & Prejudice", when she stood on the cliff overlooking the world. Her life.



Not looking for the clouds that haven't rolled in yet. Or the stories behind scars that I have collected along my way to the cliff's edge. Instead, just taking a clean, crisp breath of fresh air. And loving it.

Now if only I could be her in the scene where she gets to make out with Matthew McFadyen.

Ah, tomorrow is another day.

What about it?

Though I saw it early last night, I had to withhold myself for those two of you who may have read this without seeing it yet.

My baby daddy - gone.



McPhaustus on her way to sign the next section of her pact.

In other news, my roomie and I met last night in regards to our great End of Spring BBQ Cookout we have coming up. I am pretty excited about it, as we have not had a party at the house in quite some time, and I love to have people over. I have a really good friend who is a set designer, so he was over helping us with some ideas. I mean, really. A set designer for a house party. I love it. He suggested that we have body cut-outs that people can stick their heads through for pictures, like at an old-school carnival.



I mean, whatever happened to a keg being the center of excitement at a bbq. Regardless, if we can pull off all of our ideas and the rain stays away, we should be fine. And I of course want a sufficient amount of Madonna to play, since that is opening night of the tour, and I am not going. I AM however going three nights later and have some kick-ass seats, thanks to my Fairy Godfather. I am so thrilled! And I got tickets for Fiona Apple and Damien Rice at the Greek next month. So I have two amazing concerts and a fun party to look forward to. And I did it all without fraternizing with the devil. I mean, really. Is her soul really worth it?



Hands off, lady. I ain't afraid to fight a demon.

What about it?

I never really thought that I would ever find myself caring. And over the past few years, I have secretly flirted with it all, but I have never truly been romanced enough to get lost in all of its massive hoopla. But somehow, I have found myself pulled in, like a moth to a flame. Like a fish to bait. A drag queen to heels.

I'm hooked.



Here at work, we get the East Coast feed to the networks, so at 5 last night, I settled into Final 4 Showdown. As we near the time when they shall announce who is being let go, I feel the need to share some brief thoughts.

1. I want McPhee to go. Though lovely (she's totally my type, if I were a lesbian), she can't hit a note to save her life. My sweet intern and I were talking about McPhunk, and she said that she liked her. I told her how I felt she scooped all her notes and always screamed, and my intern said, "But she's just so pretty. I want her to win." She then said, "I wouldn't really know much about if she's hitting the right notes or not. I really don't have an ear for that." I wonder if the rest of America feels the same way? Well I'll tell you America, you voted. And you voted for a hot girl who deserves a Maxim spread, but not a record deal.

2. Paula Abdul is drunk.



I don't mean to hate. I love me some Paula. I mean, I am listening to "Blowing Kisses in the Wind" right now as I write this. I even saw the Vibeology tour - twice. But there is no way that is straight Coca-Cola she is drinking. Just watch her. She looks like the stumblers coming out of Pop Starz at The Factory on a Friday night. (If you don't get that reference, I can explain with better detail.) Lady is not afraid to get her drink on in front of the whole country.

3. Chris Daughtry should leave his wife. For me.



I mean, really.

I want one.

What about it?

Oh the glory of free time. My boss is gone for two days, which invites me to slack just a little bit at my desk. So, yesterday was a day of catching up on my gossip blogs, IM'ing friends, and some light reading. I even made a quick pit stop into the Universal Studios Theme Park, where a couple of my friends were. That is the wonder of working on this studio lot. You have immediate access to an amusement park with rides and churros. And oh yes, I had a churro.

After I got back and sat through this two hour thing called a meeting, I found myself somewhat down and still a bit hungover from the weekend. And then my mind wandered over to relationships and aging and all things unnecessarily depressing. I mean, really. It was 4 PM on a Monday, and I was at work. Productivity needed to find me, quick.

So I went online and popped onto Connexion, which is a site completely like Friendster, only entirely gay. As I was about to start perusing my possible connexions, I realized that this, just like the multiple hour Sex and The City marathons from the weekend, were corrupting my brain with a "you're a loser without love or frivolous sex" mentality.

I deleted my profile.

Later, some of us gathered to watch David Blaine attempt to hold his breath for nine minutes underwater. We all sat riveted as the time clock ticked, and the man started lightly convulsing. I wondered what was going through his head.

"You can do this, David."

"I hope I don't look like an asshole if I can't pull this off."

"Don't let me die, God. I promise I'll do some magic next time."

"This is all just an illusion."

