Life for me lately doesn’t suck. I’m on a winning streak. I should be in Vegas, sitting at the black jack table. My boyfriend is there right now for one night with his Australian family who just flew in, but I couldn’t make it. Why? Because I’m busy with my uber-awesome life. 

I wrote an essay that got published in elephant journal today. And I just got two jobs I totally had my heart set on. And my boyfriend is the best human being in the history of EVER. I feel like hot shit. Don’t hate me.

I’ve had it good.

September, 1983. The best day of my young life. I was 16 and The Police were in concert at Hollywood Park for the Synchronicity tour. There’s nothing like being with your three best friends, scoring canned strawberry margaritas and sneaking into a box seat next to Tom Cruise. Risky Business had just come out. Picture it: You know those teenage girls you see in old Beatles footage, hysterically screaming their heads off? Yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tom Cruise actually remembered us.

Farrah Fawcett, I worship you. I met my blonde, feathered-hair idol when I was 13 years old on the set of Charlie’s Angels. What a GODDESS. I was obsessed with her blow-dried coiffure, her giggle, and especially her smile. One word: Epic. 20 years later, I was an assistant to a fashion stylist, and we had a gig dressing Farrah for a film opening. While I sat in her bedroom eating chocolate cake with the red bathing-suited woman on the famous poster, I listened to her talk with her raspy Texas voice and I wondered when I would have a chance to go hide in the hallway and call my brother. I was in shock. And I got paid for that. Best day of my professional life.

Last February, I was going through some seriously heavy crap. I got some awful news on a Monday and immediately came down with a vicious cold. Then I walked outside the house on Friday and my car was gone, towed away for the weekend. So lame. It was pretty much the worst week ever. And this whole time, my boyfriend had a secret about something at work, and he wouldn’t even tell me, the woman he loves. So that Friday night, I showed up, and who was playing? THE FOO FIGHTERS. THE FOO FIGHTERS! And, like someone on an acid trip, I went to an alternate existence and forgot everything about my crappy reality for three whole hours. By the way, Dave Grohl, you are a total fucking babe. Please come back. Best night of the year. 

I had a spam comment a few days ago that I deleted, because spam is unbelievably annoying. I don’t know how it’s generated or what the hell the point is. But the words were brilliant, even if no one really wrote them. It said my blog was filled with “rad stuff and love”. Awesome. This is everything, and all things beautiful and alive, and I don’t care about anything else because I’m happy and I’m in love. And now I can’t wait until my boyfriend gets back from Vegas, where I should be, but I’m going to my new job tomorrow. ♥ ♥ ♥