That Age Old Question

When I lived in NY I used to lie about my age on a regular basis but it’s not in the way you’d think. Most of the time I tried my best to keep it a secret but in those situations when I was called to answer the question Ena, how old are you? instead of telling the truth I would say 33 with a smile and walk away before any more questions could be asked.

I was reminded why I felt almost forced to do this while reading an article in Glamour about a 28-year-old female entrepreneur. She too felt the need to avoid the dreaded age question. Fact is, as an intelligent, creative and confident woman I’m taken less seriously as soon as people find out my age. Especially when taking a look at my résumé in which case most people think I have way too much experience for someone of 25. Now THAT I don’t exaggerate. I’ve been working since I was 16 and have done everything from assisting to writing to counseling to managing so it’s only natural that I have a lot to offer, no?

The habit of lying about my age really came about when I worked at an English school as a student counselor. I had created the administration and immigration systems while there and pretty much ran the admin department. It was my responsibility to make sure all the students were happy but that they were also going to the classes. Unfortunately a lot of the students were either my age or older so I spent a lot of time in the beginning having to prove that despite my age I was in charge and deserved to be so. In the end, it was just easier to lie and thirty-three rolled so easily off the tongue.

Surprisingly, I haven’t felt the need at all to lie here in LA. Then again I’ve been freelancing and interning while here. As soon as I get off my rump and find a 9 to 5 worth the sacrifice of my flexible schedule I’ll probably turn to lying again. Le sigh.

Emails & Nanos & Covers, Oh My!

I’m trying to take a stab at my inbox today. I’ve been so inundated with work related emails lately that I haven’t had much time to reply back to my awesome friends and family who like me enough to send me personal notes. No exaggeration, I have 70+ emails I need to reply back to… some dating back to December. If you’re reading this, I promise I’m not ignoring you. I just think you each deserve a well-thought out response since you took the time in the first place to send me nice & looong emails. Sorry, loves. I’m determined to empty my inbox this week. [Hint: gChat me or send me quick little lines. Those I can reply to in a smart minute. ♥]

Also reorganizing my iTunes—another thing I’ve planned on doing for months. BUT I need to get it done since my new Nano arrived today. Yay! No more dropping my phone at the gym or on hikes. If you have any new music for me, send it my way. My cousin actually sent me a massive list of new music so I’m working on going through that though I always appreciate recommendations.

Another new goal: I was listening to Adele’s new album in the shower the other day and with every song that played all I kept thinking to myself was, I can totally play this on the guitar or I NEED to learn this on the piano. Her album is so amazing. I’ve always had a thing for guys who are musically inclined—seriously play me a song on the guitar or sing me a ditty and I SWOON inside [don’t let my casual demeanor fool you]—so if I swung that way I would totally lez out for this London songstress. My point: I’m thinking of learning every song off of her 21 album. Who wants to make music with me?! I’ll pay you in sugar plum kisses, marshmallowy hugs and melodies that make you quiver, lol.

More new goals. Who knew I’d make 2011 a year for them? So far I’ve done pretty darn well with every single one.

So much for being a good girl last night. After 30 minutes with Saramago, I was persuaded to hit up Mad Bull’s again with Ms. Abs and the birthday girl Sara. Apart from an idiotic [& slightly racist] drunkard and some mighty thirsty boys, good times all around were had. But no drinking tonight! Gym, gym, gym, gym, gym. [If I say it enough times, it’ll come true.]

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The Connected Addiction

What’s the one gadget I can’t live without but I wish I could? It’s the obvious but true choice: my cellphone.

Mobile, cell, smartphone, whatever you want to call it, it’s easily the one object that I’ve come to rely on so heavily, if I’m without it for longer than an hour—sometimes even 30 minutes—I begin to feel what I can only describe as a mild form of panic. I NEED to find out if someone’s called me, texted me, emailed me, gchatted me, facebooked me and even tweeted me. It’s a bit ridiculous just how “connected” I need to feel when in actuality it distances me from the real world.

How many times do you go to a restaurant and see two people sitting right across from each other and instead of conversing, their heads are down, eyes glued to the screens of their iPhones barely registering the fact that there’s another human being directly in front of them? If you haven’t noticed before, take a second to look around you and I’m sure the number you see will surprise you.

Even the simplest things like being on time to meet a friend is taken for granted with the advent of the cellphone. Think about it: you’re running 5 minutes late and instead of feeling bad you simply pick up your phone, call your friend and let them know you’re a bit tardy. I remember when I was still in high school I always made sure I was at least 5 minutes early because there was no way to contact someone if I was late… unless they had a beeper but I wasn’t chic enough for that.

In any case, I used to practice turning off my phone for at least an hour during the day and I’m thinking I should start doing that again but it’s just to hard to do that in my line of work. I’m constantly emailed and expected to respond immediately. Everyone is. I know that even I—the endorser of “patience is a virtue”—feel my blood start to boil when someone I work with doesn’t respond quickly with an answer I need.

Time is money. Money is time.

If I only I could buy more hours in a day.

Dating on the 405?

New tech concept: BUMP.

