there are moments when i get slapped by the reality of living and working in tinsel town...

me: "hi, i really like that scarf you are wearing."

customer: "thank you. have you heard of the clothing brand michael stars?"

me: "yes, of course."

customer: "i'm michael."

great. nice to meet you, michael. if you need anything i'll just be standing right over there reading the newspaper everytime my manager retreats into the back room.

tip-tap, tip-tap

says the rain outside my apartment this morning.

she speaks so softly that i have to open my door and fixate on the hood of the nearest car to see if it's in fact really raining or--as i suspected--she has finished speaking and all i hear are last night's words dripping from the roof onto the ground and foliage beneath. well i was almost right. once i saw what was a steady, thick mist filling up my saturday morning i ducked back inside, headed straight to my cabinet, measured three scoops of blue bottle heaven, and let the coffeemaker finish the job.

i think i'll sit here a little while longer. it's so quiet--everyone in l.a. could be gone and i wouldn't even know it. just me, still a little frustrated with the way last night turned out. i had plans to go to a nearby comedy club and have drinks afterwards with a group but there was a ticket debacle (to no fault of my own) and i missed out on the show. i had dressed up from head to toe for this evening, but my dress and heals were reluctantly taken back home to witness what felt like an entire season of entourage and the consumption of almond butter straight outta the jar. i don't know why almond butter has become a "pity me" snack but i should probably find a replacement.

what are my plans after i peel myself off this cozy couch? the library. i think that's what the rain is telling me to do, or at least that is how i am interpreting her melancholy tone.

crush.problem.goal.

i have a crush. it should be noted that this is my very first crush since moving to los angeles and, in just one short week since its conception, i have managed to perform the whole “i’ve tried on everything in my closet and have nothing to wear” bid. along with that—like clockwork--my imagination ran. it ran so fucking fast that we were already a couple driving to napa valley vineyards to meet up with my sister and her boyfriend for wine tasting. and, as per usual, none of my fantasies came true…all i have to show for this past weekend is security footage of me eating awful pancakes at denny’s at 3 a.m.

i have a problem. you know the movie liar liar? well, i am jim carrey in that bathroom scene where he literally beats the shit out of himself. he figures that faking assault is the only way he can get out of returning to that courtroom and possibly losing his case. that’s me on the volleyball court—or in my bed thinking about getting on that volleyball court. though i’m not slamming my face beneath a toilet seat, i am verbally beating myself up whether it’s preceeding, during, or following a workout. this self-degrading behavior has been going on for a couple of months believe it or not, shredding my self-esteem and causing me to seriously question if beach volleyball is still my number one passion.

i have a goal. i can literally tell you how many people i have told my goal to: eight (nine if you want to count that stranger at the bar the other week). that’s because it's a lofty goal and as a result i struggle to allow the words to leave my lips. a BHAG, if you will. a whaaa? a BHAG: big hairy audacious goal. i actually came across this term while interviewing for a job at lululemon back in june. i was very pleased and intrigued to discover that goal setting played such a big part of the company’s culture. after pondering what i wanted to accomplish one, five, even ten years down the road, i had abandoned goal setting until my drive was re-ignited at the beginning of this month. now i have a slab of brown wrapping paper stuck to my closet door that reads: write and publish a book. and now i feel naked.

now this gets me in the october mood...

as told by the ONE person who responded to my inquiry (who would like to remain anonymous):

Dear facebook,

You have been the most relentless, tumultuous, and degrading relationship I have ever had. So many times I have tried to delete you, but your powers reel me back in time after time. I hate how you update me on random people I haven’t seen or talked to in four years. I hate how I care.

Not to mention, it’s creepy as fuck when you advertise cupcake shops near my house when I have never listed my address. It’s not only creepy, it’s rude…if you knew anything, I’m trying not to eat sweets.

And as for those status updates you provide me? Pu-lease. You think I’m impressed? Think again. I think those people are self-promoting fools who are obviously not as “busy” and “productive” as they claim to be since they are updating their facebook statuses every thirty minutes. Whatever happened to knocking someone for “tooting their own horn.” Apparently humility has gone right out the window along with proper grammar. “Your the best”…really, REALLY? I digress.

