E - I - E - I - O: Everybody should have a catchphrase!

Old MacDonald had a farm; E-I-E-I-O

We wanted pizza, so we wandered down to Joe's Pizza on Broadway for a couple slices. Not that we were drunk by a long shot, but after a couple beers, crusty, cheesy pizza seemed just the thing to end the night. 

The little pizza shop isn't anything fancy. It's a little grimy with only two high-top tables and a small counter with stools facing a wall. It's New York style, so thin crusts covered in simple toppings with garlic powder, oregano and crushed red pepper to shake on top. Simple and pure and delightful, especially after a beer or five.

As J pulled out her wallet to pay for her slice, a grizzly man poked his head through the door and hollered. (I say hollered because that's really what he did).

"How much for a slice of pizza?!" He mumbled something seemingly unintelligible after the question.

The man at the counter acted as though this was a regular occurrence. "$3.50!" he hollered back.

The other man walked back outside.

J pulled out another $3.50 and asked for another slice of pepperoni pizza for him. She did it quietly and humbly. And the man behind the counter turned her down. He proceeded to explain they always kept slices around for the homeless. There's no point in throwing extras away when there are so many hungry people around. Then they took a slice out to the man, who was now sitting right outside the open window in the front of the building.

We sat down on the inside next to the open window and began to talk with the man. Without an agenda and without judgment, we learned about him as he chatted with us and ate his pizza.

The unintelligible mumbling following his first question turned out to be his fascinating catchphrase. After every sentence, the man, whose name is Murray, compulsively says, "E-I-E-I-O." As in Old McDonald Had a Farm. "Everybody should have a catchphrase, E-I-E-I-O," he told us as we all ate our slices of pizza. While I don't compulsively end each sentence with a catchphrase, his was so endearing it was hard to fault him for it.

Murray is or at least was a comedian of sorts, and true to his word, his jokes were funny. His eyes were kind, if not tired and a little runny. After his joke, J told him one of her own. He'd apparently heard it before, but I hadn't. I was touched at her confidence and willingness to engage this man in conversation, regardless of obvious lifestyle differences.

We didn't have to buy Murray pizza. But we gave each other the gifts of human kindness and laughter. After all, man can't live on pizza alone.

90 Degrees and More Than Sunny

We are in the middle of a fall heat wave. It's supposed to be 90 degrees in Santa Monica tomorrow.

The thing about this is that I'm ready for boots and scarves and sweaters. The other bummer is that even though it's still summer temperatures, all the fun summer activities, like Concerts on the Pier (pictured) and movies at Hollywood Forever cemetery, are all done for the year.

It's funny how timing plays so much into my attitude. Really when I think about it, it's amazing that we have such sunny days ahead of us. It's beach weather in mid-October, for heaven's sake. But because summer is over, my expectations have shifted and I have to force myself to remember to be grateful it is so nice outside. Beach day, anyone?!

Picnic and wine time for Best Coast's concert beside the pier, Summer 2012

Savoring Santa Monica

Photo by Marissa de la Torre

We are taking a walk alongside the ocean today, my co-workers and I. The summer has just ended, and in April our company offices move inland. After four summers working right next to the beach, with ocean-view happy hours and free beach parking, easy access to scenic paths for evening runs and opportunities for lunchtime power walks, we’ll be moving to a building-laden, concrete-covered area of the city.

I’m doing all I can to not be seriously disappointed about this.

In the meantime, I’m trying to take advantage of our last six months here. So today, we’re walking at lunch. It’s the second time this week we’ll be getting some exercise and de-stressing over the lunch hour, and I will savor every minute of it.

I’ll so miss the area that has become my home away from home, but I’m trying to see the positives. 

No more tourists clogging the streets! No more shopping temptations! Shorter drive to work (taking my current 12-minute commute to 7 minutes. I know, you feel sorry for me.)

But I know I’ll miss the ocean and my close daily proximity to it, as well as all the bars, restaurants and fun events the area has to offer. $12 just for parking that was once company-provided? Blasphemy.

Favorite Santa Monica Memories and Activities

Daytime walks
Farmers Market Wednesdays

Evening runs

Impromptu lunchtime picnics

Summer Concerts on the Pier

Happy hours on rooftops

Kings Head

West 4th and Jane

The Shopping, oh, the shopping

Stopping to Smell the Ocean

Parasailing is not life changing. I waited two years to check it off my life’s to-do list only to finally go for it. And it didn’t change my life. It wasn’t what I expected, although I'm not sure what that was exactly.

