Oh no on the Radio

I promise I'm not a creeper.

You see, I didn't even listen to the normal radio until a few months ago. I'd been driving a car with XM radio, until my sister totaled it, smashing the XM radio to pieces with the rest of the left side of the car. After that, I had to downgrade-- majorly downgrade-- to a car I could pay for myself, and obviously say goodbye to commercial-free, talk-free XM radio.

The return to normal radio was tricky at first. I didn't know what stations still existed, which new ones were good, etc. I was lost. There were two stations I remembered liking in high school, so I tried them out. Turns out, they were still the same.

After awhile, I started developing a routine-- one station for the morning show on my way to work, another in the afternoon on the way home. I figured out which stations I liked best at which times, but occasionally I'd switch back and forth during commercials or when that Michael Franti song, "Say Hey," came on. I have a violent reaction to that song. One day, on my second go-to station, I heard the deejay's voice and there was no going back.

It was right after the earthquake in Haiti, while the whole Conan/Leno debacle was going on. The deejay was taking calls from people who were at a rally outside of NBC, and he kept asking them if they'd ever protested or rallied for anything else. They kept saying no, and finally he said "You know, I don't mean to talk shit, but all of these people who are calling haven't ever been to a rally for a legitimate cause, and I just find that completely ridiculous."

From that moment on, I couldn't get enough. I started listening to his show every day after work, even though I liked the music on another station better. He was funny, he was interesting, he was honest, and his voice was cute. I decided I was going to Google him to see if he was attractive enough to truly be the man of my dreams.

He was.

Let me clarify. I'm not usually one of those crazy girls. Okay well maybe a little crazy, for altogether different reasons, but I'm not one to get gaga over celebrities. I mean I have celebrity crushes, but no more than the average person, and I don't make elaborate plans about how exactly I can best stalk someone in order to get a glimpse of them, meet them, make them fall in love with me, get married and have lots of beautiful babies.

Besides, he isn't even a celebrity. Sure, he may have 2,499 Facebook friends (not that I've checked), but how famous can a radio deejay be, unless they're Howard Stern or Rush Limbaugh? So is the fact that I have a major crush on this man, who I've never met, made more or less creepy by the fact that he's not a real celebrity?

I admit, it makes me feel a little dirty on the inside to have such a crush on someone I don't know. I've known those girls, and I don't want to be them. Like I'm kind of creeping myself out. I'm not about to go cook his pet bunny or anything (besides, he always talks about how he's single, so the whole homewrecking part of it isn't an issue), and it's not like I'm going to wait outside the station or find out where he lives, or even do anything besides listen to the radio show. But it isn't romantic like Sleepless in Seattle. They actually talked to each other. They didn't just sit there creepily without ever communicating.

Not to mention, that's a movie, and this is real life. So now I just have to figure out which makes me creepier: having a secret crush on someone who doesn't know I exist, or doing something about it.

Love,
S

A Break from Reality

I’m nearing the end of my first “vacation” from work—a full three days away from the law firm where I spend my days. Feels like a brave move when you work in an office where each and every move you make matters for some reason or another.

I’ve been in Los Angeles the past couple of days, staying at the home of a close college friend. Today I spent the afternoon at my cousins’ house in Santa Monica. It’s always a funny yet comfortable feeling when you show up at someone’s house, a place where you haven’t been in years, and still feel completely at ease and comfortable.

I spent a good chunk of my afternoon sitting on a second grader’s bunk bed brushing American Girl doll hair. My playdate, a seven year old sweetheart, popped open her book on doll hair, tossed me a pouch of scrunchies and coached me step by step how to complete the dolls’ hairstyles.

“Now divide the hair into two sections and separate them with hair ties,” she instructed.

“Done, and NOW look how silly she looks!” I answered with a giggle.

My little friend laughed uncontrollably. A doll with ridiculous hair apparently just can be hysterical.

“Did you know that I’ve been hit by a car twice in the past two months?” he older brother, a ten year old, chimed in.

Sure he was joking, I laughed it off, only to believe it moments later when he showed me his scar that resulted from five stitches to the hand. But of course his sister kept chatting away about how great it was that the doll had a green elastic next to a pink bow in her hair.

And I realized, just as we started writing letters to the dolls on a white board, you know, pretending we were their teachers, that a trip to childhood can hit the spot. Sometimes we don’t need an extravagant vacation overseas or an intense spa treatment weekend to relax. Maybe hearing the giggle of a child—one that you precipitated—can be the best break from routine.

Sit on the floor beside a child. Serve baby dolls tea. Listen to ten year olds and absorb what they have to say. You’d be surprised at how worthwhile paying attention to kids can be—not even for them, but for you.

XOXO,
R.