Facebook, if you weren’t my connection to the rest of the world and the leader in social networking, I would leave you and never look back. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with you, like a wealthy, verbally abusive boyfriend I just can’t live without. Is this what “keeping in touch with friends” has come to? Can’t I just pick up a phone? No. I can’t. Because if I delete my profile I’ll miss out on all the link sharing, the gossiping, and the photo posting. I’ll have to actually make an effort to reach out to people I want to stay in touch with and let others go. And everyone wants to have lots of “friends,” right? Because that is what you, facebook, are all about, right? Surely you haven’t become a moneymaking scheme to use my personal information to sell me useless goods and services, right? Please get back to me. I seem to have forgotten your purpose.

Sincerely,
anonymous twentysomething

punk out

eleven. how did i allow that many days to come between my last post and this one? well, i can explain why i let a few days go by...because i was waiting on friends (like you) to reply to the message i had sent out regarding the can't-get-enough-of monster that is facebook and the latest article i posted under my boomeranger links. you see, i have pent-up emotion when it comes to people who feel it is their godsend to promote themselves via their facebook status, but to my disappointment, you people don't seem to care. this was the first time that i decided to send out a mass message inquiring for feedback before writing upon the subject. and what came of it? not one single, lousy response. maybe you didn't have two minutes to spare. maybe you really dislike sharing your feelings. or maybe you just didn't give a flying fuck. whatever the reason, at least i proved the diffusion of responsibility, a social phenomenon that you should've learned in your intro to psychology course. and now i'm too stubborn to share any of my mind-blowing thoughts concerning how your friends on facebook can make you feel like utter shit about your twenty-something existence. you punk out, i punk out.

at least for now.

but that only explains a few days. where have i been? a mansion in beverley hills. the public library. a movie theater. a beach house occupied by a grown man and his mother. all places i would like to expand upon but don't have the time to do so.

at least for now.

you can't make any decisions because you don't know what you want. and you don't know what you want because you don't know who you are. and you don't know who you are because you're allowed to be anyone you want. how messed up is that?

intrigued? then check out the latest article i posted just to the right over there under my shortlist. or, if you're a lazy bastard, just wait a few days for me to break it down into pieces that you can chew and swallow.

never lost, only transferred

i know that this next sentiment is going to sound like an echo, but today i really wanted to quit. quit my job, that is (not life). herein lies the irony: when we have no customers i am stressed because all i can think about is the money i am not making and the rent that is going to be harder to pay for this month; yet when we have customers i am stressed because i am running around with orders and bills and lemon wedges and dirty hands. dirty hands that should be washed (under hot water for fifteen seconds) much more frequently than they actually are (sorry to tell it like it is). rarely do we servers enter that “happy medium state” where the pace of the restaurant stays in sync with our own personal pace.

i could feel myself drowning deeper and deeper into that bad place…you know, that place where you return to your parking meter two minutes too late. but i couldn’t do shit about it because i had to work. work work work. so i released my anger the only way i could: by not saving the organic butter. you see, we have these little individually wrapped organic butters which we are not supposed to offer to customers unless they request them because they’re like a whopping thirty-three cents a piece or something like that. but i can respect that, which is why, on an average day, i don’t pimp out the butter and willfully salvage whatever packets are left on the table unused. but today? those fucking butters went down the trash abyss with the rest of the bread crusts and oatmeal and lemon wedges (don’t ask for extra fuckin’ lemon wedges if you aren’t going to use them).

woah, i think this entry has officially earned its “r” rating for profanity.

here’s the cool thing though: all the negative energy i was generating didn’t evaporate into thin air—it actually turned into positive energy for something else in my life: my writing. it fueled my desire to stop being complacent with my blog and turn the writing behind theboomeranger into something special (thanks to any of you who already consider theboomeranger special). what i have to do is pick one direction and run with it…run somewhere far, far away…where nobody can complain that the almond milk they use at home doesn’t make their green tea look this murky.

