No Junk In My Trunk

Yesterday I wanted to take my recyclable cans and bottles to the grocery store because, yes, I save them, and yes I need the money--oh, and some crap about the environment, too. I have been so busy as of late (see previous post) that I haven't taken these recyclables in, managing to accumulate two garbage bags full of empty cans. Not only do two full garbage bags consume a lot of space in my tiny kitchen, they serve as a reminder of my horribly unhealthy drinking habits--most of the bag is Miller Lite, lightly sprinkled with Coors Lite and Diet Coke. The bags needed to go.

Grabbing my purse and both garbage bags, I exited my apartment. I walked to my car with building excitement for the snazzy machine that would suck the cans right out of my hand and give me money in return. Setting the bags down next to my car, I pushed the trunk release on my Volkswagen Jetta's keychain.

Nothing.

Confused, I tried again, and again...and again.

Nothing.

I unlocked the car, so obviously the battery inside the remote wasn't dead. Opening the driver's side door, I tried the trunk release on the door.

Yet again, nothing.

As a last resort, I walked back to the trunk and actually stuck the key in the lock and turned it. Hearing the unlocking mechanism turn over, I assumed the trunk would pop open.

One should never assume anything.

It would be bad enough if I was forced to set aside my total and complete laziness instigated by my car keychain and actually stick a key in a lock, but using the key doesn't even work! Does this seem normal to anyone?! What if the battery in my car was dead but I needed to get under the hood to replace it? Are you telling me I wouldn't be able to open the door? What if I was kidnapped and the kidnapper wanted me to get in my trunk like one of those far-fetched movie kidnappings? I'd get shot instead because my fucking trunk won't open!

Also concerning--I put the back seats down so I could retrieve something from the trunk. While I was back there I looked for one of those emergency, "help-me, I'm-somehow-trapped-in-my-own-trunk" release levers. There isn't one.

Someone will be getting a strongly worded letter. Boo to the engineer who designed the back end of the Jetta.

Goodbye Complacency, Hello AA

Today I realized that I haven’t posted in over a month. This forced me to take a moment (while at work, of course, because, let’s face it—it’s Friday and productivity is a dirty word) and attempt to determine exactly where the last five weeks have gone. What was I doing that was so compelling that I couldn’t sit down for five minutes and post something? Or was it just simply lack of humor/creativity/poignant interactions?

Admittedly, a good chunk of the last five weeks was spent on MySpace. I know I vowed to curb my social networking site consumption, but I’m a smoker. Vices are not something that I can easily let go of.

The rest of the last five weeks are a bit of a blur—a fun and alcohol induced blur.

About two months ago I came to the realization that I was in a funk. My life: Attempt to get up at 7 and work out, actually rise at 8:30, quickly shower (or not), show up twenty minutes late for work, drive home from an office that I really should be walking to, sit on the couch while eating dinner, remain on said couch thinking about possibly working out until the next morning when the vicious cycle begins again. Sure, I went out from time to time, but I often found myself pretending like I had work to do in order to get out of happy hour drinks or dinners at Farmer’s Market.

Why? Who really knows…

Part of the funk was caused by limited funds, but then I got a raise. There goes that excuse. Part of the problem was post-graduation depression. I think we’ve all been there at one point or another—“I paid all this money for a degree and I’m working here?!” But that can only really be a problem for so long. At some point you begin to say “Yes, I am working here…but I’m waaaay overqualified and have to pay the bills somehow.” Maybe part of the problem was that my closest friends, the ones you can call for anything at all, were nowhere nearby, and I had the added time zone obstacle making phone time harder to come by. That’s still a problem, but I have free weekend minutes. Regardless of the origin of this funk, it was time to pick myself up by the boot straps (where’d that phrase come from anyways? Do boots have straps?) and attempt to regain my life.

The post boot strap-grabbing period includes, but is not limited to, attending film screenings, meeting people from MySpace at bars, going to concerts and lounges, ending history’s longest dry spell, buying some new clothes, obsessing over one of the directors at the aforementioned film screening, hiking in Griffith Park, and going home for a weekend—remembering why I moved on.

Here’s what I’ve discovered—revitalizing your going out energy and experiencing new things goes hand-in-hand, in my life anyways, with total and complete drunkenness, rampant alcohol abuse, cigarette over consumption—and a shitload of fun. Whatever the reason, Los Angeles is a culture based heavily on drinking—drinks with clients, drinks with friends, drinks with WeHo socialites, drinks to see celebrities, drinks down the street because neither you nor your friend have a nice apartment—there’s basically a lot of drinking. So…although I’ve abandoned my complacent existence in favor of actual fun, I should probably find a good AA meeting. BUT, thanks to “B to the...” for the hangover remedy. I think I’ll try that before actually attending meetings.

Boo to funks, couches that you never leave, and lack of motivation to change—avoid at all cost.