I-90

This bus drive from Chicago to Madison in early May is pure magic. I’ve driven from Illinois to Wisconsin on I-90 hundreds of times in my life, since I was little, but I’m now realizing the drive never feels exactly familiar. I assume its I-90, but how can one differentiate this stretch of road with clumps of trees and farms from any other in this part of Wisconsin? Once in a while, a small river passes by, catching the late afternoon sun, and for a second the river blazes silver. These clouds! Let me tell you. These large, high clouds are so particularly midwest. On the west coast the clouds are low-shrouding blankets. Here, their height gives one an impression of the space between the heartland and the heavens. Of the infinite possibilities. Are you all getting this??

I wonder what California natives would think of all this, if it would seem boring or as beautiful and invigorating as I find it.  So many times I rode this bus in college, and each 3 hour ride seemed to fill my head with all the fire and emotion of whatever I was going through at the time. My first year, after failing an audition, I remember my eyes filling with tears, and whimpering (rejection for 18 years olds is hard!) for the first hour on the bus. Then, slowly, I calmed down, and by the end of the drive, I felt rejuvenated by the green land that sometimes rolled, sometimes stayed flat, mixing evergreens and oaks. The bus continued to speed forward, while a song played on my ipod and reminded me that I could someday “be someone, be someone.”

I haven’t written in this blog in awhile. Clearly, I need long drives and flights to inspire me. I’m always the driver in California, blasting one of my many scratched mixed CDs, while trying to master art of LA traffic (cutting people off). The second three months have been difficult in LA, but even at its roughest points, I never forgot why I moved out there. I remind myself always, always, to never give up. There is always another day to fight, even if I don’t have my friends and family around me. 

Sometimes I don't understand how people grow out of things. The things in my life that I love right now are things that I’ve loved forever. I love baseball and I love Titanic and I love the Great American Anthem “Fast Car”, because it feels like life, and life is struggle, and it's beautiful because it's a struggle.  I love this drive and I love my friends so much that it hurts. Even when they stress me out. The sun is continuing to lower and making the fields and trees glow gold and I feel so rich right now. So goddamned lucky.

The Art of the Pity Party (DMV edition)

(DISCLAIMER: This post was written in mid February and I just forgot to complete it, so adjust your mind accordingly)

After my first few months in Los Angeles went down surprisingly easily, the last month since winter break has been a TAD rough.

Before I go on any further, I'll just put it out there that I pride myself on being someone for whom things don't get too rough for. Things get me down, obviously, and I wallow in it for an hour or so, get bored of feeling that way, and then bounce back. But the last two weeks have been a test of that, and it all culminated with a trip to the DMV.

Aside from taking it upon myself to work one million hours last week (cry me a river, I know) --on my one free day, I went to the DMV to get my car registered.

The DMV is one of those institutions that no one could possibly have a good experience at, despite an unwavering optimist like myself's best efforts.  You know a few things going in: you are going to have to wait a long time, you are going to fill out a lot of boring paperwork and the only thing to break up the monotony of waiting in the most sterile, institutional room known to modern architecture, is encountering a variety of crazy people there. I thought that last thing might at least make the experience interesting--where else is a shoeless hippie and a rich executive forced to wait in the same small enclosed space for so long? This very dynamic was revealed as soon as I started to wait on line at the Santa Monica DMV, when I heard two rich older gentlemen hatching a plan to use their senior citizen status to somehow cut in line. Classic. Not TODAY, gents.

Long story short, aside from a crazy woman screaming at a DMV attendant, the wait was boring and dragged on even longer than I anticipated. The most hilarious part of this wait period is that there is a digital screen at the front of the room which flashes the expected wait time. SANTA MONICA EXPECTED WAIT TIME 1 HOUR 45 MINUTES. But. They also feel the need to flash the expected wait time at other DMV locations, such as CULVER CITY EXPECTED WAIT TIME: 0 MINUTES. Like they have to rub it in your face that you chose the wrong DMV to go to, and its too late at this point to change that fact, so all you can do is imagine what it's like at the amazing Culver City location where there is no wait time and most likely everyone is getting free cider and red velvet cupcakes.

After one hour and 55 minutes, my name was finally called, and I bounded up to the desk, excited and ready to go, showing the clerk that the long wait of sitting next to the unhappiest people in the world didn't phase me, and that no beaurocratic institution will turn me into every other dejected, tired figure walking out of the DMV doors. No it won't!