they take your money

sometimes you receive advice from the unlikeliest of places…

while shooting the shit with one of my good family friends (andy, we’ll call him), who also happens to be my older brother’s best friend, the conversation turned to volleyball. specifically, i shared with him how challenging the transition from playing on the east coast to playing on the west coast has been. the sheer talent here is just greater than anywhere else. the best of the best flock to southern california and, even though i knew this coming in, competing against the best is different than anticipating competing with the best. why? because they take your money. and sometimes your self-esteem…the heightened competition forces you to look deep within yourself and ask, “how bad do i really want it?” i was winning on one side of the country and here i am losing on the other. the flip-side, of course, is that you get better playing against better people—at least, that’s what’s supposed to happen.

anyhow, i was surprised by how easy it was for andy to relate to my situation, seeing as his love lies in cards. twenty-six and fresh from finishing his service in the army, andy flew to las vegas to play poker. he’s been an avid player for years, building upon his skills and gaining experience mostly through online gaming. after listening to my california woes, he told me that he went through a similar realization during his vegas trip. while on the east coast, he could play cards on yachts and clean house, but going to sin city was a whole different ball game. the best players from all over the world come to vegas to play high stakes poker, which i realized is just as intimidating to him as all the talented beach volleyball players are to me. different game, same concept. and in both, they take your money!

i’ve never considered myself the gambling type. sure, there was that one time in atlantic city when i didn’t return to the hotel until 5 a.m. from playing blackjack, but that was with someone else’s money. big difference. you know, i don’t think you need chips to be a gambler. our lives are like a string of poker games. we are dealt a hand and must place our bet with only the information that is right in front of us: our present. should i take this opportunity? should i go there to be with him? should i quit? forget about six months from now. forget about the cards that the other players are holding. you can only control the hand you’ve been dealt, and it takes knowing yourself--and a little leap of faith--to just make the best call that you can with the information that you have at any given moment in your life. it’s really that simple.

no one can tell you when to call and when to fold besides you. and that’s my lesson for the day.

somebody

mac.mac.dell.mac.fujitsu.mac.no idea.mac.

that's today's laptop lineup, as seen from my view on the first floor of the coffee bar in san francisco. there they all are...perched like birds on a streetlight wire. what are they working on? who's facebook album are they snooping through to avoid doing work? i can't help but wonder. what if each of them had a thought bubble over their heads that reveled what they did for a living. entrepreneur. gossip columnist. blogger who wishes they were getting paid for their writing. alright kids, what'll it be? would you rather walk on water, posses the gift of flight, or be able to see the thought bubbles over anyone's head? i guess your answer depends on a lot of things. like whether or not you genuinely enjoy getting up in the morning to go do whatever it is that you do to pay the rent. or whether or not you have a fear of heights.

"all my life i've wanted to be somebody, but i see now i should've been more specific."

found this quote (circa the famous playwright jane wagner) in the september issue of oprah magazine and it really made me stop and think. i want to be somebody, but the phrase be somebody is actually a very vague concept. that homeless person i saw riding his bike in manhattan beach--wearing the most amazing duct tape and cardboard helmet ever--is somebody. the chick eating her soup directly across from me is somebody. those alcatraz inmates from back in the day who were known worldwide for their vicious crimes were all somebody. so what exactly do we mean when we tell ourselves that we want to be somebody--to make something of ourselves? is the end result fame? fortune? a colony of followers? a house with a yard? a trophy of some sort? a corner office?

maybe our twenty-somethings is a great time to explore the word "somebody" and discover what it means to you--and you and you and you--personally. your idea may be entirely different from mine, thus making the paths we take in life different. i mean, if i imagine the kind of human being i want to be someday, won't that help me to make the right decisions today that lead me down the right path? maybe. after all, it's not a science.

obviously none of us have a crystal ball, but i think--i hope--that each of us has an idea of the kind of person we want to become, regardless of the line of work we end up choosing for ourselves. so before you tell yourself that you want to be somebody someday, figure out what that entails for you. otherwise, i know a great way to save on a bike helmet.