"Man, after I get out of here, I am gonna find me that Angel-style and get my gay on."

"I can't wait to get to Burritoville when all this is done."

At least the last one would have been my thought, and I had a sudden hunger for Manhattan and tofu sour cream.

As we all know now, Blaine lasted about seven minutes before he popped up and tearily thanked everyone for their support. Some I watched with thought that he was crazy or just plain lame. But as I sat, the last one in the room, I just thought how incredible it must be to push your life like that to it's limits. I mean, really. Here I get nervous if I am gone too long from my desk.

After Blaine and work, I went to the gym, which is my own personal bubble of water sometimes. My quads definitely saw their limits, and I worked my abs as if it were the day after tomorrow. Then I went home, made myself a quiet dinner, and settled into Mysterious Skin, which had been sitting at home from Netflix longer than the film's actual theatrical run.

I really do love this film. Not that it is the most well-made film, nor is every performance in it exemplary. Still, there is something so honest and poignant to the two main characters stories and how they are both searching for their personal truths in very different ways. And Araki wraps the story in all these strangely saturated colors and rich sounds. Joseph Gordon-Levitt also just rips shit up in this movie.

So as I do in many movies, I cried. To the closing credits music of Sigur Ros, I cried for their discovery, and I cried for their pain. And then I went to bed looking forward to another day where I could possibly find love, break world records, and discover the hidden secrets lying beneath my own mysterious skin.

What about it?

Hangovers are the worst. They cloud your head with haze and leave your mouth with the taste of metallic saliva. Your stomach feels like a war zone after the battle has been waged. And the worst kind of hangovers leave even bigger residue. The kind that has you, or me I should say, floored into bed at two in the afternooon, six episodes of Sex and the City into my Sunday.

Lying here is not so bad. It's actually asking me to do something I rarely do, which is relax. And though the circumstances beg for greener pastures, I can't help but to realize that this is a morning I have brought upon to myself. And it's not just the vodka that did it. It's the pushing of myself during the week. It's the constant reminders that I prescrive to myself that everything is okay, which at times is simply done to overcompensate with the fact that it's not. I mean, really. If it was all okay, would I be in bed right now on a sunny Sunday afternoon with my laptop and another disc of season three in the queue? Or would I be somewhere else?

Mexico?

The Grove?

My friend's couch, watching movies?

On a walk?

Boxing?

I don't know. I can't analyze anymore. It hurts.

Along with the rest of my body.

What about it?

What came first, the chicken or the egg? This is how I feel sometimes about the future. When I was pulled into the world of reading tarot and astrology charts back in SF, I wasn't really completely sold on what I had to say to my customers. How was I, some kid from Sylmar, able to tell these people what was to come in their lives and how to prepare for it? I remember one vivid day, this couple came in to thank me for my reading. It turns out that the woman they were going to buy a house from was lying to them, as I had said she was, and I had helped them to uncover a bunch of fraudulent claims that she had made to them. I mean, really. I must have gotten lucky, I thought. But after that, many more occurrences transpired just like that one, and serendipity became a major player in my life. Still though, I do question every reading and feel very trepidatious, even when I get positive feedback later on. I guess it all stems from my constant questioning of whether the future really can be told. And if so, does that mean the future comes first? Or do we actually have a hand in guiding the future with our intentions in the present?

I don't know.

I like to think that it's not all predestined. I like to think that there is some ability for us to go out there and make our lives our own. But then I do see astrology play itself out in people's lives, and my confusion lingers. Could we all be living this set path and just walking the course? Perhaps even the occasional social anarchy we experience is meant to be. And if that's the case, could some of us be granted the ability to see into that path and enlighten each other. I mean, really. It's all a bit much for a Saturday morning. But so many of the people in my life go to psychics or spiritual workshops and believe. And here I am, someone who has lead such types of workshops and have given and gone for readings, and I still don't know what to believe. I am truly fascinated by those with eternal faith in something. And to think of it now, maybe that is all this blog is looking for. Something to believe in. And I know that if that's the case, then there is only one thing for me to choose.

Myself.

Because the opposite could be true, and maybe our lives are our own. And if that's the case, then one best believe in oneself. I mean, we only truly see what we believe, so we must believe we are powerful and creative and brilliant, right? Or else, we are just succumbing to a poor existence and our own "woe-is-me" business. And that really rings true for whether we are steering the ship or the ship is just like some ride at Disneyland on a track. Cause the future is coming, whether we want it to or not. And we have to look our best to greet it.

