a is for apple, m is for

onday is mop day, says my manager to me.

get it? the "m" in "monday" matches the "m" in "mop". alliteration...so damn clever. genius, in fact. alliteration was literally the only poetic device that i had confidence identifying on english tests back when i was a sophomore in high school. since i am almost always scheduled to work the closing shifts, as well as work on mondays, i have come to dread the letter "m" for what it currently stands for in my life...

first all the chairs must be secured onto tabletops and the entire dining room has to be swept free of debris before the mopping can officially commence...pushing the rag-head device forwards and backwards, submerging it into the sanitizing solution which, after just one rinse, already looks soiled, and then finally squeezing the excess liquid from the tip of the broom to initiate the process again. and again. what's not to love?

to my surprise my work week had completely been altered to accommodate others' schedules, leaving me with a completely open monday. what do i do? begin planning, of course. "let's see...i'll wake up relatively early, bike to yoga, hit up whole foods for their $2 monday coffee and a pastry deal, kill a few hours reading and writing, then attend a second yoga class before heading back home." fast forward to 7:30 a.m. today and you have me locking the door to my apartment and releasing the kick stand. about forty minutes later and i'm in my yoga happy place, sipping on this surprisingly good vanilla-hazelnut tea and waiting for vinyasa flow to begin.

this is when i notice that the girl in front of me has one of those fancy water bottles where you can etch your personal goals directly onto the bottle. i become overwhelmed with curiosity. she begins to unwind in child's pose as i begin to inch my way forward until i'm at the tip of my mat, head and neck outstretched, in what could only be called the "nosy child" pose. but i still can't quite make out what she had written. damn her cursive penmanship and barely visible bright pink pen. i just HAD to know what her goals were. maybe we shared a similar one...maybe we were soulmates. having grown increasingly determined now, i slide into an advanced variation of nosy child until i can just begin to decipher her first goal: "meet chip--". that's all i got. meet chip? after reading the word "meet" i'm thinking the rest of the sentence would be "the man of my dreams", but the name "chip" put that possibility to a screeching halt. who the hell is chip and how many people actually know someone named chip? could she be meeting him for a drink? or to finalize the guest list to an upcoming charity event? i just couldn't fathom who this chip character was and what he could possibly want from my goal-setting yoga bff. she's too good for him. i can totally tell by the way she pulled her hair back into an effortless ponytail. frustrated and confused, i had to find out more...but the bottle was rotated in such a way that i could not read the rest of that sentence! though, by shifting my gaze downward, i could see the second goal she had written for herself: "run the los angeles marathon". there we go, that's more like it. now that i can understand. but why was i so satisfied after uncovering one of her personal goals? should i be focusing a little more on setting and reaching my own goals and a little less on those of strangers?

anyhow, i dodged a mopping bullet today by not being scheduled to work. but just for clarification: m is for muffin. there will be no more sunday nights spent in bed thinking, "shiiitt, monday is mop day" but rather "monday is muffin day!" i see many more monday mornings spent biking to yoga and indulging in a plump and fatty muffin in my future. and maybe, just maybe i'll find out more about chip.

raised by wolves

where did the california sunshine go? i think my parents took it with them to north carolina. isn't it crazy how you can be in the same room with people one night and by the following morning they are on the other side of the country? gets me every time. and speaking honestly, the week-long parents visit could've been condensed to five or even four days.

there were times when i wanted them out. when i wanted to have the couch and remote all to myself. when the disagreements about when and where to eat made me cranky and frustrated. during the five times a day my dad would comment (and moan) about los angeles parking and highway congestion. after getting that thirty-five dollar ticket, i thought he was going to shit a brick. but then again, there were more times when i wanted them in. like when we went to target and they bought me a knife (among other things, but i'm most proud of the knife). like during those three days i had to continually reassure myself that there was no way a spider could possess the strength to free itself from the captivity (red cup) i had bestowed onto him. funny part is that my parents were only gone for about a day during their visit but the spider remained underneath the red cup for three...guess people just aren't that phased by random cups next to toilets these days. the point i am trying to make is that despite the moments where i wanted mom and dad to just go, when they did go, i wanted them to stay. i could come up with some bullshit psychological explanation revolving around attachment theory and possibly my childhood but i think i'll spare you and myself from that...it is the weekend, after all.