And then I found out that my 2 hour wait had been in vain, for I needed to get a Smog Test before being registered. What the hell is that? Never heard of a Smog Test before and I didn't know whether to blame my parents, teachers or the state of Illinois for never warning me of this.

I could get my smog test done at the gas station down the road and I could pay now if I wanted to. My mother had warned me it might be $100, which I had mentally prepared for the entire night before. Instead, the cost for the privilege of registering your car in California is $220, and the smog test would be an additional 50. This is where my Nothin' Getting Me Down Attitude started to break down a little bit. I had worked overtime so I could finally go shopping and buy clothes and shoes that didn't have holes in them, so that I could at least pretend to walk throughout Los Angeles like the self-respecting Westward Hoe that I know DEEP DOWN I AM.  Instead I would have to work more shifts the next week and sacrifice more valuable screenwritin' time.

I drove to the the damn Smog Test station, and paid the attendant with what I expect was the most pitiful, defeated expression possible on my face. And then I went to have my pity party on a brown metal chair while they looked at my car. I sat in the hot sun, sweating, dirty, knowing I wouldn't have time to shower before work, knowing that I was a 24-year old piece of shit who was getting slapped in the face with real life. I wanted to cry about how HARD it all was and then I wanted to cry about what a wimp I was being.
Deciding I was hungry, I went to get a snack at the gas station next to the Smog test station. I picked up a granola bar and waited behind three older women with big sunglasses who were crossing their arms and tapping their feet, waiting for  a small, Arabian man who was trying to fix their credit card transaction.
"It's like we're being held hostage here," one woman muttered.

"I am trying to fix, try card again,"the man pleaded.

The machine wouldn't work and with every passing minute the women became more aggravated and more antagonistic toward the poor gas station attendant. It was truly awkward to watch.
Finally, they left and the man cried "I have one more customer like this, I die."
I told him I was happy to pay with cash and I was sorry they were so rude.

He genuinely seemed relieved that I too was not biting his head off, and when I finally left once my car passed the smog test, he gave me an appreciate wave.

So herein lies my thesis statement, or statements. No one cares about your pity party. Everyone is too busy having their own pity party. And no matter how bad your day is, someone else's day is worse. So you can either add to their problems, or you can try and find the strength to be a human and make someone else's day more bearable. Of course these women didn't see it as this man's pity party, they saw it as their own. Maybe they all were having bad days, maybe they had to wait at the DMV for two hours and all they wanted was a coffee and to leave, and this man got in their way. And that's one of the first things I've encountered moving to LA, or maybe its just growing up.  Everyone's problems mount as they get older, and so its not as easy to make other people's lives easier when you are too busy struggling with your own.

But as I drove home and hit rush hour traffic, I started to feel really, really good knowing that I had found it in myself to be nice to this dude. I was the BEST. I hit the corner of Santa Monica and ran into this.

Everyone was honking and you could see the frustration in every car because, what else is worse in Los Angeles than traffic like this. But at this point, I was laughing and bouncing to music, thinking--its 75 degrees! What is everyone so upset about?

After battling traffic, I went to work, and work was terrible, despite my revamped attitute and I wanted to get out early and just fall asleep. Alas, I lost a coin toss with my coworker and I had to stay until close. I was tired and dirty and had made no money. I dragged my defeated body Denny's and stuffed food into my mouth, not knowing what to take away from this day--whether my "good attitude" would carry itself through my life in Los Angeles or whether growing up meant being pissed off a lot and upset like everyone else.

All I ended up with while walking home was knowing that we're not kids anymore and we don't have time to feel sorry for ourselves when everyone else is making It happen despite life throwing the odds against them.

And I went to bed, ready to take on the next day.

What I've learned after 4 months in LA

Alright! Two posts in one night! Looks like that Monday advice was the best thing ever!

Since the point of this blog was to relay my new LA life to my frendz and fam from home, let's quit anymore foreplay and get right to it!

4 THINGS I'VE LEARNED AFTER 4 MONTHS IN LA

1. People in LA aren't flaky, you just have to drive everywhere.

Unrelated, but how cool is this Mad Men advertisement on Sunset Blvd?!?

I'm convinced that 90% of the 'laid back' and 'flaky' traits that get attached to Southern California are due to the traffic.

