Almost somebody

I did it. I feel like typing that about 175 times to hit the 500 word mark, but I won't. I made it 30 (stretched to 34) days. Yay, me. Today I tried to use the Somebody app again. I'm failing at this slowly. I signed up to deliver a message from Miranda to Clare. I dressed Jonah for the occasion, otherwise known as exiting our house, and coerced him into saying he was ready to undertake a mission. He confirmed this to me by declaring "Mission!" and raising his right index finger to charge forward.

I need to stop manipulating him.

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I was wearing what can only be described as hillbilly chic: Lee brand "vintage" overalls that I scored in East Nashville and cut off into culottes, worn with a sleeveless tee. Basically my favorite outfit ever. I hit "Deliver Message" because Miranda wanted Clare to know that she loved her and that she knows they don't see each other much anymore. That's a message I can get behind. I have lots of friends whom I adore and yet I see my dentist more often. Though truth be told I have a cute dentist.

So I signed up to deliver the first message in my neighborhood and waited. Then I waited some more. If I had one complaint about the Somebody app it would be that from the moment you select a "Floating" message to  deliver, you have to wait 45 minutes for the intended recipient to acknowledge that this is, yes, a great time to have a total stranger tell you something. I don't know if it's possible to hedge and apply to two message at once, but the Virgo rising in me gets twitchy at the thought of breaking rules.

That moment didn't come. She was both 1/3 of mile and forever away. I suppose she could be in a house with a xeriscaped yard at the end of my street doing life, but I pictured her down at Intelligentsia pouring over her unfinished screenplay and fighting with her sister-in-law over email, side-eyeing the women around her in their casual-perfect dress.

This is waiting

I waited around until Clare's non-answer became an answer. Nearing the 45 minute mark, I hopped in my car and went to the store, taking Jonah with me. Truthfully I sort of thoughthoped that maybe she would respond, and I'd have to drop my leeks and pink coconut water to fulfill my mission, but that moment never came. I really like to complete things and so far my two attempts to be Somebody remain just out of reach.

Thursday night

Today’s day 29, except it’s not 29, it’s actually day 33 and I’ve just been really slow at posting on time, because apparently I like to self-impose torture, slowly. Last night I went to see a show like a boss. It’s only noteworthy because I go to see shows about the same frequency with which I go to the dentist for a teeth cleaning. Yet I still carry earplugs around in my wallet ‘cause you just never know when the mother of a two-year old and full-time busy body will have a concert to go to. Coincidentally, I also got my teeth cleaned yesterday morning.

Anyway, my boyfriend manages a band called Motopony. They’re great. He knew most of the guys in the band from his Seattle days but only started managing them after he moved to LA. They played at a really great venue here called the Troubadour. A band called Jon de Rosa opened before Motopony and since my old roommate was on drums in that band, my other old roommate on bass, and my third, other old roommate was filming it, I felt like I was living in a Chateau Shaman (the enchanting, witchy manse in the hills the four of us shared) dream.

I go out so infrequently these days that for me, f*cking amateur night. My friend Scarlett and I ubered to the show, and while it’s not her fault per se, we do have a history of troubs when we’re together. We drank four tequilas. I ended up running into a bunch of people I know who are affiliated with Motopony in some way and I might have blathered on and given a few too many hugs. Tequila always sounds like a really good idea at the time.

Until the morning hits, and then I remember why I need to pull it together. I woke thinking about how my neighbor, who had graciously watched Jonah at the very last minute, must have questioned entrusting my own child back into my hands after I wouldn’t stop complimenting her on her hair at 12:30 in the morning. You know how some people find themselves with the tell tale signs of a walk of shame? (Btw, if you want to witness this, be at Erewhon at 8:30 in the morning on a Saturday.) My version is oil pulling the hell out of some coconut oil. Twice, just to make sure I don’t have a hangover.

Ryan doesn’t—or rarely—drinks. He never has to swish his oil in the morning recounting his stupid enthusiasm in painfully slow detail. But then also he doesn’t pull oil, so that probably says something else. (Like he’s just not a hippie? I don’t know.) Anyway, most times I go out, I have this really fun time and I think, “I should do this more often!” and then just as quickly I forget about that and slink back into my social anxiety hole.