truth is, now i have something noteworthy under my belt: the experience of having your mom and dad visit you in your home--at least, the place that you have made your home indefinitely. college is different. you make a commitment to be someplace for four years and that's that. some shifting of the roommates, some new decor, but all within the same zip code. post-college dwelling is a completely different ballgame. for most of us, it's the chapter in our lives where we have to put ourselves somewhere on the map...a roof over our head and some money in our pockets. and so when they come to visit us it is--for the first time--our city and our home that they are visiting. and during this groundbreaking trip it can really feel like the doctor is coming to your house for a personal check-up. are you eating? are you picking up after yourself? do you have friends? do you have clean sheets? what is a typical day like for you? this is just a small sample of the kinds of questions a parent must have circling in their heads when they visit the part of the world their child has chosen to leave them for for the first time in their adult life...until i have a kid myself i remain blind to how extensive the list of questions really is. now the kicker is that most of these questions are never actually asked out loud...they just kind of find a spot somewhere in between the tip of my parents tongue and the tip of my middle finger and marinate there for days. my dad opened my fridge and gave a half-laugh, half-gasp response to the dominance of "space" over actual "substance" present. my mom, post-shower, admitted to using a hand towel to dry herself off (yes, mom, i actually have bath towels. why the hell didn't you ask me!?). both mom and dad were, like, flabbergasted when i brewed a fresh pot of good coffee for them complete with to-go cups, cream, and sugar packets. and i SWEAR they were both proud to call me their daughter when i pointed out the extra rolls of toilet paper underneath the sink. was i raised by wolves?

all in all, our week together was well worth the occasional bickering and hassle that comes with sharing your limited personal space with your parents. and we shared quite a few laughs along the way. you don't realize that you don't have a can opener until you have a can that needs opening...same goes for a bottle of wine.

no pancakes for breakfast this morning, but i'm still with my parents and i have taken them to a local coffee shop in hermosa beach. dad is starting on his third sports section and mom has just shared with the table details of the traffic jam in china that has reached it's tenth day. los angeles:1, china: zero.

uh-oh, we've hit the hour-mark...meaning that mom has emerged from her seat and is now walking around the coffeehouse. dad and i know that this can only mean one thing: she is getting bored and restless and we'll probably be out of here within ten minutes. which also means that the entry i wanted to write will probably be cut short as wel-

cake for breakfast

"roll your oats" buttermilk pancakes packed with honey, cinnamon, and (duh) oats, with another stack of "eye opener" pancakes baked with espresso and chocolate chips is the kind of breakfast (at 2 p.m.) that you drive forty-five minutes for when your parents are in town.

but having the rents fly across the country to visit you at your place is not all buttery all the time...i'll explain later, time to hit the beach.

...my sister's response to "knock, knock"...

knock, knock

australian shiraz cabernet circa 2008, fresh batch of blackberries, chocolate chips...another romantic night with myself. it's written on the wall,

i need a boy.

and the only way that is going to happen for me is if i drop the excuses:

i have work in the morning.

i have to train tomorrow.

i don't have the money to spend on drinks.

there's only going to be douchebags out.

i don't want to lose my inhibitions and order french fries from the bar at 1 a.m. (like last time).

there's probably something good on t.v.

i don't want to feel "bleh" the next day.

or--my personal favorite--i really could use some alone time.

b-a-c-k the mother-fuckin truck up. "alone time?" this is the best excuse because i spend more than enough time starring in my own me, myself and i sitcom. it's sad when people can't enjoy their own company, but i take it a little too far.

so, in conclusion, i need to drop all the excuses and put myself out there because no one's going to be knockin' on my door. that would just be creepy.

fallen

9:45 a.m. 8.14.2010 this morning

my bundle of new york times says that it is sunday…honda under state scrutiny…a rare disorder, a rarer debate…who’s teaching our kids? hello, world, nice to see that not much has changed.

but in my little world, much has. on friday, the avp announced that the rest of the season is canceled and that they are uncertain about the tours future in the years to come. that news trickles all the way down the competitive ladder, from the top players in the world who take home sizeable earnings to the married moms who play just a few tournaments for kicks. and then there’s me, a young, inexperienced player acting like a sponge to all the talent and knowledge that surrounds this town.