If you don't live down the block from a friend or associate, you have to drive. Sometimes in rush hour. This means an automatic 45-60 minutes in the car. So "I'd love to see you soon" often becomes "I'll see you when our hangout becomes worth 60+ minutes of my fucking traffic time. See? Los Angeles people are actually wonderful!

Also, people don't get mad at you if you are late for class or work or a meeting because you always have the excuse of "I got stuck in traffic". And everyone buys this excuse because it's true all the time. Which is why it's extra amazing when you decide to sleep in and your boss/teacher is like "Poor girl, I bet it's the traffic."

2. People in LA aren't superficial, they just can't help that movie stars are bred here.

Angelinos (sorry for that using that term) might tend towards a more image-obsessed lifestyle, but only in the sense that East Coasters 'tend' towards a snobby and cynical lifestyle and midwesterners tend towards a fat and naive lifestyle. They're just stereotypes with some slight truth basis in some places.

That being said when the stereotypes are true, then are hilarious and wonderful. The people here who are the most obsessed with working out are definitely the men. I've met several males who do marathons and Iron Men ...ALL THE TIME. That is what they do with their lives. For a living. One said "I was acting for a while, but now I just train for marathons." You've got me.

3. Everything is an opportunity.

If you're trying to "make" it in LA or even if you're NOT trying to make it in LA, you will come across someone who wants to put you on TV. I don't mean they always actually want to put you on TV, they just will very obliquely insinuate it. For instance, when I was waitressing 2 month ago, I served 3 older, distinguished looking gentlemen who thought I was the most charming person they'd ever come met.
I can't remember the exact words exchanged, but I bet it sounded something like this:

Gentleman 1: Hey waitress, it's a little chilly out here, don't you think?

Me: You know, it sure is! How about I turn these heat lamps on!

Gentleman 2: Heat lamps? That's incredible!

Me: Well boys, I'm a solution-finder! (Stop groaning)

Gentleman 3: You're very animated. Are you an actress?

Me: An actress? Oh heck no! That crazy business? I'm trying to be a screenwriter!

G2: A writer, eh? That can be a lonely life.

Me: Well golly! That's why I also do improv!!!! So I can LAUGH and don't have to take myself too seriously all the time!!

G3: Wow! You've got quite a business going on! Do you know that my friend here is a producer?

Me: Uh..what? Cool, I mean, why would I be interested in that?

G1: Here's my card.

(Instead of taking his card so I have his information I stupidly write down my information on the card instead and give it to him)

G1: Are you looking for employment opportunities outside this job?

Me: Errr, not really. I'd prefer to be a waitress my whole life. Not interested.

Me: JUST KIDDING!

G2: Hahaha! What a charmer! We would love to be in touch with you. Start preparing your academy award speech!

Me: You guys, stop! Here I just thought it was a normal day and look how my life is changing!

END SCENE

Alright, I exaggerated most of that, but the point is. Even though those guys DIDN'T end up contacting me (I should have taken that fucking card) maybe they would have. Or maybe someday they'll be desperate, find my card and call my number. Probably not, but the point is everything is an opportunity. And while you are trying to make whatever aspirations come true through actual hard work, little opportunities like that make every day a little more exciting.

And lastly,
4. Los Angeles is a city like any other city it's just warmer and some people here make movies.

The End.

EVERYONE'S MOVING OUT HERE? GREAT!!!

No seasonal depressive disorder in these parts!

Ringing in da 2012!!! (NSFW)

Hi friends and lovers!! Did that (NSFW) draw you in? Good! Because what it stands for is Now: (for) Some Funny Words. Haaaa fooled ya! But now that you're on this page, might as well see what I'm going to say, right? Let's see if it's worth it!

I know I promised to update this Westward Hoe blog more, and it turned out that "more" meant "not at all".  I apologize, but, seriously how much is a promise worth on the internet? Absolutely nothing. So I'm not going to feel too badly about it. I'm going to take the pressure off myself to update this, which will hopefully reverse psychology myself to do the opposite. "Reverse Psychology" is now a verb I think!!

HAVE I LOST YOUR ATTENTION YET?  I PROMISE TO MAKE THIS ENTERTAINING. Do we need a picture? Let's see what's on the hard drive.

Me and my new LA boyfriend. lol how embarrassing he made me take it

And while I am not going to feel bad for not updating more, because it's a new year, there are some things I genuinely DO feel badly about and could probably do better for 2012. Real quick, I'm just going to list off some things I want to apologize for doing this year.

