Dim Sum Fun

August will mark my fifth year living in Los Angeles. When I was a girl graduating from college in Arizona, I never even considered So Cal as a potential future home. Looking back though I didn't seem to have much direction about where I wanted to live or what I wanted my "grown up" life to look like. So when I was offered a position at the corporate office for the Cheesecake Factory in sunny CA, I snapped that shit up. It didn't hurt that I was dating a boy with bold aspirations of fame who eagerly offered to move with me to the City of Angels.

So together my first love and I packed up what little we had amassed in our twenty three years and carted our buns across the Cali border. In the nights leading up to our move I recall us laying in bed together, he spooning me, our fingers laced together and all I could do was smile. My heart felt like it was going to burst with joy and I whispered to him, "It feels like we've won the lottery." I was so happy to be embarking on this journey.

Josh and I shared a tumultuous past and living together seemed to bring all the shit to the surface. It wasn't long before I woke up from my dream of us creating a warm little home to the bitter realization that we were little more than strangers sharing a bed. As the months wore on it became increasingly apparent that this puppy love was dying.

Juxtapose the dissolution of my relationship with the Office Space nightmare I was finding the corporate world to be and sister was living a pretty bleak existence. My days felt empty and meaningless, moments ticking by on a digital clock in the holding cell that was my cubicle-- evenings spent wallowing in the lonely recognition that the man sleeping with his back to me was floating further and further away.

I hadn't made any friends in LA, I was treading water to pay my bills, my boyfriend hated me and my job made me want to claw my eyes out. I was a walking Debbie Downer.

One thing I pride myself on and what my boyfriend now calls my "Aquarian way" is my refusal to accept an existence of mediocrity. When life gives me lemons, mama throws that shitty fruit in the trash and makes the changes she needs to be happy. So, Josh and I broke up, I got a new job, a new apartment and you know what? I made some damn friends. On the night we decided to finally break up I could've called the Parentals and begged them to come fetch me from this godforsaken town and return me to the comforting arms of Gilbert, but I didn't want to quit. I didn't want a boy to be the reason for my move to LA and I sure wasn't going to let that douche bag drive me away from this place.

So I lost the job and the boy and in between the tears and the pain and the struggle and the loss I grew up a bit, I remembered why I'm pretty kick ass and I fell in love with this town.

When I first started exploring LA I celebrated its dissimilarity with my home, Phoenix. Where Phoenix was the safe suburban landscape of Middle America, LA was gritty and dirty... and I loved it. All of sudden I was hearing languages spoken that were new to my ears, tasting cuisine I didn't know existed and everywhere I looked there were people with different shades of skin than my own-- I felt like I was waking up from a very long sleep.

I spent weekends in Farmer's markets and museums, evenings sitting alone in coffee shops people watching and pretending to read. Many nights after Josh and I split I would get in the car and drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, windows down, cold, cold ocean air biting my cheeks and making me gasp-- reminding me I was alive. My love for the City of Angels grew by the day.

Flash forward almost five years later and I'm still finding reasons to love it. A cool thing about LA is that even after so much time you can still find yourself in parts of the city you never knew existed. Saturday was one such moment. My boyfriend Kelly has lived here for decades longer than I and knows about all kinds of cool nooks and crannies-- truth be told I think he revels a bit in exposing me to new experiences in this place we call home. I'm not complaining, I love it too. So Saturday morning we got up early and went downtown to Chinatown for dim sum.

I lost my dim sum virginity in San Fran but hadn't had the Chinese cuisine in LA. In fact I didn't even know there was a Chinatown here, so I was pretty amped to check it out so close to home. Wikipedia does a better job of explaining dim sum but it's essentially dumplings and mini plates of chinese treats served with tea. It takes an open mind and an adventurous palette to enjoy it but for those who like being a bit out of their comfort zone dim sum is da shit.

After we ate we walked around the little area of shops selling marble Buddahs, sake sets and all sorts of Chinese chotchkes. I snapped a few shitty pictures on the crackberry for your viewing pleasure.
















As we stood in front of the wishing well I read the little plaques beneath the copper pots in the fountain. "Long life", "Good health", "Prosperity", "Love" embellished each plate. We were to toss pennies towards the pot of luck we most wanted, a penny in, meant a promise fulfilled. I aimed haphazzardly at each of the pots, my spastic wish making causing Kelly to laugh. Finally my coin landed in the "Long life" bucket. I closed my eyes as I let the good fortune wash over me and I thought to myself, "I hope so." This life is so damn good.