Today just needs to end. Tomorrow I can begin again with the arduous task of trying to be a better person than I otherwise am. But today I am rotten.

And it’s too bad, because the day started with such potential. Instead of going into downtown LA to the office today, I was signed up for a copyright conference in Santa Monica. I woke up at 6 with the lyon and hung out until super nanny arrived at 7. But, instead of jumping in the shower and getting a move on it, I realized that no one I worked with was going to the conference and no one would know if I was on time or not. So I went back to sleep until NINE. Whoo hoo!

Now, as great as this sounds (and it was), I think it was my guilt about it that threw the whole day off track. I remember thinking that I should be concerned about being there, that the scores of play-by-the-rules people I work with would undoubtedly make grand efforts to be there on time, just because.  But, that’s never been me. So, once I knew I was missing the beginning, I lingered at home, put the lyon down for his nap at 9:30, chatted with super nanny, ate cereal in front of the TV. Even worse, in front of The View. Ew.

When I finally left at around 10:45, it was GORGEOUS outside. And as I drove to the coast, well rested for the first time in a long time, I felt euphoric. The sun felt like ambrosia poured on my skin, this delicious, sensual, golden honey elixir, that brought me back to every warm-weathered vacation I’ve ever taken, every summer drive to the beach, carefree, leg thrown out of the window, sing along tunes on the radio, wind in the hair. Quintessential happy mood weather. Vacation weather. I began to feel that this moment was a highlight in my life, this simple moment, this drive with this invisible cord stretched from my husband to my baby to me, this crisp air drenched in sunlight, this place where we are in our lives, in between, waiting for a new job for JP, maybe about to leave LA after more than ten years, everything new, on the horizon.  And to think I had the day to myself, well sort of, other than this pesky conference.

By the time I found the hotel and parked, it was lunchtime. The lunch was horrible, at least for anyone mildly concerned about being fat. I’m not really good about dieting, but I simply cannot afford to eat pasta with thick heavy cream sauce—especially when it’s not even good. (Though I did eat most of the chocolate fudge cake for dessert, even thought it wasn’t that good either, go figure.) The speaker was much better than the food. It was Judge Leval from the 2nd Circuit (New York). Apparently, he’s very well known, which is why the conference was sold out.

After that, although the speech was interesting and although I have lately been trying to be the type of person who sticks to plans and does what she’s supposed to do—I couldn’t get myself to stay for even one of the 2 afternoon sessions. I had had enough. I intended to go the beach (which I haven’t seen since probably late last summer), spend some quality Me-Time by the waves, spiritually cleanse, maybe write in the legal pad I had with me, memorialize my earlier-reached epiphanies, talk to God, figure things out and go home a better person.

That is what I intended to do. But first I wanted to make a quick stop at the Third Street Promenade (a pedestrian street filled with shops right by the beach), just for a quick peak, into one store, just to see what’s out there, and to see the people mainly, people walking around on this beautiful day.

CUT TO: my big butt shoved in a tiny Forever Fucking 21 dressing room, rotating my 6 items for, oh, maybe 2 hours. CUT TO: me standing in a long line in my matronly copyright conference clothes with a bunch of teenagers on their cells, and then throwing down $300 dollars on cheaply made $20 top after $20 top, which by the way, basically all look the same (though, I will say this total included $70 on 2 pants for the hubs, so that so does not count.).

I staggered away with my bags, dazed and confused, as if I had just been drugged and raped and was only barely cognizant that something very bad had just happened.

The money is bad enough, but truthfully, I could get over that if I really liked what I bought. But– this is the sick part—I really don’t. I mean, I can’t even wear this shit to work. All I thought about was this trip I’m going to in Mexico in April and how I will need beach wear. We’re going for 4 days. I think I have enough fucking beach ware now. I’m acting like it’s funny, but I really feel sick about it. So bad that, of course, I would reassess and return a lot of what I bought, but they do NOT GIVE REFUNDS. Only store credit.

After that, I only had time to rush to my car and drive all the way back to the east side. The closest I got to the beach was just a quick glance at the sparkling sea from the car. And I was home 15 minutes later than I usually am, so not only did I spend way to much money on cheap clothes that were probably made by kids under horrible conditions in environmentally unfriendly factories in third world countries, and not only did I miss my only foreseeable opportunity to get some much-needed spiritually cleansing time by the beach on a beautiful day—I did so at the cost of spending extra time with my son.

Oh, and the closest I got to God was noticing that on the bottom of the plastic yellow Forever 21 bag, it says “John 3:16.” I had to wonder what John 3:16 could be about—how to dress like a slut in poorly made irresponsible clothes. How to spend money recklessly. I hoped that it would be a passage about tithing or something indicating some type of social responsibility, like feeding the poor of loving thy neighbor as thyself. But no. It’s “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” I’m not saying this is so bad in and of itself, but it does suggest its corollary, "those who don’t believe in Jesus will go to hell," which does imply that the owners of Forever 21 could be right wing, anti-choice, anti-Other theocrats. 

I truly feel sick about this. I am disgusted with myself. I knew the only thing to do to end the day on a positive note would be to go to yoga. Since JP came home to work, I could put lyon to bed at about 7:25, make sure he was asleep by about 7:40 and make the 7:45 yoga class in the neighborhood.

But that didn’t go as planned either. I was late (in part b/c I was making sure lyon was definitely asleep, in part because I was hanging up the Forever Fucking 21 clothes to hide them from JP (except for his pants, which are laid out for him, as if by an angel) and from myself). And although it has not mattered before if you walk in late, today there was this new girl working the front, probably Truly 21 years old, who told me I could not go in to the class, because I was 15 minutes late. 

I know the teacher fairly well, and I know she would not have minded. Besides, I counted only 11 pairs of shoes outside and there are 16 spaces in the class. Still, this girl I’ve never seen in the 4 years I’ve been going to yoga at this space had the nerve to prohibit me from going into the class. I even kind of pushed back with –“ Really? Tanya usually doesn’t mind, it’s just that I have a 1 year old and it’s such an ordeal for me to get out of the house and I never get to go to yoga because I have to wait for my husband to come home from work and how many people are in there? Is it full? Is it Tanya? Is she here? It’s just been 15 minutes. Are you new?” Seriously, I was shameless, and Miss Truly 21 just stood her ground. I felt like crying as I walked to the car.

Serves me right, though, truthfully. I need to just be on time to places and not always think I can get a free pass. I should have just been on time this morning, just because. Then even if I would have left early, I probably wouldn’t have been off on such a tangent.

Oh and another lesson learned. I am never, ever stepping into Forever 21. I am not 21. I do not want to be 21. And I do not like Forever 21. I am 34. I am a mother. And I love where I am in life. There is no place I’d rather be. And I want to always love where I am in life. I want to age gracefully and I adamantly refuse to succumb to this bullshit want-to-be-trendy materialism. It’s not funny. It’s not cool. And it’s not harmless.

Like I said. I start over tomorrow.