When The Blind Horse Found me

I remember when the blind horse found me.  I stood in Malibu, overlooking the ocean  in the middle of a dirt corral.  There was a  woman with long hair to her waist , she told me to close my eyes.  "Just breathe and be still, don't grasp,  don't try, just let go." I remembered seeing a horse with blinders on, off in the far distance.  He had lost his eyes in a recent fire.  I stood there in the hot sun as the thoughts raced behind my eyelids.  "Do I chase after things, why do I care what they think?  I can't believe that person lies and cheats and lives in a beautiful house in the hills, why do good things happen for mean people, I really liked her shoes, I can't afford them,  I wonder if Ill ever buy a house,  I want that perfume, how did I ever like that guy, I was so lucky to know her, that homeless person's foot looked like it was going to fall off, I'll only ever eat pasta in Italy, I really love my new mattress,  that guy at Starbucks was a babe I wonder if he thought I was pretty, I need to change that low tire on my car, I want to go to NYC and see a play, "  And so on and so on. "I want to be better, why do i worry, I really miss him, she was a terrible friend why did I waste my time, I need to go to church, maybe I'll try the Buddhist temple, I want to lose ten pounds, I need to pay my power bill, I want to try that Thai spot in Silverlake, I want Michelle Obama arms"  I mean you get the gist.  I felt a breeze and a nudge on my right shoulder.  I opened my eyes. The sweet blind horse was rubbing my cheek with his.  My eyes filled with tears and I turned to pet him. He was gentle and kind and just wanted love.  Like all of us huh?  The woman with the long hair and and the cowboy boots smiled.  "you let him find you, good things will find you."  Despite myself and my thoughts, he found me.

White Basket, Cuban Melody

I once owned a white wicker basket.  It would hold my various lotions and potions that smelled of my favorite flowers and sweet berries.  How luxurious!  Little did I know the same white basket could be used to hold a small container of milk, orange juice, a hot meal in a tin and a small salad of carrots, cheese and Russian dressing.

As I held my basket of barely there nourishment, I rang the doorbell of a home that had chipped yellow paint.   Al answered the door.  He didn't have a nose.  Just an open sore with almost dried blood.  His eyes met mine.  "Good Morning." he said.  I tried not to stare.  My heart felt sore and I asked him how his day was going.  "I've seen better."  I handed him his one hot meal for the day and he smiled.  "Can't wait to see you tomorrow."  "Ok," I said, my eyes never leaving him until I backed up so far I almost fell off the stairs.

I turned to walk away and choked back my tears.  I opened the door to my chauffeured mini van and Carmen, the driver noticed my state.  "Cancer" she said.  I couldn't get the image of his face out of my brain.  "He has no family, he owns his house and the government will probably take it when he passes."  She put the car in drive and turned left, turning up the music, a melancholic Cuban ballad and we were off to our next client.  This was my first day volunteering at the Senior Center in Hollywood to work off a speeding ticket I didn't have the money to pay for.  If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

The Chicken Line

I met Savannah Thomas at the corner of Hollywood Blvd. and El Centro.  He was a not so young black man that pulled up to the crosswalk on his blue bike.  He asked me if I had a Merry Christmas and I said "yes, how about you?"  Well, that was it, he walked with me 15 blocks and did not stop talking.  He moved to Los Angeles in 1981 from Savannah, Georgia.  He was a small time hustler who sold double A batteries and made a daily weed run to Skid Row.  "They know me down there so that's where I go for the deal."  The right side of his mouth was missing teeth and the ones on the left were brown.  I asked him where he lived.  He was homeless because of drugs.  "I'm a weed smoker and I smoke crack 4 times a year."  I wanted to believe him but I'm just not that naive anymore.

The streetlights popped on and it was around 6 o'clock.  He stopped me and made me look at him so he could tell me he liked talking to me.  He said my eyes were shiny and I had good hair.  "Why don't you meet me at the chicken line on Sunday at 4pm."  "The chicken line?" I asked.  He said some older white man got busted for laundering money, about 2 million and somehow got off by telling the judge he would give back to the community.  So every Sunday he feeds El Pollo Loco to hundreds of homeless people.  They line up in front of the YMCA in Hollywood.  Savannah said that I should definitely come because with my look I could probably get a job working the chicken line.   I told him I already had a job.  "You're a responsible one." he said.

We finally bid our goodbyes and I promised half heartedly that I would show up on Sunday.  Part of me really wanted to.  I was curious.  I turned toward my destination and my heart ached for him.  Drugs robbed him of his potential.  I wish I knew him when he first moved her and I could have been his friend and told him he was too good for the pipe but it got the best of him.  At least fate didn't get him like his cousin Terry T. who joined a gang and was in a shoot out at a high school in the Valley.  He survived but got life without parole.  Savannah had a deep sadness in his eyes when he told me.  "He made a choice and sacrificed his life for that choice."

I wonder if Savannah knows he has made a choice too.

Yelp I've fallen and I can't get up. Not.