Firstly, and most importantly I want to apologize (to no deity or person in particular) for not celebrating Yom Kippur this year in the least. It is the ONE thing I both observe every year as a Jewish person AND that I actually take seriously, and just because I forgot the date and booked a plane ticket to Portland didn't mean I had to totally disregard the holiday to get drunk and eat food that most likely wasn't even kosher. I mean, I don't know what choice I HAD once I had a ticket booked but I feel bad irregardless. Next year I promise to fast and repent so hard that Judaism gives me another chance.

Secondly, I want to apologize for texting and driving all the time. LA traffic makes it SO easy to do. I realize I am putting myself in danger but jeez, it's like nowadays if you don't respond to texts and emails right away, you are 12 steps behind in the rat race. So I don't know which sacrifice to make.

Thirdly...I can't think of too much else right now, partially because one of my mottos in life is 'no regrets' so I'm happy to keep this short.

Hmmm. If it sounds like I'm not putting enough stock into "The New Year" or "What a New Year Means", I'd like to share some wisdom that one of my coworkers told me recently.

"I hate New Years. Here's why. Everyone thinks it's a time to start over and do things better. And yet everyone hates Mondays. Are you kidding me? Monday is every week's New Years! You can do something better for yourself every week of the year!"

I don't know, that was kind of inspiring. I have to agree with him. And how fitting that I'm writing this post on a MONDAY. Life is incredible like that.

I have more thoughts (WHAT? I DO?) but they are unrelated to New Years, half ass apologies or 2012, so I'll leave them to the next post.


And fine, I will leave something here that is actually NSFW:
Most inappropriate thing I've seen in my life.


Til next time!!!!

Good times to play Leonard Cohen

--When putting someone sleeping in a trunk.

--When swimming through molasses.

--When making some bombs.

--When you are really high and for some reason your itunes is malfunctioning and can't play either Radiohead, Phish, Miles Davis, Yanni, Bjork, LFO or Barbra Streisand.

--When your class assignment is to sit at home and try and imagine what it was like to be Jeffrey Dahmer.

--When reading Beowulf.

--When you hate a kid you are babysitting for and then play it at night when they are sleeping and then they don't know why, but they have negative thoughts associated with you and ask their mom not to have you over anymore, problem solved.

I'M BACK + Completely Free Coffee Training Manual

I know, I know. This blog has taken a very decisive nose dive in the last few weeks.  I haven't updated and anyone (I mean, the millions) who have gone to this website recently see a post about me not making my bed. Very sorry about that. Despite that post, I actually have been doing things with myself in my two months since moving to Los Angeles and I will do a better job to convey them here. 

I have two jobs to support my rent and living (drinking). One of them is being a barista (I AM NOT TRYING TO BRAG HERE IT WAS A VERY HARD JOB TO GET), which I only do one/two days a week because it takes me out of Westwood all the way to West Hollywood, so I can feel like I live in LA and not just UCLA fantasy camp. I enjoy this job because I open the shop at 6am and for the most part serve the coffee by myself; thus I feel very big and important and independent.

Welcome to my shop! As one of several baristas, I think I can call it my own!

Unexpectedly, this job came in handy when my lovely friend Nora called me from NYC asking if I could tell her some things about being a barista so she could apply for a barista job, as she too is going to Writing School and let's face it, all writers should be baristas. Right? Makes sense to me.

Long story short, I ended up writing a mini-manual.  In the end, her barista interview turned out to be delivering crepes for a Russian mobster (sooo NYC), and while she DID see Jake Gyllenhaal run into the store (HOMINAHOMINAstoryforadifferentblogwriteitNora), that barista job was not to be. 

HOWEVER, she reassured me that my manual was very helpful and should be published somewhere for others to see. So for the Unemployed and Underpaid who are desperately needing Any Job They Can Get, don't say I never did anything for you:

Just thought we needed a quick picture break

MY BARISTA TRAINING MANUAL

Welcome New Barista!  This is your training manual.  In it you will find the most helpful and fast steps to becoming your city’s best provider of coffee and other caffeinated (an non caffeinated beverages).  I’ll see you at the top!

First thing’s first! 