Fun with games

Sometimes I play this game called Early-stage Dementia or Mom Brain. Basically I tag examples in my life where I can't remember something to either one camp or the other. Then I try to recall the frequency with which these things happen between occurrences, like a sort of proof that everything is just fine as long as I can keep a mental log. Up until getting pregnant, I hung my hat on my memory. While it wasn't Jeopardy-class, it was sort of my thing. I had heard about the memory loss and general absentmindedness that accompanies pregnancy and the subsequent childbirth. I seem to recall that it lasts at least as long as you're breastfeeding, but I think you can guess that I can't be trusted right now with my memory. I'm told that there's a vaguely scientific reason for the memory loss: because there are so many things going on in your brain that you start forgetting trivial stuff. I wish there were a clinical definition of trivial. So. A partial list of things I have mistaken or forgotten within the last month:

• Read the word "binder" online. Pronounced it in my head as "bin-der"
• The name of the really sweet EA of one of my clients. A woman with whom I have had countless conversations about fertility and kids and her cousin and her fiancé. I could remember her hair and face and voice, just not her name for crissakes.
• To put appointments in my work calendar (twice)
• Literally, that I had deliverables due the very next morning and probably needed to start on them (twice)
• The words "sour cream" to describe that dairy thing that you put on top of your baked sweet potato. Instead called it "white stuff," which may be confusing to children of the 80's.
• The Sanskrit word for standing forward bends in yoga. Which might not seem like a big deal except that I spent a lot of time memorizing that ish. In truth, this one may be a stretch (ha!!) and really just reflects how much time I walk around speaking Sanskrit these days
• That apparently I did a Father/Daughter cooking thing in junior high. I suppose this one too doesn't necessarily fall into the mom brain or dementia column, but when my dad reminded me of it, it felt like one of those things I should remember
• To write my 500 words a day post (at least three times)
• Words like "fricatives." Seriously. I just re-learned it on Saturday night only to completely forget it by Monday.

I'm not at the sticky note phase though, so I think we're safe.

***

If I have to be honest, one teensy little thing I absolutely loathe about my neighborhood: the f*cking helicopters flying overhead for an extended period of time. We live a short distance from the Children's Hospital, and I can't take issue with that, but right now there is a helicopter that's been circling for a half hour. And sometimes that happens a lot. Grr.

The last 230 words are always the toughest*

*Title has nothing to do with content. I am one of those people that absolutely loves Los Angeles. It is possible to be at the ocean or nestled in the hills or hiking in the canyons or skiing on the slopes, all within the same day. Theoretically. The particular area of the city in which I live--Silver Lake-- is my favorite sliver of our fine city. It may not be the edgiest anymore, and baby strollers now outnumber high-water jeans, but it's sweet and inviting. You know how everyone jokes that no one ever walks in LA? Not here. Unless I have acupuncture on the weekends or some palm reading workshop at my friend Sachie's house, I park my car in front of my house. It stays there until Monday morning.

But this post isn't about how awesome LA is, Kirk. It's about how I saw Jimi Hendrix perform at the Silver Lake Talent Show this weekend. If you didn't know that Silver Lake even had a talent show, you wouldn't be alone. 99.999999% of Angelenos didn't either. I spend a fair amount of time walking the streets here--I mean, going on family walks--and I didn't see any advertisements leading up to it. I'm assuming their marketing budget went into the cost of a (non-existent) green room and city tap water for the talent.

So we found ourselves this past Sunday in the little triangle where they usually have the farmers market. We noticed a guy setting up a stage and a PA so we asked about it. "I don't know. Some talent show," he answered, belying the performances ahead.

As the hour wore on, contestants formed on the curb. It was Pride Day, so there were two separate cabaret singers, and another who could've been mistaken for your average busker. And that's when we saw Jimi. He walked up, queuing with the others, skin older and darker than I had seen from pictures, but with his unmistakeable headband and a guitar.

It's a big deal when you have a chance to see Jimi Hendrix. At first I was skeptical--didn't he die a really long time ago? But if Jesus could come back, then surely one of the greatest guitarists of all time could too. We have a special affinity for Hendrix in this household: my son is his namesake (middle name, tho), owing to the fact that his dad is a huge fan. Ryan proves it by wearing the most eye-rapey Jimi Hendrix Experience t-shirt that no one in their right mind would ever willingly buy, let alone wear in public. Anyway, he went third.

Jimi sound-checked and tuned up because I guess his guitar tech didn't get the message. And then he started: Foxey Lady. The electric twang of his guitar rang through the open air. Jonah, lover of all things amplified, ran towards the stage. "Whoaaaaaa," he said as he stared. A medley of hits from decades ago played on as Jonah danced in a crowd of one--Jimi's youngest groupie.