Disclaimer: "Any resemblance to persons or places portrayed is just happenstance, yada, yada, yada"

I put the trusty ole apron back on, threw my hair up in a messy bun and kept it moving.   I mean I can practically wait on people with my eyes closed.  Which is what I mentally do anyway.  Dreaming  of sunshine and some house in the hills or maybe a trip to the Venice film festival.  Someday right?  There is always the hope of someday.

 This time wearing the apron is different, it's not like once upon a time in Hollywood when you worked with your friends and kvetched about your auditions or the cute new guy behind the bar.  Times are a changing.  Gone are the days of "hey, how was your day off?"  Now it's the dreaded earbuds cancelling one from humanity where hellos fall on voluntary deaf ears.  I refuse to wear the earbuds because I don't want to be part of the crowd.  It's my curse.  Never conform.  I like smiles and gossip and mutual dramatic complaint about the long hours and lousy tips.

And this dreaded Yelp, the villian in my story.  A big gelatinous hairy mole on the back side of society.  I pretty much know how you feel when you leave me 10.00 on 200.00.  Do you really have to go into some dark room and stare into a screen and spew venom about us being out of your effing favorite spaghetti and meatballs.  It's popular.  Get over it.  Maybe stand up straighter, iron your shirt and invest in some eye cream, it may make you smile more.  I'm not interested in your attention seeking opinion.  Nobody cares.  And if they do, they are pretty much a d*#k just like you.  Why not throw on an apron and a fit bit so you can make your 10,000 steps a day and smile for 6 hours all the while asking "any allergies?"  Take your vegan, (i'm a part time vegan, I love vegans, this all for dramatic effect) gluten free, allium (its a garlic and onion allergy, I had to look it up, God help me!) ass and your novel length Yelp review and stick it where the sun doesn't shine.  I mean really?  Have you been to a soup kitchen?  Or a homeless shelter?  People are suffering.  They don't have the luxury of time or a computer or an opinion for that matter.  All of these things are a privilege.  A privilege that you take for granted so you can get your jollies off by posting one star.   One star!  Gross.

I once worked for a chef in Los Angeles, he was world famous, a master top chef.  He told us "if I catch any of you reading Yelp, you are fired."  I loved it! A rebel.  My kind of guy.

Just give me the blue hairs.  Please.  The retired ones, that saved their pennies and learned some manners.  They look you in the eye and there is a sparkle, a kindness in their smile.  They ask how you are doing and compliment your effort.  Nothing is a "nightmare" or "I just can't".  It is all civilized and human and tied up in a pretty bow with a big fat tip.  And the biggest perk of all they have never even heard of Yelp.  "What is that?" they ask and are completely appalled by the answer.   "How rude!"  I agree.

Spilt Soda and Ex-Lovers

I love my street, I think I live on the prettiest street in Los Angeles.  Sycamore trees abound and I get drunk on the cool night blooming jasmine air.  Today I was trying to find a parking space, I turned the corner and there were four cruisers in front of my building. I slowed down to be nosy and I saw my neighbor talking to them.  A waiting Range Rover blew it's horn and the overly tan blonde frantically waved her hand for me to keep it moving.  I parked and went through the back door of my building and ran up the stairs right into two cops outside my neighbors door.  Drama.  I loved it. I think.  Their walkie talkies were squawking and they gave me the obligatory nod when my neighbor peeked his head around the corner.

"Oh my God, I'm so happy you weren't here."

I rested my hand on the railing and it was wet and sticky.  What the heck?!

"That's soda, I threw my soda at him." he said.

Him, being his ex-lover who overstayed his welcome after a serious bout with drugs.

"What happened?"

"He wouldn't leave, I had to get a restraining order against him and he flipped out so I called the cops."

I looked to the ground, it was wet and I didn't know what to say.

"You know, after everything he's done, I still feel bad that he is going to spend his birthday in jail."

"No, don't feel bad, that's co-dependent."  I had to stop myself from going into therapist mode but the look in his eyes wanted more of my words.

"You just have to rip the band-aid off and move on, time will make it better, at least that's what my mom says."

He looked like he was going to cry.

"He used to be so beautiful."

I thought about some of the beautiful ones that I used to know that went right when they were supposed to go left and now, not so beautiful too.

"I know it's hard, impossibly hard and you feel like you are going to feel this way forever but you wont, things are going to get better, I promise, you took care of yourself."

He smiled.

"How are you?"

"I'm good, I feel great, I just had a great audition, things are good."  Oh my gosh, how many times can I say good and great, I think I may have been rambling.  I just go into autopilot in these situations, this is where I shine, taking care of others and making sure they are ok and here in the midst of this man's chaos he asked me how I was doing.  I was thrown.

"When is that movie that you did going to come out?'

"I think soon, I'll let you know."

"Well thank you, thank you for listening."

"If you need anything, knock on my door."

I closed my door and my head was spinning, I'm sure his was too and I started to think about forgiveness.  I had a conversation with two people recently who had polar opposite opinions about it.  One said "it's a crock, you're giving the other person too much power."  And the other said, "it's a beautiful thing, you're whole world opens up when you forgive."

