Celebrate the 4th with a 5th (of cake)…

Happy Birthday, America!

This is the day that condiments live for.  That bottle of Cajun-flavored BBQ Sauce, those impossible-to-open plastic packets of restaurant ketchup scattered around the car and cupboards, the lonely jar of crusty-rimmed mustard, a squeeze container of vintage relish…They will once again unite on the table, a condiment container skyline awaiting its fate atop grilled meat or-this is L.A.- tofu.

And then, there’s the red, white, and blue icing that graces sheet cakes and cupcakes and various other treats, evoking patriotism with every bite.  I’m sure that crumbs from a flag-motif cookie had to be brushed off the Declaration of Indepence before it was copied and sent around the office for signatures.  

Topic change ahead…

I owe all of my readers an explanation as to why I haven’t posted an entry in over a month.  So, Mom and Dad, here’s the deal.  I’ve been busy with lots of little things that I hope will add up to a big thing that will require a red carpet appearance in a strapless gown, an armpit Botox injection (aka: celebrity deodorant), and an oft-quoted awards speech about the trials and tribulations of becoming a Hollywood writer. ( “Although I never had to sleep in my car, I once took a nap in the Costco parking lot after carrying out a 100 lb. bag of Chocolate Turtle Chex Mix.  Does that count?”)

Additionally, I’ve been gallavanting around cyberspace, spending time with Facebook.  Although my blog will always be my virtual steady, I plan on keeping Facebook on the side.  When I’m out and about, making new acquaintances,  I inevitably ask, “Are you on Facebook?”  Type, click, send, I add to my people-collection.

Speaking of technological outreach,  I was at Urth Cafe sipping a Boba (which I order because it’s the most fun word to say), when my phone emitted a succession of gentle chimes heralding incoming text messages. The sender is a serial texter,  and I realized,then, that there are two types of people in the world: Texters and Non-Texters.  Texters are sustained by alpha-numeric communication,  while Non-Texters prefer interaction that does not involve a smiley face, wink, or other form of emotion conveyed by punctuation art.  For the love of Alexander Graham Bell, Texters, pick up the phone and dial, so we can all get on with our lives and into the potato salad!  By the time I tap out a message, wait for the reply, and clear up misunderstandings due to lack of voice inflection,  I’m dialogue-ically exhausted.  I don’t mind the occasional text,  but an entire afternoon of one-word messages in 20-minute intervals is the conversational equivalent of driving behind a bus.

Another excuse for not blogging is that I recently moved.  By the time I thought about packing, procrastinated packing, decided which of my “when I lose 10 lbs.” wardrobe items to toss, and actually packed, a lot of time had passed.  Now that I have to unpack and find room for the stuff I may or may not need, my wish for myself is this: I want to be successful enough to afford all the material things I’ve ever dreamed of, and evolved enough to not want them.

As for celebrity interviews,  I covered the Daytime Emmys and BET Awards.  Nothing like a gathering of soap stars and recording artists to make me feel like I need a make-over and cool-school.  A few days later, I got really excited when I saw a celebrity at Target.  (It’s always interesting to see someone in an environment other than the workplace, isn’t it?)  I was shopping for a storage container (total pre-move procrastination tactic) and I spotted Jack McBrayer from 30 Rock!  He saw me struggling to reach the top shelf and gallantly took the container down for me.  I thought about saying something to him along the lines of “I really like your show,” or “I hope the entire cast gets Emmys,” or “Here’s my shruken-down, pocket-sized 30 Rock spec script.”   But I didn’t.  I thanked him and ran to the nearby frame aisle to report the sighting to my sister.    

I’d better go.  It’s time to squeeze in a work out so I can squeeze into my summer BBQ outfit: shorts and a t-shirt made out of Wet Naps…

In case I don’t write before the next holiday,  Happy Everything All the Time!