I know there’s that contact transfer app for your iPhone/Android using the same name, but this idea is different. It’s actually an online platform in its beta stage where you can register or ‘claim’ your license plate and connect it with some kind of contact [voicemail, email, etc.]. Once registered, people will be able to send you messages via the site based on your license plate number.

A little creepy, yes, but just think of the dating possibilities. Who needs the internet when you have the highway? UrbanDaddy says it best—

[What’s] a place that’s teeming with fresh-faced twentysomethings, gorgeous thirtysomethings and beautiful fortysomethings[?] It’s called the 405. Total hot spot. Always packed.

Now when you’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic thinking you’d rather be shot in the foot than sit in your car for a second longer, you can simply glance to your left or right and spend your time instead looking for that special someone… or a hookup… or a friend: whatever floats your boat. Best of all if you happen to spot your muse, or in my case a real life Jake Ryan [I can dream, can’t I?], but he’s 2-lanes over and about to exit on Sunset, it’s not a problem. Your soulmate is not driving away forever. Take a picture of his license plate or take note of it in your head and you’re all good. Let’s just hope he thinks you’re cute too.

UrbanDaddy also points out that “getting attractive drivers’ phone numbers isn’t the only use for Bump. If you happen to see a car that’s about to be towed, you can be a Good Samaritan and send them a quick message to let them know.”

But real talk?

It’s mainly for getting attractive drivers’ phone numbers.

Tweets, Signs & Ironies

I was taking a nap earlier today—my gulay, I love naps—& woke up to this tweet from my cousin:

@darlingrose lmao @enanic RT @Sexstrology: #Virgo’s are melodramatic hypochondriacs. When they get sick OMG the world is ending.

I nearly fell off the couch laughing because I had just gone through the following conversation in my head:

*groannn* Ughhh, my eye hurts. My head hurts… *uggghh* my body hurts. *sob sob* Why me???

[picks up cellphone] Hmm… I wonder who tweeted me?


Which then, of course, became really loud laughter causing my aunt who was sitting near me to think I was slightly deranged. It was just what I needed to stop feeling sorry myself.

I really am sick though.

I’ve spent the better part of the last two days trying to sleep away whatever weird flu I caught that fell on top of me like a purple hippo out of the sky [I know that’s a weird analogy, but it’s what popped in my head]. But in all seriousness, it came from out of nowhere and I just want it to go away. If you know me at all, you know I hate going to the doctor and avoid those visits like the plague.

Ironic, huh? But wait… or is it?

End Tangent.

Anyway, I’m finally going. My eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull. Of course it has to be the black eye that is causing me all this hassle. I’m pretty sure my mom has now convinced herself that it is a direct result of the mugging and is harassing me on the daily to go to the doctor along with my aunt, and friends and other family members. But no complaints! It’s nice to be that loved, lol…

On another tangent, I am still a Virgo.

Everyone is in a hooplah about their “new sign” because of Ophiuchus, the 13th zodiac, but PEOPLE: that’s actually nothing new. Funny, I was having this conversation with my friend Johnny a few weeks ago about astrology and he was telling me that the Western zodiac has always been wrong because they follow tropical seasons, unlike the sidereal zodiac [or I guess Eastern zodiac] which follows the constellations. And no, it’s not like he’s super smart [well he is, just not about this], his girl from Thailand who follows the sidereal zodiac told him all about it. Well, I don’t think either is wrong and neither does Susan Miller, so take that naysayers. You negative nancys probably don’t put too much weight in astrology anyway. [Not that I do either, but they are mighty fun to read and if the above tweet shows anything, can sometimes hit the nail right on its head.]

If you don’t believe me, read this article from CNN which explains it far better than I do: No, your zodiac sign hasn’t changed.

That’s my lesson for the day. Don’t believe everything you read, unless you read it here [jk].

Goodnight, lovelies. See you when the sun rises.

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Never Again, United

Taking a break from storytelling to complain [just a little bit]. I know I’m on a whole glass-half-full, always look for the silver lining, positivity kick for 2011 but sometimes, the idiocy of some people can really ruin it for me. Advanced apologies for the following rant.

Today, my baby cousin flew to Oklahoma for her second semester at university. What should have been an easy check-in at Burbank airport turned into a ridiculous back and forth over the phone between me and an uncomprehending imbecile at the United Airlines counter and then a subsequent drive to Burbank to fulfill said imbecile’s ludicrous “policy”.

I am a frequent traveler. In an average year, I fly at least once a month. My first year in university, my mom would buy my ticket to LA online, I would check-in at the airport and 1-hour later I would be in the loving comfort of my familial home. Last year, I bought my cousin Abby a plane ticket to NY, she checked-in no problem and spent a fun & crazy month with me taking the streets of Brooklyn and Manhattan alike. Three days ago, I bought Ashley her ticket to Oklahoma, this morning she went to the airport and was told she could not get on the flight without the credit card holder present to verify the purchase. Excuse me?

