Tag Archives: Los Angeles

Date Five.

“Bud Light, huh?” he said. “That’s kind of a white-trash choice, don’t you think?”

I laughed because he was trying to be funny and also because, it’s true. But still, this innocent comment did nothing to help ease my feelings of self-consciousness.

I was way out of my league at this place.

Continue reading Date Five.

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90 Days. Part Two.

The Team had decided I needed to start engaging more on Social Media. Specifically, on Instagram and Twitter.

“Just post a lot and and hashtag the crap out of everything,” Lux counseled. “This will cause you to come up more often in searches and drive people to the blog. Hashtag it all!”  Her voice was rising with enthusiasm. “Become a hashtag whore!!!”

“Hashtag whore? What? Did you make that up?”

“No,” she said and tossed back her ponytail. “But I could have.”

“Throwback Thursdays,” Floyd instructed, as he showed me examples on his phone. Although technically not a member of The Team, I still took his opinions to heart as he was young and socially knowledgeable. “You need to get on that. It’s totally searchable.”

“I don’t have time on Thursdays to do that,” I said with a whine. “That’s when I put up the blog, so I’m busy promoting it and I’m usually tired from editing the night before. Why can’t I just do Flashback Fridays instead?”

“Because Flashback Fridays is for old people,” he replied.

Oh. Continue reading 90 Days. Part Two.

Beware of the Wordsmith. Part Three.

When I was 16, I was an exchange student to Japan. There were a lot of incredible things that transpired on that trip, such as – I lived with a Buddhist Priest and his family in a house attached to the temple, got to attend a Japanese high school and, since my small fishing town did not get a lot of visitors, people took my picture everywhere I went, chanted my name when I entered a room and strangers gave me presents. It was like I was Britney Spears. Continue reading Beware of the Wordsmith. Part Three.

Beware of the Wordsmith. Part One.

“Guess where I am!” I squealed, as I flopped backwards on the luxurious bed, still managing to hold the phone to my ear. The white, plush, down comforter puffed up around me.

“I have no idea!” Shannon exclaimed. “Tell me!” Shannon was my best friend from high school and I’d been dying to tell her my news.

“Shutters! Shutters on the Beach! In Santa Monica!” I rolled over to my stomach as the phone cord wrapped around my chest. It was 2003, so land-lines were still pretty prevalent.

“What are you doing there? Is there something going on at your apartment?” Confusion made her voice sound wary.

“No, nothing like that.” I sat up quickly and began to untangle myself. “I met someone,” I breathed. “I MET SOMEONE.”

“What? Who?!”

“His name is John and he’s funny and smart and successful and cute and creative and awesome!”

“Wait – what?” Shannon said.

“He looks just like Luke Wilson!” I shrieked.

“Tracey-,” she started.

“Did you know,” I said, as moved to the balcony to have an illicit cigarette. Smoking is not allowed literally anywhere in California. “That half a grapefruit for breakfast here is seven dollars? SEVEN DOLLARS.”

“Okay, stop,” Shannon said firmly. “Start at the beginning.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, and lit the cigarette to try to calm myself. “It was a few weeks ago and I was shooting that car commercial and…” Continue reading Beware of the Wordsmith. Part One.