I had a chat with my dear friend, Francesco, the owner of the fabulously delectable restaurant, Sociale, in Brooklyn Heights, NY.

He has inspired me to let things roll off my back and be more positive.

I gave it a chance. Saturday, I opened my heart up to people. It was an effort, but it did pay dividends.

We walked to town and David graciously fetched cappuccinos and bagels while I hung in the little park in the center of Pacific Palisades.

One dozen dripping wet LA Leggers descended on us, surrounding the park bench we were inhabiting and cooed over puppy Finnley and Ms. Madison.

On Friday, the bubble over my head would have read, “Move on, you sweaty, smelly pack of runners. Stop dousing my dogs with your bodily fluids.”

Instead, on Saturday, I took a deep breath, channeled Francesco and sweetly answered all the inane questions about the dogs breed, age, health, names and  the usual litany of inquiries.

I smiled, allowed the runners to take invasive photos and then graciously bid them a lovely rest of run.

When we arrived at the crosswalk intersecting Temescal Canyon and Sunset Blvd. I smiled with gritted teeth, but I waved at the asshole with unattractive mounds of hair growing out of his ears who almost hit us as we legally crossed at the crosswalk by the huge sign that stated, NO TURN ON RED.

On my walk with Finn from Ocean to Montana, I praised the child decked out in pink whose mother blocked the entire sidewalk and was unrelenting even after her husband say, “Honey, let the woman and her puppy by.” And the dishwater blonde, but I am sure embraceable mother said, “I see her, but I’m busy.” Enjoy the Pink Princess when she is a teenager…pay back is a bitch, but have a truly lovely day.

To the self-centered barista who made me wait 10 minutes for a cup of water for my dehydrated puppy, “God be with you and I hope you don’t have to steam soy milk at Peet’s for the rest of your life.” Namaste.

To the inappropriately dressed middle-aged women who passive aggressively wanted our table in the shade at Pain Quotidien, may your breasts sag even further in the shiny white see through tank top you are braless in. May your daughter’s complete humiliation turn into loving and productive contempt.

Peace and love to the Entitlementors who left their Bichon Frise in a Lexus SUV in 100 degree weather parked in the Ralph’s lot with the car running (I assume  with the AC on) and the car unlocked with the dog barking its’ brains out. May Animal Control bless you by confiscating your endangered dog.

May the paparazzi with the zoom lens who stood by the Paparazzi Free sign at the Malibu Country Mart and laid in wait for Kourtney Kardashian to acquire that impressive and intriguing photo of “Kardashian By Bench” revel in the humiliation of being kicked out of the Mart by three gun totting, bulletproof vest wearing guards. Enjoy your sleazy profession.

On Saturday, my mother told me that her scum neighbor who called her “A fucking old bitch” because she honked her horn because her driveway was blocked by people attending a party at the asshole’s house, if I had not started practicing patience, I would have boarded a plane and decimated you for treating my mother that way…you will get yours one day.

And, seriously, here is where the magic kicks in…a truly heartfelt shout out to the genuinely lovely couple I met outside Peet’s on Saturday. She is a physician and he works for Bristol-Myers Squibb. I enjoyed our chat.

To the adorable Cornhusker from Nebraska that I sat next to on Sunday at Cafe Vida…probably the nicest person I have met who lives in LA, I wish you much happiness and a great life partner.

A thank you to Dave, the wonderful dog loving manager of Cafe Habana in Malibu who always takes care of us and feeds Ms. Madison organic white meat chicken breast all the time. Thanks for fitting us in on Saturday night.

To my mother who called me 20 times on Saturday during the NY Giants pre-season football game against the rival NY Jets. Relax and don’t be an Eli Manning hater until the season starts. I know you think he is the worst quarterback in the NFL, but save the angst and crying for when the games count. I do admire your passion and unadulterated distain for Manning. We will share the misery of what looks to be a horrible, painful season together.

To Francesco, thank you for being my spiritual guide and my food enabler.

To my daughter who is a great influence and has her shit together almost all of the time, peace and I love spending time together and co-parenting Finnley.

And, finally, to my kind and always positive husband who inspires me to be a better, happy person, never change or I will kill you.

My arduous journey to redemption has just begun…being loving and positive is exhausting, but I am committed to the high road (maybe).

May God be with me.