Coffee! The most simple thing to provide, and also the most frequently ordered.  Can you believe how many people just want a simple cup of coffee in the mornings? Every time a customer orders a tall coffee, you silently thank them because all you have to do is push on a carafe and watch the coffee come out into a cup. Can you believe you are getting paid for this? What a cool job!

The only trick to serving coffee is to NOT RUN OUT.  Always make sure there is a backup carafe and to keep that backup full as much as you can.  If someone wants Decaf, well then pour the damn Decaf.  Sometimes people will ask for a half-and-half, or a Half-Caf.  This might throw you off until you remember your logic. In that case, dear barista-in-training--you will pour half coffee and half decaf into a cup. WHAT A CONCEPT, EH?

Next up is the world of Espresso.  Not quite as easy as pushing the coffee carafe.  Every time a customer orders an Espresso drink, you may not feel as warmly towards them. Resist the urge, barista-in-training, to show any signs of discomfort or pain. Remember--if you can do this, you can do it all.

Your place of work should have a. an espresso grinder b. a tamper c. portafilter and d. the machine itself

If I could draw pictures on here I would, but I can’t, because this is basically a Word Document. So I’m going to direct you to this link

http://www.wikihow.com/Make-an-Espresso-(Espresso-Machine-Coffee)

Start the video at step 3 (ignore the stuff about adding water and grinding.  Your coffee shop’s machines should do that all on its own unless it’s the poorest coffee shop on the planet. In this case try looking elsewhere for work.) and you should get the general idea of how to make a shot of espresso.

Now--THE NITTY GRITY:

If someone orders a double latte, they want two shots of espresso with steamed milk.  Double nonfat latte= two shots of espresso with nonfat milk.  Single soy latte= one shot of espresso with steamed soy milk. Always pour the espresso first, then the milk. Someday you may pour the milk so well that you get fancy shapes! Don't think I can't see you smiling about this!

STEAMING MILK:  Pour milk into a metal container-cup (35% up for a single, 50% up for a double. THESE ARE GUESTIMATIONS SEE WHAT YOUR TRAINER SAYS DON’T BLAME ME IF YOU GET FIRED) Then stick the steaming wand into the cup and turn the steaming knob on.  Milk is ready when the metal container becomes almost too hot to touch.  Almost meaning, don’t burn your hand.  To make Cappuccinos, do the same as Lattes but use more FOAM than steamed milk.

To make FOAM, steam the milk and “Stretch” it by pulling the wand out slowly, so it bubbles at the top of the milk.  Honestly, just Youtube ‘stretching steamed milk’ or ‘making foam’ to see it. Sort of hard to explain here.

Did you get all that?  It’s a lot, I know--and I kind of came at you real fast, but the great news is: you now know how to do about 90% of barista duties.

Let’s kick it into overdrive! 

Other drinks include:

Cafe Au Lait: Half Coffee, half steamed milk.  What? You already know HOW to steam milk! Great job!

Macchiato: A little bit of foam on top of a shot of espresso (a double macchiato would be foam on top of 2 shots. right??)

Mocha: A latte with cocoa powder or chocolate syrup at the bottom of the cup. Chocolate goes in first!  If its vanilla syrup, why then its a Vanilla latte! You know so FREAKING MUCH YOU AWESOME BARISTA!

Americano: Espresso and hot water. It’s sort of like coffee but not, right?  Only trick here it to pour the water first.  Otherwise the espresso shots burn the bottom of the (paper) coffee cup. Or something. I don’t know. Maybe that’s an old wive's tale. It’s what someone told me once. I think it tastes better that way. Just do it.

Hot Tea: Stick a goddamned tea bag in some mothafuckin water dumb dumb!

Tea latte: Stick a mothafuckin tea bag in half a thing of water and pour some steamed milk into that biznas, you hot bitch!

If someone orders an Iced latte, you hug and kiss them because you don't have to steam the milk!! They have just given you the gift of doing a simple task: Ice in a cup, espresso, and cold milk from the carton.  If its an Iced Chai, bless their heart, all you have to do it pour cold milk and chai concentrate in a cup over ice. BLESS THOSE LITTLE DEARS they are making your job simple! You are getting paid for POURING LIQUIDS INTO CUPS!

The hardest thing is whipping out espresso shots for multiple orders, because you have to pull the espresso out, press it with the tamper, lock it into the machine and wait while it pours, all while a customer just sits there waiting for you, wondering why you aren’t a magician who makes their latte appear instantly.  But once you get into a rhythm it’s no big deal. And then you steam the milk while the espresso pours!