but what am i supposed to think? the avp—the pinnacle of all aspiring, admiring beach volleyball players and enthusiasts—has fallen. i’m not going to sit here and say that the dream of stamping my footprint on that center court sand hasn’t been the driving force behind my move to california, but i’m also not going to say that i would consider myself a failure if that never happened for me. i would consider it a huge personal success if i advanced to just the second day of a professional tournament—not an easy feat. but now that the future of the sport is so cloudy, i can’t help but see my dreams fill up with clouds themselves. do i begin to alter my dreams and expectations? or have i already been doing this subconsciously? is it time to take myself out for a drink and seriously evaluate how i am going to handle the cards that have been dealt? luckily i have my family to lean on and help me to sort all of this out—they are visiting in just a few days.

for now, i’ll be perfectly at ease with my cup of coffee and "fresh from the pan" cinnamon banana pancake. like the sunday headlines, not much has changed.

so i guess three months is the time it takes for a girl like me, fresh face in the city of los angeles, to regularly practice yoga poses and send in their first headshot to a casting agency.

who have i become?

details later--there is an apron a mile away that is calling my name...

personal check? check.

today is a "dear diary" moment because i am licking the envelope containing my very first rent check. now listen, the rent money has been coming out of my pocket this whole time, but always in a screwy manner. i've been either withdrawing the cash from my bank account and handing over the payment like i just sold a couple ounces of weed, or my dad and i will do an elaborate dance with our funds where we end up with a check in his name. those days are in the past because i am a big girl now who has my own personal checks with my name on them. i still had to call my sister to confirm whether or not i had to sign the check, but other than that you wouldn't be able to tell my rookie check from that of a veteran...what with my eloquent cursive writing ending in the "0/100 cents" (thanks grandpa). very nice...i'm all grown up! well, i take that back. turns out i'm still powerless against a spider and look for daddy to save me. and so one more spider lives to see another day; however, i did find out that sitting on the toilet with both feet up is a good abdominal exercise.

"once mature and dry, disengages from the root and tumbles away in the wind"

because thesaurus.com doesn't turn anything up when i type in "orgasmic", ya'll are just going to have to deal with my analogy: today was an amazingly orgasmic sunday. it began as every day should: waking up to sunlight pouring through the window. still, i let myself stay in bed for another hour just because. then i journeyed two small flights of stairs for a breakfast date with the couple who live above me--coffee, fruit, and the kind of muffins where the "top" overflows the "muffin" (irresistible on your plate, not around a female's mid-section). i quickly learn that they are genuinely nice new yorkers...the conversation so enjoyable i almost ask what's for lunch. but i couldn't stay. i had already made plans for the remainder of my day, which revolved around attending a few classes at the yoga studio i am now a member of. so i hopped on my bike and hit the strand, pedaling amongst petite, lululemon loyal joggers, couples with their starbucks in one hand and leashes in the other, and fellow cyclists either decked out in spandex or toting their small children along for the ride. note: this is a unique sunday morning crowd. anyways, four miles later and i'm a proud owner of my own yoga mat--lime green!--and undergoing a challenging pilates workout. namaste and it's time for some grub, so i decide to treat myself to an over-priced but delicious baja fiesta salad at one of the eateries i have been wanting to try ever since i moved out here. after filling out a customer survey (for which my birthday is stated as being just two weeks from now...shut it, i'm not the only one playing this game), i practically skipped to whole foods where i proceeded to take a leisurely lap sampling various fruits and cheeses. and yes, i'm one of those people who holds no shame in assembling their own cheese-kabob.

and then i started thinking about how my day was so blatantly revolved around, well...me. everything was carefully thought out to please...muah, your highness. the exercise, the meal, the cheese sampling--even the new mad men episode i just finished watching--was all meant to make myself feel good, inside and out. soooo, maybe when all these people tell me that "you're so young" and "this is the time in your life to be doing what you're doing" what they are really saying is, "this is the only time in your life when you can be completely selfish and get away with it". i mean, am i right? no career to tie me down, no significant other to make "we" decisions with, no home to make payments on, no kids to place above everything else, no pets to care for, no car to maintain, no--wait a second, this list depicting my lack of obligations is starting to backfire...i'm suddenly acutely aware of my solitary existence...like i'm looking in the mirror and a tumbleweed is staring back at me.