Realizing the voucher I’d purchased a year prior was going to soon expire, I set a date and invited my good friend K to join me. I expected a surge of adrenaline, something to throw me out of my comfort zone or to push my limits. Instead, I experienced a comfort, a calmness I didn’t expect. Here I was, strapped to a harness hanging 500 feet above the Pacific Ocean on a beautiful day – maybe even 76 degrees and sunny. I sat next to a dear friend whose presence in my life makes me feel loved and supported. I could see the outlines of the city that has my heart. I wore shorts, psoriasis be damned. And we watched dolphins dance in the water.

I didn’t realize how quiet and peaceful it would be soaring 500 feet above the ocean. I anticipated it to sound windy and scary. Instead, I took a deep breath and I watched and talked with my friend. I recognized how lucky I am. Lucky to be alive. Lucky to have such great friends and to live in an amazing place. I'm lucky to feel happy, even if only just in that moment.

It wasn’t life changing. But it did make me pause. I stopped and existed only in that moment. I shouldn’t need to go parasailing to live in the moment. I can do it any time I like. All I need to do is stop, look around me and take it all in.

Moving Mountains

I don’t set New Year’s resolutions for the same reason I don’t diet. If I don’t reach my goals, I feel guilty, like I’ve failed. It doesn’t matter if I’ve achieved small victories along the way.

So when I set out to live my life not dictated by excuses, I refused to call it any sort of resolution. It was less about the year 2011 and more about setting forth to achieve one thing at a time. I wanted to feel proud of my achievements – I didn’t want to minimize them because I didn’t accomplish all of them within the year.
And now here we are, with the end of the year approaching. I’ve learned a lot about myself.

I’ve learned, for instance, that risk is necessary for return. Sure, it’s a simple fact. But it’s a simple fact I had to feel to know. Saying goodbye to safety can feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach, the air knocked right out of you. But if you cling to what is safe, you never can experience what is good and new and right.

I’ve learned that some things can be fun even if you’re not good at them. I have never misjudged myself as a coordinated athlete. But knowing I was uncoordinated provided me an excuse to avoid fun activities. Skiing, running, playing basketball and going for bike rides were dismissed as activities that weren’t for me, because I figured I wouldn’t be good at them.

Well, sure, skiing down a mountain holding onto my friend’s ski poles while he held them horizontally and skied backward in front of me wasn’t the most exhilarating experience. In fact, there were moments of fear and moments of butt-bruising involved. But you know what? I had fun. We laughed the whole way down, and we gave everyone we passed a good laugh as well.

I’ve learned that things change, and I change right along with them. And that I need to pay closer attention to the changes, so I can learn to enjoy them or, well, brace for them. Exhibit A: Who woulda thunk someone could become susceptible to sea sickness with age? Rocking boats never used to bother me. But boy, do they now. But then again, I never would’ve guessed I’d enjoy riding my bike as much as I do. Sure, riding on the city streets still scares the bejeezus out of me, but I’m doing it anyway.

Behold, some of my 2011 accomplishments:

Went skiing
Started running
Went sailing
Played basketball with the big boys
Returned to yoga (sort of)
Broke old patterns
Wore shorts, psoriasis or not

So I had a good year. I'm learning to love myself. Really love myself. Without judgment, expectations or success. Just to love and accept myself the way I am.
Because some people are meant to ski down mountains.

And some people are meant to move them.

Run Away With Me

One foot in front of the other. It's how we make it through a day. Every day we somehow find the motivation, strength and drive to pick up one foot, move it through the air, and place it in front of the other foot. Sometimes we take baby steps, and sometimes we run in full strides.

After a particularly rough day earlier this week, I decided I wasn't going to beat myself up for my silly shortcomings. On this day, I decided just to give myself a pat on the back for surviving as an adult. After all, I wake up every morning, climb out of bed (albeit usually late), and I go to work or to my volunteer program. I pay my bills, I take good care of my belongings, even better care of my dog, and I continuously put one foot in front of the other. And just for this, I need to give myself credit.