Well Barista trainee, there you have it.  You are on your way to becoming CEO of Starbucks.  

Any more questions contact me or just call me because this isn’t a real training manual its an email and I am your friend.

GOOD LUCK!

Ali

You before manual: lost and confused and not knowing what coffee is.

You after manual: confident and holding a coffee cup like this.

The Terrible Things That Happen When I Don't Make my Bed.

It is 9pm Pacific Time on a Friday night and I've come to a terrifying realization. I don't...believe I've done anything today.  In fact, I would go as far to say I've done...nothing today.  I wish I had the nerve shrug my shoulders and carelessly chant that Bruno Mars song (I despise that song so, so very much) but the terrible difference is I DID feel like doing something today, I just shot myself in the foot at 11:30am.

I had some serious plans for the day which at least included going for a run and working on my screenplay, if not changing the world or in some way bettering myself and others around me. Above all, these plans included NOT stealing my roommate's cookies because I am so hungry and too lazy to make anything myself.  Fat chance on ALL OF THOSE.

I have one thing to blame for this and it is my bed.  I have a little motto of inspiration for my daily life and it goes like this: "If I can make my bed, I can do anything today!" I haven't told anyone about this motto, but I'm telling you all now because I really think it is the only way I can get anything done.  Here's why: when the bed sits there unmade, there is always the option of curling back into it and giving up on everything.  When the bed is made, only success is possible.

At 11:30am I started to make my bed.  Until this point I had slept in, made breakfast and had a phone conversation with a friend I hadn't talked to in awhile. Fair. Acceptable.  Despite the fact that it was raining and in LA, rain is akin to a Category 4 hurricane, I was ready to face the rain once I made my bed. It is a small twin bed.  Making it is not much of a project.  It is merely a necessary step to move my day forward.  And then...this happened:

11:32am: Straighten bottom sheet and tuck the corners in.

11:32 Receive a text message.

11:33 Pull comforter halfway over bed.

11:33 Receive phone alert of emails.

11:34 Goodbye to all hopes and dreams.

A few emails needed to be attended to, but none of them in any way were playing a huge part in my larger life. But they did take me away from the bed and to the black hole of motivation. I mean, the internet. I believe there was something about negotiating a work shift over Christmas because I'll be on the West Coast by myself for Christmas for the 3rd year in a row (thanks so much JOBS and also, BEING JEWISH). But after that..?  I think maybe I was helping a friend with a problem? Or maybe I looked at my bank statement 8 times to figure out if I was ok or needed to panic?

I think I talked to my friends, I think probably about important things but could I have done that for 9 and a half hours??  I believe I spent time making a Facebook album because I had not posted any pictures of my California life yet, and just wanted to get it over with.  None of this is justification by the way, just terrible, terrible evidence of myself my generation and the things I we do to avoid real honest work. (Phew! Hopefully I can pin this day of failure on others too!)

After that, it was a blur.  I know around 3:45pm I went to my bed to finish making it, and then my friend called me to tell me she had just seen Conan on the street.  And this distraction again took me away from my bed.  My poor bed must have been screaming at me to be made so that I in turn could MAKE something of myself, but it was all over from that point on.

I accompanied my roommate to Chipotle for dinner.  This, I suppose is an active action requiring more effort than typing keys.  Maybe it counts for something.  And even that took effort on my part when she asked me. No..I wanted to say...my chair will be lonely.  The internet will be lonely.  I don't even have a bra on.  How am I still undressed?? There's probably no hope left. Chipotle? Blech. Internet. Only THE INTERNET. But I mustered up an ounce of self esteem. I didn't want her to go by herself, and it saved me from more impending food stealing from my roommates.  Hooray for me.  I returned around 7:30pm, and began to despair for how late it was.  It was too late to go for a run.  Besides, I had just eaten.  I had to comfort my sorrow with the internet.  Maybe a hilarious video? And then, somehow it was 9pm.  WHAT JUST HAPPENED? How is it dark out?  Will I ever succeed at anything in this life?

There was only one thing to do at 9:07pm, to save this lost day, to give me any hopes of going forward towards my goals and making my family proud of me. I think we all know what it was.

"Tomorrow is another day!"--Scarlett O'Hara, Gone With the Wind.