Half.

Something I've always enjoyed doing is finding some sense of organization in my life. Not like, trapper keeper, wall unit, filing cabinet organization, but the tidy little details that give me a sense that there's some much bigger plan for everything and that maybe everything that's meant to happen actually does happen, but only when it's supposed to, in accordance with the Bigger Plan.

I'll give you an idea what I mean here. My first day of work: I'm driving along, wondering if I made the right decision, thinking my brain into a puddle of brain mush, when SUDDENLY I stop at a red light, directly behind a car whose license plate reads DLR15378. Okay, I made the numbers up, but the letters are what's important because they're my initials, and had I not been on my way to that exact job at that exact moment, I would have never have seen that and honestly, when was the last time you saw a random car with your initials on it? Exactly. Coincidence? Obviously, but still.

Exhibit B: So today is my half birthday, and what do I get? An earthquake. A real one. A bonafide, not-pre lunch low blood sugar vertigo, not arbitrary agency-wide step dancing competition, not Hobsey the Prince of Movers juggling hide-a-bed couches on the upper floors, genuine seismic disruption. This would be a revelation on its own, but is actually even more significant because what did I learn exactly six months ago? That things people brush off as not happening in real life actually do happen, they just happen in Los Angeles. Apparently Los Angeles and I are on a bi-yearly reminder that, rare though they may be, what is written in fiction always stems from what happens in reality. Now I have high hopes for something really cool to happen on my birthday, you know, to make up for the stupid reality checks. Maybe Jurassic Park will become real. That'd rock.

Going back to my earthquake, I was surprised at what a non-issue it was, especially since I was in the bowels of a building (which, incidentally, is built on some sort of wheel apparatus that makes for a very flowy, sea-swellesque experience that makes the victims feel as though they're on a lovely, involuntary boat ride) and was, in the event of a serious emergency, set up to be in a third class, locked behind the gates and left to drown type situation, to go with a Titanic metaphor. Now we're all supposed to start prepping for The Big One, which could occur at any moment. Fantastic. This must be why California is so focused on hybrid cars, recycling,cups made out of corn and other feeble attempts at environmental salvage. People here feel like they need to do something because they know that if those glaciers melt and cause the plates to shift, guess which state is the first to go? Right. Adios, California. Sunk. 

Hopefully by the time that happens I will either have already died an old, old lady warm in her bed or if it has to happen before then, hopefully I'll be shacked up somewhere on Beacon Hill, reaping the benefits of my brilliant Hollywood career. 

I wonder what Nostradamus would have to say about this. I wonder if he does individualized consultations, or if he reserves his clairvoyency for disaster for the human race as a whole. I also wonder if the psychic's name is Nosferatu and not Nostradamus. One is a vampire, one is obsessed with the world's demise and I always get their names mixed up.

Hooker.

The expensive hooker who lives in my building and I are officially on opposite schedules. Every night when I come home from work (not actually EVERY night, it's actually a few sporadic nights here and there, but for the sake of the story, you know...anyway) her limo - I'm not sure if it's the client or her pimp or what - is waiting outside. We cross paths, acknowledge each other, etc. etc. and then I go home, watch Wipeout, and go to sleep only to...

...Wake up the next morning and leave by 7:20, by which time she is trudging through the door in the process of grabbing the Red Bull by the horns and looking, let's face it, way better than I would if the tables were turned. I can't even think about what the difference in our paychecks is.

My hooker neighbor, expensive or not, paired with my morning commute down Coldwater Canyon and Beverly Drive have made me realize that I am living in the wrong part of Los Angeles. And not even in the figurative "wrong side of the tracks" way, because my neighborhood's fine, if not the teeniest bit geographically inconvenient, but in the way that the people who live in Beverly Hills live in houses plopped in the middle of yards that look like they were landscaped by whatever artists Disney World gets to do their landscaping. I nearly get into a daily car accident just scoping out real estate.

Based on the limo and what I've learned about powerful dudes in Hollywood, I think the odds are pretty good that my expensive hooker neighbor and I have very similar work commutes.

Sniff.

It's somewhat of a mind freak how all Linens N Things smell exactly the same, regardless of where they're located. It's a Linens N Things specific smell of, I'm assuming, linens and things and candles that hits you as soon as the automated doors swoop open.  It's like some kind of welcome wagon to trick most people into believing that they need a new duvet/Ultimate Chopper/toothbrush holder that coordinates with their shower curtain.

