Down

Down is exactly how I felt every time a woman I met last night opened her mouth. And she was a single girl.

I hosted a little happy hour for other writers in the area. We had a good group of about eight until she joined. As soon as she sat down, she admitted changing out of her cashmere into old clothes (and they were indeed old) since we were having drinks in a pub. She didn't want to smell like smoke. Like most places, this pub doesn't allow smoking indoors though.

That led to a conversation about Los Angeles where there are annual conferences for writers. We talked about the conferences, speakers, vibe, whether it's worth going. I said, "yes, it's worth going."

She talked about how she experienced asthma for the first time in LA.

Then she ordered a drink, but decided against that particular one because of the specific ingredients. It was a dramatic decision. Then she ended up with a shot - mixed with the same ingredients - while she nibbled on the food the rest of us ordered.

I won't even get into the long discussion about her commute from downtown where she lives to a far-away suburb to work and whether she should move and where. I'm depressed already thinking about her issues about each suggestion. 

I honestly try to stand behind the single girls. We all have our issues. This time I just couldn't.

Love to the single girls (well, most of them),
Addison