Because I can't always succeed at everything else, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. I can't always succeed at being an amazing friend or sibling or daughter. I can't always be perfect at my job. I can't always be pulled together with a nice outfit and a clean apartment. All I can do is give myself credit for making it through the hard times, the mundane times and enjoying the happy ones.

Lately I feel like I've been running at full speed without ever reaching a destination. I'm busy all day long every day without ever really accomplishing anything.

But I have accomplished one big thing these past few months. I've taken my one-foot-in-front-of-the-other approach to the treadmill. While I feel like I've been running full speed in life, I've been pacing at more of a jog on the treadmill. A jog of 4.3 mph at a 3 percent incline. But to me, this is an achievement.

As dumb as it sounds, running is one of those things I've always told myself I couldn't do. I'd given myself so many excuses that I'd come to believe them.

And over Thanksgiving, when I was away from a gym for a whole week, I got restless. I decided I had to learn to run.

I made the decision for many reasons, but mostly it was that I was tired of telling myself I couldn't do it. So when I got back to my gym, I hopped on the treadmill with the intention to walk for two minutes and then run for two minutes, alternating between the two.

And then I hit minute 11 of running straight, and I realized I really could do this. When I felt like I couldn't go on, I just told myself to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I'm running a 5k in February, and then maybe I'll spring for a 10k after that. I'm doing it. I feel good. I feel accomplished. And I feel like so many of the other little failures in life fade away after I've pushed myself through a good run at the end of a shitty day.

Either way, all it takes is putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes it's baby steps, sometimes it's a full-speed run. All that really matters is that I continue to give myself credit just for sticking with it.

Because really, it's just about not quitting.

Why Kim Kardashian's Response Was Wrong

Sometimes, I feel like a sham.

But when my friend emailed me the other day with the news that Kim Kardashian had been diagnosed with psoriasis, I felt a little more like a whole person.

You see, at the age of 11, I too was diagnosed with psoriasis, the chronic auto-immune skin disorder that affects more than 7 million people in the U.S. By the time I was 12, the disease covered every part of my body except my face. Around the same time, my friends had all started to discover makeup and short dresses, tank tops and boyfriends.

Yet I was busy discovering things like salicylic acid and coal tar and UV light treatment and therapy. It was a trying experience, to say the least.

But years later, I’ve learned to maintain my psoriasis to the point where it’s only on my legs. On the other hand, the clear, often-luminescent skin on my face is the source of many a random compliment; by most societal standards, I am an attractive, stylish 26-year-old. I’ve simply learned to build my wardrobe around pants, leggings and opaque tights.

Still, underneath all that, I feel like a sham, as though I am misleading people into believing I’m more attractive than I actually am. I’m constantly concerned that, if people were to get a glimpse of the red, scabby marks on my legs, they would think of me with pity instead of admiration. And so I just hardly let anyone in on the secret. This has often meant turning down invitations to the beach, pool parties and even sporting events.

This summer, however, I decided to make a change. I bought shorts. And I’ve been wearing them.

And so when I heard Kim was diagnosed with psoriasis on her legs, it made me feel a sense of solidarity. It made me hope that, hey, if someone as beautiful as Kim Kardashian can go public with her psoriasis, maybe I can, too. Maybe if people know she has it, it won’t garner so much of a disgusted, uneducated, fearful response when people discover I do.

But then, I watched the episode, and my heart sank. The previews sensationalized the “mystery rash” as though it were a flesh-eating disease. And then, upon being told that she’d joined the group of 7 million-plus psoriasis sufferers, Kim seemed to think she was above such a thing. “Psoriasis? I cannot have psoriasis!” she said. “People don’t understand the pressure on me to look perfect.”

Actually, Kim,I understand perfectly. I know what it feels like when people look at your beautiful face and don’t expect to glance down and see sores. I know what it feels like to have people assume, as your sister did, that you caught ringworm and are contagious. I know what it feels like to have an immune system that should be protecting you but instead betrays your outermost self. I know what it feels like to itch and bleed and worry about developing psoriatic arthritis before 30. I know what it feels like to try every diet and treatment known to mankind, from injections to steroids to ointments to homeopathy.

I know what it feels like, and so do about 7 million other people.

We aren’t alone, and neither are we special.

Just the other day, I confided in my ex that I was scared that I’d eventually have to reveal my disease to a future partner. And his response was wise.
“I think about half of people have something that makes them feel that same way,” he said.

And I suppose he’s right.