You see, questioning what came first, the future or the present, will always be a neverending query for me. Interesting to me is that some choose not to care at all. Just live and enjoy it, some say. And I fully agree with that feeling. But I also agree that the non-examined life is not worth living. "Better the devil that you know." So I will continue to look into these things, since if nothing else, it could all make for a really good movie someday. And you KNOW that I'll make it.

So let's just face it. All I really do know is that I want this future of mine to unfold with so much joy and a lot of love for everyone involved. And that includes you. So, I wish you joy today.

And good sex.

And a lot of money.

And love.

That's my reading for you. Now go get em' tiger.

What about it?

Every now and then, I can get a little bit clueless. I admit it. Someone will say something, and I'll completely believe them. For seconds, I have believed that friends are pregnant or slept with another friend of ours or quit their job. It's brief, but I'm still gullible to it. So, excuse me if I don't seem clued in on this, and women, my apolgies, BUT why do so many men flush the urinal before they use it? I mean, even if I have already noticed that their water is clear and clean, they still flush away. Are they trying to lure their pee out with the sound of running water? Does it relax them before getting the big job done? I understand it if one walks up, and there's some other man's pee in there. I don't want my pee to have to mingle either. But still, is there an explanation that I'm just not aware of? Let me know.

Also, why do some people pour their coffee into the trash bin when their cup's too full? Do they think there is a drain at the bottom of the bin that takes it out to a coffee sea? I'm now popping a bit into 'pet-peeve' land, but still I don't get it. I have worked so many coffee jobs in the past, so I guess I always just hated pulling the bag out at the end of a shift to find out that it was a hefty bag of liquid. It's like I want to make a sign for other counter men and women who are now going through what I once went through. "Coffee too full? Bring it back to the counter! I'll pour some out for you!" Okay - kinda wordy for a sign, but it drives me nuts. Every morning, I see at least one person do the trash pour, and I restrain my lips from opening to say, "Hey! They have a sink for that!" Maybe no one else cares but me. Or maybe no one else notices.

I'm certainly not one to obsess over these little things. Usually only in the moment. Besides I am usually too preoccupied obsessing about what to wear next.

Kidding.

I'm actually obessed all of the other times with how badly people drive, including myself at times. But I am talking like people who read while they drive. I saw a guy on the freeway yesterday reading a magazine. I mean, really. We're on the freeway, people.

I honked at him.

I bet he probably pours his coffee in the trash too.

What about it?

I was a fat kid. In fact, I was a fat teenager and a fat young adult. But I was pretty lucky growing up in the fact that I was blessed with a sense of humor that allowed me to make many friends and deflect some of the negativity. Sure, I was teased, but in hindsight, it was stupid and rare.

At about twenty-one, I started working out and eating less, and better, and I dropped a shit-load of weight. Almost eight years have passed now, and I have what a lot of my friends consider to be a pretty healthy lifestyle. I work out at least four times a week, box, run, hike when I can, and pay good attention to what I eat. Also I am very proud of myself for having accomplished such a revolutionary change. However, the mental issue lingers, in that I can't help always first seeing the flaws that still exist on my body. Of course I know that I am more than just my body, but I'm not so sure that the mirror knows that.

I know the stem of it. It's a moment shopping with my mom oh so many years ago. She said to me, "Angel, you need to lose weight. No one is ever gonna love you looking like that." The words shook me and stayed burned into my head with every new guy or friend that tried to enter my life. Now about two years ago, I brought this up with my mom, and we made amends on the whole thing and let it go. I mean, she didn't even remember saying it, and I am sure at the time when she did, it probably was said with the intentions of her wanting to help me. Whatever the case, it was all forgiven. However, with forgiveness does not always come forgetfulness. So I am trying now to forget those words every time I see myself in the mirror. And though the thought no longer plagues me, I see now how it has affected me.

It's in the mirror when I am doing my hair. I like to play with it. I mean, like every little strand, till it looks right. It's not OCD or anything, though I am sure some of my friends would disagree. But I know when to say when. And at least I know that it is annoying, and I'm aware of it. It just comes from this need to over-accentuate one attribute in hopes of deterring from another. Which is completely unnecessary, but I am still working it all out. And I am only learning this now as I reach the final year of my twenties. I think it is because I am finally learning to really love and accept the man that I am. There are changes to be made, but they all come with time, so I have to be patient with the universe and with me. Time goes by...so slowly, the song goes.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't have a completely disturbed image of myself. I do think that I'm pretty cute and can smile at myself no problem. But it's just in those frail moments, when the words ring out in my head and I am back at the Mervyns fitting room mirror, age ten, that I have to check myself. And it's then that I do see myself and go, "Well, you may not be where you want to be just yet on the road, but you've come a long way." And I am proud.

