Navigate Change Gently…


I’m turning into my mother…heaven forbid.

It used to drive me crazy when my mother was dressed and ready to go hours before scheduled appointments and social outings.


Now that I live much farther out in Los Angeles it is a necessity to leave loads of extra time to get everywhere.

It is so annoying, but it’s time to be an adult just like my mother.

It is a fact of life that when driving in LA, unless it is 2am, you will inevitably come to a screeching halt.

In New York, I have control. I walk everywhere or hop the 1 train.

In LA, I am at the mercy of my car. Sometimes I think I am going to go postal between the terrible drivers, crawlers who cannot navigate a curve, illegal texters and one-handed cell phone drivers.

Los Angeles is a driving nightmare. I know that isn’t a revelation, but there is not a single backroad, short cut or main artery that isn’t touched by traffic jams.

The other day it took me one hour to get from Pacific Palisades to Santa Monica at 7:30 in the morning.

Yesterday, I took a spin class at my new fav place, Flywheel in West Hollywood, and it took 55 minutes to get there. The 10 East freeway was miraculously clear, but surface traffic was so bad. It even took four traffic lights to turn left from La Cienaga onto Santa Monica Blvd.

Lalaland has become hip to side street parking as a source of revenue so every neighborhood is permit only or credit card meters.

I used to mock all the valet parkers because they wouldn’t walk more than 5 steps to the front door of a restaurant, but now, with all the parking restrictions, I mock no more…the lazy truth has become my sad and disappointing reality.

I would use my bike as my sole means of transportation, but I would have to leave the night before and pack a bag  with  a change of clothing.

I need to work on my anxiety driven road trips. My mouth gets quite the workout. I will pencil in navigating change gently on my 2015 bucket list…bullshit. I have never navigated anything gently in my life.

Pedal to the medal.


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