A Day of Firsts.

Ooh, what sort of firsts? you ask. Did you spend the day sewing lovely handmade clothes for your children as you promised yourself?

Ah. That would have been good. But no.

Did you spend the entire day thinking only positive thoughts, without a single cloud of negativity to mar the perfect blue of your serene mind?

Um, no. That would be a first. Though I think I've achieved the opposite a couple of times.

Did you write a book? Learn to play the Oud? Did you...

ENOUGH! Man, you imaginary blog readers are a nattering bunch of goody-goodys. Let's start over.

A Day of Firsts.

Yesterday was my first time ever in a bar. At least, an American one. It was also coincidentally the first time I've ever drunk more than one beer. It was the first time I've ever been on a date...at least, an American one. The kind of date that has cars and bars and stuff.

And it was SO MUCH FUN. I think partially it was so fun because I am such a narcissist and spent much of the evening seeing myself through this guy's eyes and giggling at what a kook I am. (I should mention here, tangentially, that the focus of my narcissistic fantasies has changed. I am no longer That Girl Who Does Not Look at Herself in the Windows of Shops. I am now That Girl Who is Everywhere at Once. In this fantasy, some person's schedule takes them to all of the places that mine takes me. Stopping at a red light, this observer pushes her sunglasses up and says in wondering admiration "hey, wasn't that girl the one I saw sprinting down Venice just this morning? But then she was biking hell-for-leather on Miracle Mile, wasn't she? And I could swear I saw her bustling around Santa Monica just hours ago!" Here, the fantasy diverges. In one version, she puts her sunglasses back on, gives an admiring little nod, and says "Wow, I don't know how she does it. I am so inspired to drive my car less. And also what lovely calf muscles she has and such an elegant jawline." In the second version, she puts her sunglasses back on and makes a little moue of pity. "What an oddball. You know, they should put her in that needlepoint program at the Hammer. She's obviously psychotic enough to qualify. In fact, I think I'll write her a letter of recommendation to that effect.")

But also it was fun because within the first five minutes of meeting and sizing each other up, my date and I came to the mutual conclusion that we have nothing in common and are all wrong for each other. (It took me just 90 seconds to ascertain that he approves of the Army Corps of Engineers. Game over.) So the pressure was off, we had a blast lampooning each other's opinions, and then went back to his place for...well... activities reminiscent of certain video installations at the Hammer. For four hours.

And I will say this, I am not feeling so grouchy about Mother's Day anymore.

Also, I fully intend to spend this evening industriously churning out handmade clothes.

My favorite thing about my house today: who cares about my stupid house?