And then I eat a cookie.

What about it?

This weekend I went to Coachella. I had a basic ticket for Sunday, so that I could see Madonna and Bloc Party play, and I had a place to stay. Now all that I asked of my higher power was that I would have a nice bed to sleep in and the possible chance of VIP access. That first night, my friend and I ended up with a country club house to ourselves and intense relaxation. We laid out on deck chairs at two a.m under the star-studded desert sky. A golf course lay sprawling before us, and the yellow sliver moon hung low. There was no sign of L.A. in sight, and I would be seeing Madonna soon. I mean, really. We were on the road to perfection.

The next twenty-four hours brought a different air to the weekend. More people arrived. Our beds were usurped. The food we had bought was devoured with no sense of gratitude. Some lame chick made an unnecessary gay comment, which I overlooked, until she proceeded to follow it up with a blatant racial slur. And horny straight boys were stumbling in at three a.m., obviously hoping to hook up with the aforementioned lame girl, only to be loudly turned away. Suddenly, perfection had given over to annoyance with very little hope for salvaging. Of course, I knew not to take it all so seriously, as well as that sleeping on a couch is by far NOT the worst thing that can happen in one's life. Still, this was not the Coachella weekend I had hoped for. I mean, really. I eventually drifted off to my few hours of sleep and prayed for a better day.

Let me just tell you. Prayer works.

The next day, I was groggy and just wanted to get some breakfast and some Starbucks. My friend and I got into the car, and I dragged him around in the ninety-five degree heat looking for a Denny's that I had obviously halucinated in a mirage the night before. We didn't know where we were. We were both sleep-deprived and now bickering over everything. For about a total of five minutes, we just stopped talking. I sort of just wanted to go home. My faith for a better day had flown out the window to be forever stranded on the hot La Quinta roadside. Britney's "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" came on the speakers, so I turned it up. Loud. Out of the corner of my mouth I said to my friend, "This song is how I feel right now." He laughed, which built into larger laughter for us both. We had lost it so much, we just had to give in. We sang together at the top of our lungs. I mean, really. It was like a scene from Crossroads.

You see, it was in that moment that I accepted the reality of my weekend thus far, and I decided to just let go. So we weren't gonna be VIP according to the world of Coachella. And yes, we had spent the night on a couch, and my one friend without a blanket. But I am sure somewhere someone had far worse off problems than us, so it all seemed irrelevant to me. And at least we still had our sense of humor that had obviously gotten us through so many situations before this, and we still had our friendship. We were gonna go to Coachella and have the best damn time that we could. We made one last stop into a Starbucks and dove into some soy lattes. It was right then that a phone call came in and everything changed.

The next few hours were a serendipitous blur that ended in us being ten feet away from Madonna as she went into an amazing festival set. We had run into this friend at Starbucks who helped us get these "main stage" passes. They allowed us access to everywhere at Coachella. At the show, I was able to see Bloc Party perform from the side of the stage! And we were able to walk through the back of the event, which let us avoid all the crowds if we wanted. It was all way beyond VIP. I mean, we were pretty much rock stars. And the best part was that after a few moments of possible "no entry" from security and some extreme faith on our parts, it allowed us this amazing access to Madonna's performance, which just made the whole experience so intensely personal. I mean, really. We were ten feet away from her. It was like my internal ten year old's wish come true, and it made everything else completely worthwhile.

I am constantly reminded in life that the road to perfection is never smooth. It is full of bumps and twists and lame girls with no social tact. And sure, my "Madonna at Coachella" story is not the end of my road. There will hopefully be many more "Madonna at Coachella" moments along my personal road to perfection. And with that, my idea of what perfection is will certainly change with time as well. But this weekend has affirmed a few things for me which I already knew, but will now hold onto more strongly. For one, never give up on faith. Even if the outcome is not what you wanted, eventually there is reward. Always make sure to have a sense of humor. It may take a moment to kick in, but when it does, it may very well be the only way out of a shitty situation. And finally, just let go. I mean, really. You can't know what's gonna happen, so why bother stressing.

And Madonna still kicks ass at forty-seven.

What about it?