I recently received an email from an ex, who had asked me for forgiveness over the years and I just blocked it out, like it wasn't even an option.  I figured since all of this forgiveness talk was coming up, I would give it a whirl, this is an excerpt of his response:

I am sorry. I really am. I've never had the chance to really show it. I've tried to show it through the good I could do, even when you weren't around to witness, while I try to keep the bad that exists in me at bay. But time does heal... "One thing, I've learned about life... it goes on." - Robert Frost. I still have his book of his poems that you gave me. For almost 15 years it was one of the handful of books that I traveled with. And my mom kept just about every photo we ever had together in a trunk. I went through everything and relived everything. And to know that the most intense and reoccurring regret I've had for almost 20 years has come full circle gives me pause. Thank you.

I read it to one girlfriend and she cried and to another who said "so what."  This or that.  Yes or no.  Words, where are they when you need them.  I wipe my sticky hand and look out my window.  The cop cars are gone.

Flying Backward

When I was a kid I used to have flying dreams all of the time.  Gliding through the sky while my stomach flip flopped and right before I would go splat my eyes would open.  Sometimes life can make me feel like I'm flying backward.  I want that feeling of being high above it all, weightless, where nothing matters.  Because walking can just be so damn muddy.  Trudge, trudge, trudge.  So I just opt to fly as much as possible in the direction that I want to go in but sometimes I just do it backward like I am doing the backstroke in a pool.  I know there is a place that I want to be but I don't want to deal with what I have to pass to get there.  The agendas, the empty promises, the slick words and fake smiles I could do without but it's par for the course.  I prefer the moments when a friend grabs my phone and downloads a song then plops my headphones in my ears and says "this will help you along the way".  Then I listen to the song on repeat and repeat and repeat. I am grateful.  Grateful for the gems.  You have to mine for them though and the dirt messes up my hair and scuffs my boots.

I remember when I managed a horrible restaurant in Silverlake.  And as a sidenote restaurant management for an artist is like purgatory, absolute torture!  So I hired some of my really cute guy friends to tend bar and that made it bearable.  It was like I worked for a bunch of thugs and I had to constantly go up against them on a daily basis.  These people were the worst of the bunch.  Like characters I had read about in books but never met in person.  When I was a my wit's end with my head was spinning and I was questioning everything..why, why, why????? is this happening to me!?, I received one of the most eloquent and beautiful emails ever from one of my busboys.  Now regardless of what you believe in..God, Buddha, Jehovah, The Dollar or retail therapy...none of it mattered because he wrote from his truth and it struck mine.  Here's a bit: " God is not a father that cares about our earthly success, but that we try and in our journey grow closer to the things of him. Love, Joy, peace, forbearance, Kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. (All fruits, I see being made ripe in you). That being said I have seen nothing but you doing the absolute best job that anyone could do in your shoes. Don't allow your fruits to be robbed."

Cue my jaw dropping. How could he see all that in me at a time when I felt so invisible? A gem. I had found another gem. And it didn't come from a director that I wanted to work with, a cute guy that I wanted to kiss, or some boss that I wanted to please. It came from someone and somewhere when I least expected it. This moment changed the game for me and I quit that lousy job and remembered what I was made of and where I came from. Virtues do mean something in this wild world. The right people will notice at the right time when you need it the most.

Flying backward is like kissing upside down or washing your hair in a bowl of spaghetti. It doesn't make sense, it feels funny but it gets you where you need to go. Keep moving.

River Birth

After a woman gives birth it is usually after a grueling amount of physical pain, blood, sweat and tears.  Well I gave birth minus the physical pain and the blood which quite frankly I'm happy to save for another day.  At the risk of sounding all earthy and new agey, I guess I could say that I gave birth to myself.  I did kick, scream and fight it tooth and nail which made it all the more hellish but I managed to find some mental doulas, mid-wives and the occasional cute mid-husband to help me plod along my journey out of the sandbox.  One aha moment I had as I held my head and slumped down amongst the rubble of my old ways is that I really like to be around people that get me.  I think part of my problem was I just kept picking the wrong pieces of my puzzle and we all know how that feels when we try to force anything where it doesn't belong.  I breathe and know that Buddha would be proud that I was finding the right pieces.
"Flow through things like the river, go around the rocks."
This is what a friend told me when we used to sneak into movie premieres in New York City.
"If they ask your name, just keep walking."
"Excuse me, what?"
"Don't make eye contact"
"I thought we had tickets?"
"Don't worry, don't talk and stay behind me."
And with that we walked past two burly security guards into Robert DeNiro's private screening room only to be chased by the events publicist.
"Excuse me, excuse me, are you on the list/"
At this point I felt like I was going to hyperventilate and me cheeks were burning.  My friend grabbed my hand and stopped.  He turned around and glared at the woman.
"We are IN the movie."
She stopped and apologized and with that we settled into our seats with the movie stars, front and center.

My party crasher friend got me, he knew I was capable of flowing like the river.  I often forget and still get smashed up against the occasional rock or swept out to sea but then I clasp my hands and pray to my guy upstairs and everything works itself out.
Flow.
Breathe.
Birth.
Happy.