I say most people because I know that current and former employees of Linens N Things associate the smell with their job. I know I do. That smell hits me and for a split second I'm reminding myself to clock in ASAP so as to maximize the number of pennies I earn from the company while simultaneously wondering if anyone will return a giant container of Jelly Bellies so that I can damage them out and eat them all day long. Then I remember that I don't work there anymore, but I'm still wise to all the employee tricks. I know they don't care whether I find shelves or not. I know they just want to leave and get on with their lives. I know they're stealing Altoids and sniffing candles while pretending to be straightening them. I get it. 

Shopping is a solo act. You are in it alone, save for the person who got stuck at the register, the only place in the store where avoiding customers isn't an option. They're bored out of their mind and they know full well that their job can be and often is done by a robot so it's always nice to be as interesting as possible, just to break up the monotony for them. Chances are, if you're weird enough, they'll write you down in a notebook or on the back of a damage slip just in case they ever find themselves in need of a character for, I don't know, a story somewhere along the line because they know they could never make half of what they experience at the register up on their own. I'm just guessing. This is purely hypothetical. 

My career history is shaping up to be almost as interesting as my educational history. I've traded babies for linens for waxed cotton jackets back to babies and soon I will trade understandably needy babies for ridiculously needy adults.

My dues are going to be very expensive, it's time to start making some payments.

Retainer.

Today I was filling out paperwork and I wrote down the date, and it struck a cord. July 10th. This date is significant, I thought to myself. July 10th...The tenth of July...7/10/08...What is it?

And then it hit me. Today is a special day. Today...is...

THE EIGHTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE REMOVAL OF MY BRACES.

No, really. That's what it is. I must have been even more jazzed to get those suckers removed than I thought. 

Anyway, this might not be the best segue in the world, but This Just In: Los Angeles is populated by lunatics. Some of you might be saying, "But Danielle, you're kind of nuts too..." NO. Not L.A. nuts. L.A. nuts is a whole 'nother ballgame. As if everyone here weren't whacked out enough before, now, with the advent of a law forbidding one to talk on their cell phone while driving, they're all running around with bluetooth headsets strapped to their ears looking like cyborgs and talking to no one.

I had a little scare today, because I've always maintained that as long as I can recognize that these people are insane, then that means I've still retained (hah, retained. Like retainer. Like the retainers that I still wear, to this day, 8 years after I got my braces removed. Anyway) a shred of Eastern sanity. The scare happened while I was running errands. I was in and out of my car, turning the douchetooth earpiece on and off so that if I was in the store, I could answer my phone like a normal person. I contemplated for a second, one second, wearing the douchetooth outside of my car, just for the sake of convenience.

I was horrified with myself. Absolutely horrified. Bluetooths are toolish enough inside of a car where they belong, to think that I would even consider joining the ranks of those who march around town with them was terrifying. It was a moment of weakness and it passed. Thank God, because that would probably be the beginning of a huge downward spiral. I had a flash forward of myself, really tan and wearing sunglasses, a Laker's jersey and a Kabbalah string as I waited in line at Starbucks, talking on my bluetooth while texting on my Blackberry and carrying around some little mouse dog. Christ.

Anyhow. The point is, don't worry. 

Here's to 8 years with a fully aligned bite!

Hammered.

I wonder what came first. Alcoholism or unemployment. As far as I can tell, it's a tough call. Alcoholism could result in unemployment, sure, but I am also here to tell you all that unemployment can definitely lead to alcoholism.

I came to this realization during yesterday's LA Independence Day (not to be confused with East Coast Independence Day, which, though they technically share the same day and meaning, is a completely different experience) which basically involved everything that I do on a daily basis, except with more snacks and Sam Adams. It added a delightful new facet to my day to day life out here and for the life of me, I don't know why I'm not hammered at 1:00 PM every day. 

The fact that I love drinking in the daylight is nothing new. I am a morning person. I only love going to bed at a reasonable hour, but when I wake up, I go from unconscious to full throttle in maybe 2 seconds. Daytime is prime time, and  shortly following the Great 50 Garden St. Fire that resulted in a half decimated apartment and the loss of our ability to turn on the television due to an unfortunate series of events involving wall builders and warlocks, Liz and I discovered Happy Hour on Beacon Hill. Depending on your views of such things, it has been all uphill or downhill from there. 

I digress. I've been coming to a lot of fascinating conclusions as of late, and watching a lot of Heroes. In fact, I may or may not have come into a few superpowers. I don't want to jump the gun or anything, in case it's just a phase, but I have a couple ideas as to what my powers might be. I might write about them once I decide if they're permanent or not, or I'll just keep them to myself and continue to blow people's collective minds. We'll see.