Apparently, United Airlines has an unwritten policy that says when the ticket holder’s name is different from the purchaser’s name, the credit card holder needs to be present or check-in at the nearest airport for security reasons. When I told the supervisor that I’d never heard of such a ridiculous policy, he tells me that I should have been told by the reservation’s agent when I purchased the ticket (he hadn’t). When I told him that I wasn’t made aware of this practice, his rude reply was, “Well, you just should have known.” There is NO WHERE on the flight confirmation or even on United’s online policy that supports this outrageous “procedure”. When I asked for his name and badge number, he responds with, “It’s not in my policy to do that.” #*&! &!@!!!!!

First of all, what happens if the purchaser is abroad? What if we couldn’t get to the airport in time? THANK THE LORD we live 30 minutes from Burbank.

When we got to the airport and we once again asked for the written policy, all he could say was, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience ma’am but I can’t show you anything in writing.” Good lord, I KNOW this is your job and it sucks to get yelled at for doing what you’re “supposed to do” but when you’re trying to enforce a policy that you can’t prove to me actually exists you really can’t expect me to take you seriously. I mean, rarely if ever, do I get worked up or speak rudely to a customer service agent or anyone really as I understand what it’s like to have to follow stupid and ridiculous procedures but lord have mercy, this guy really pushed my buttons this morning.

I GET that you want verification for security reasons but how can a credit card which can be sent to ANYONE be more valid than a government issued ID? I just don’t get how a purchaser is more important than the person who is actually on the flight. What exactly are you trying to verify?!

Thankfully, Ash was able to make her flight. All is right with the world and after writing this, I feel much calmer.

But seriously? NEVER AGAIN, United. This will teach me to cheat on Jetblue.

An Hour of Sexy Time

I’d like to pretend that if I knew I had only one hour left on this earth, I would want to spend it with all my friends and family but that’s just not the case. Truth be told, I would want to spend it doing something that would be fun, exciting but most of all feel damn right good. What else is there then besides sex?

I mean sure, I could glutton it up and eat all my favorite foods but that would just end in a painful stomach ache or a food coma and who wants their end to be that? I certainly don’t. If I hung with my friends and family I’d probably spend the majority of the time crying and reassuring everyone that it would all be ok.

But sex—unless it’s with someone who’s just terrible—would be great from start to finish. I would die happy. Think about all the endorphins I get from working out; they make me feel GREAT after, AMAZING even. Despite that, I still sometimes find myself dragging my feet to the gym or saying to myself in the middle of a run, “Come on, Nic! Just a little bit more & you’re done (yes, sometimes I talk to myself)!” Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had to do either with sex (if you have… Pobrecito, I feel kinda bad for you).

So there you have it. If I had a choice, I would spend my last hour alive doing exactly what brought me into the world in the first place.

Realistically, I’d probably hang with the family and friends [damn you, Catholic guilt!] but a girl can dream.

Side note: I’m typing this on my phone so please excuse any grammatical/spelling errors. I’ll edit them out later.

Makeover City

Since moving back to LA, I’ve slowly begun retooling my life: less partying, no smoking, more reading, more exploring, more movement, more music, more of everything good in life.

I figure along with the new year and the new life, I might as well have a new look. Hope you like the facelift, blog-o-mine. I think you’re looking pretty spiffy. <3

Now I'm off to the gym. I'm ridiculously sore and I'm hoping a spell in the dry sauna and a quick mile will make me feel better. Also hoping that it's less crowded today; Man Thong, Dark Chocolate & Roids are starting to get on my last nerve.

Be back later for my daily post. Topic today is what I would do if I only had one-hour left to live. Spoiler: it would definitely at one point include a bed.

Post a Day 2011

I love challenges.

WordPress is experimenting with a new site called The Daily Post to give professional, amateur and casual writers a-like a bit of motivation to write more and more and more. I’m definitely in the third class of blog writing but it’s always fun to test my ability to stick with something.

So far this year I’ve had three goals:

[one] STOP SMOKING—even socially. I always promised myself I would stop at 25. It’s time to do the cold turkey route and stop back tracking. I once stopped for a year a half, but stress and life and drama caught up with me and I used smoking as a means to distract me from my real problems. But no more excuses, I have to stop… J’arrête! Pára! Halt! Pare! ¡Alto! [I somehow remembered how to say “stop” in six languages. Can you guys add any to my list?] It’s been 9 days and I’m smoke free. Yippee!

[two] Try to keep my word of the year in mind: Positivity. I’ve always been a rather sarcastic person but relatively drama and judgement free but since moving back to good old Los Angeles, I’ve found I’ve become quick to question people’s intentions. So, in hopes that I do not become yet another one of the jaded souls in the film industry I’m going to try and stick with some positive thought. Here’s hoping.

[three] Practice playing the guitar every single day. I did not take any music lessons growing up and while that is regrettable it’s definitely not an excuse to not try and learn now. I’m not attempting to be a musician. I love music because while it’s hard for some people to understand how I’m feeling at any given moment Billie, Harrison, Lennon, McCartney, Starr, Michael, Aaliyah, Ellington, Costello, Thomm and the other ever present loves of my life always will. So as long as music remains a huge part of my life, it would be absolutely wonderful to be able to accompany myself without cringing because of stupid errors.

And now [four] posting daily.

I just have to hope you guys won’t get sick of me.