Fumigate.

Natale: OH my God! What is that?!

Danielle: It's termites.

Natale: What?

Danielle: It's how they fix a termite infestation.

Natale: Oh, man. I thought it was a Quidditch match.

Independence.

This morning I woke up to an article that Liz e-mailed to me from Boston.com about some slightly off-kilter 50-something MIT-educated chemist lady terrorizing the Suffolk students in her Beacon Hill apartment building by pouring chemicals everywhere before barricading herself in the apartment, resulting an an evacuation of the building a la The Great 50 Garden Street Fire of 2007 and I thought to myself, for the billionth time: Man, I wish I were in Boston right now.

Further adding to my Boston ache is the fact that, when one is in Massachusetts for Independence Day, it's awesome, whereas Los Angeles sort of, well, LA-ifies the holiday. Dumbs it down a little while increasing the d-bag level tenfold. In case anyone thinks that this is just me being closed minded and pessimistic, behold the proof: 

Fourth of July activities as listed on Boston.com: New England is filled with historic locales, from revolutionary battlegrounds to a famous baseball park.What better time to explore these national treasures than on a national holiday? So drop that hot dog and do some something a bit more patriotic this Fourth of July. You may be surprised at what you find — and learn.

• Boston's Freedom Trail is the country's first historic walking tour. Discover 16 important sites and two-and-a-half centuries of America's past. Stops along the trail include Paul Revere's home - the oldest building in downtown Boston - and the Old North Church - the city's oldest church.

• Explore the oldest commissioned ship afloat in the world, the USS Constitution. Nicknamed, "Old Ironsides," the ship has been around since 1797 and played an important role in the War of 1812.

• Take a guided tour of Fenway Park and experience New England's rich baseball history. From the press box to the Green Monster, visitors get a peek behind the scenes of "America's Most Beloved Ballpark."

• The Baseball as America exhibit at the Museum of Science in Boston depicts how the country's favorite pastime has affected history. Featuring a special section highlighting baseball in Boston, the exhibit runs through Sept. 1.

And then of course there's the obvious choice of a brilliant, free Boston Pops concert on the Esplanade. Seriously, thinking about it hurts my heart. And because I apparently only love masochism...

Fourth of July Activities as listed in LA.com's article, When Fireworks Aren't Enough: 

Halfway through the four-day work week and we're sure that, like us, you are still weighing out your Independence Day options.  Which sounds more appealing: flocking to LA beaches, stadiums, or coliseums with the thousands of fireworks-seeking families or indulging in the BBQ & illegal fireworks display at the house party of your choice?  There is, of course, a third option (the one we're leaning towards) — drink in the name of democracy and pledge your allegiance to one of the parties below.  

• The Super Naughty Pool Party
  When: Friday, July 4th 1-8pm
  Where: The Standard Downtown Rooftop
  Why: Local DJ faves Mike B (LAX Banana Spilt Sundaes), Blu Jemz, and Jonny Boy will be joined by NYC's Unemployed Lloyd.  Oh, and that wet t-shirt contest might be all kinds of awesome, too. 

• Soft-Opening of Kress Hollywood
  When: Friday, July 4th 9:30pm-2am
  Where: 6608 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood (across from Geisha House)
  Why:  This sure-to-be A-list haven will open its doors to the public (read: the uber-gorgeous and connected) for a soft-opening this Friday.  The four-story nightlife masterpiece will have its grand opening next weekend, when LA partyers are back from vacay and can create the opening night clusterf**k that a venue like Kress deserves.

•  Gridlock at The Queen Mary
  When: Friday, July 4th 10am-12am
  Where: The Queen Mary, Long Beach
  Why: Enjoy carnival rides and A-list performances from Ray J, Colby O'Donis, Girlicious and a surprise platinum artist after the 9pm spectacular fireworks show. 
  Tickets: General Admission Adults: $44.95, Children: $21.95 (ages 5-12), children under 5 years old are free.  VIP Admission: $94.95 (includes line-cutting privileges for carnival rides and a dinner buffet)
  
  
• Independence Day at The Backyard
  When: Friday, July 4th 10pm-4am
  Where: The Backyard at the W Hotel, Westwood
  Why: Not your typical 4th of July backyard BBQ, in a good way.  A hip pool party on the westside with sounds provided by DJ Marshal Barnes and DJ Politik.
  

So there you have it. I don't think I need to say much more, except for that I know one thing. Once I've done whatever it is that I came here to do, I will sprint back to Boston so fast and never give it a second thought.