Dear Oprah,

Here is how the day in the life of Laurie is when I have a date.

Day of, wake up at 6AM to start my day.

I do this everyday.

With all the time in the world before my first client, I am still struggling with 15 bags, shoes and trash to take out before I'm out the door with the fear of being late. I drive 1000 miles against traffic to come into people's homes with the mission to bring them yoga and peace. I hope I do that. God knows I could use someone coming to my door with a little o' that.

I rush home in school traffic or any time of day traffic and basically swim across the 405 through Wilshire to get home MAYBE in time to run and errand, take a class or go for a run. If I'm lucky, I will be able to return a phone call or email and catch up on MY life - personally and professionally - ya know the kind that doesn't make money right now, but will, you just wait. Maybe I can go to the bathroom or check my teeth. Great, breakfast has apparently held it's own within my central incisors till mid afternoon. No time to fret.

My date is most probably at 8 and I will most probably be running late but not nearly as much as my date. I will be rushing. I will drop my stuff on my pristine floor. The organized sanctuary I once lived in will become the girlie haven of hell in preparation to 'be myself' with someone else, which is quite often peppered with a pomp and circumstance rivaling a holiday dinner with the extended family, internally, externally and...exhausting. Can I just hide under the table until he leaves?

So, I dump everything on the floor in hopes I will be able to scavenger what I need for a clutch or small bag for my date. Most of my days include a carry-on sized bag for a flight or a canvas bag one would shop Ikea with - fitting all of the things one would need to get by in a day if, per chance, a nuclear bomb would blow up on 2nd street and I would not be able to return for days on end. I have a change of clothes, food, chargers for phones and bluetoothes, notebooks, pens and zip drives, cards and flyers and email lists, identification, floss (which I clearly do not use) and kleenex and yes, I have a lint roller, scissors and a Tide to go...and deoderant. But never what I need.

God love me, hate me and pity me at the same time.

It is impossible to find the few small things I will need if I have to escape the wrath of an impossible date that requires me to scale a wall to get out of. I am not Paris Hilton. Do I need electrical tape? Will the jaws of life fit into my clutch? Will the mace go off in my purse? No. Lip gloss, business cards, some cash and ID to identify my body when maimed. That is all that is required.

At 7:45, I have half an eye done and one sock on the ball of my left foot as I field phone calls and approach a deadline for the magazine. I have to sign off on one, two projects for which I am not getting paid for but love dearly because they help the common good and I can not catch a breath. I am still sweating from the one hour class I squeezed in at the studio and did not have time to wash my hair so I dry shampooed it. Yes, Pssssst is a god-send and still here in the 2000's from the 1960s. My mom used it and I use it. God bless the Ozone sucker. It has saved me...tonight.

I have pants on and a twisted bra that is testing my upper body yogic abilities to maneuver into perfect alignment and it's 8PM. Nothing fits, ever. I'm late but so is my date. I feel the pressure and fun seems like two glasses of Chardonnay away and I can't afford the calories this week.

Maybe he got into an accident. That would be bad, but I also have a new People Magazine I'd love to read.

I paste the other eye on and review...I was born and raised in NY. You can take the girl out of NY but you can't take the NY out of the girl. I hate talking about myself. Oh, that's right, it's a date. There won't be room for that.

Just so you know...I walk very fast, especially when it's cold and it's like 20 below in LA, which means its about 55 degrees. Oh, you don't know where we are going? You are following me? You asked me out and don't know where to take me. Awesome.

I watch stand up comedy before I go to bed. If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord, I pissed my pants in laughter.

I have an excessive amount of lip gloss and perfumed oils.

I'm a Virgo and nothing like a Virgo. I'm a horrible planner but I organize everything from my closet to my pantry to the calories I consume. And I still can't find my keys. Oh, they're in my hand.

I love cotton, scarves and layering. I love shawl neck collars and ruffles.

I work everyday and love my work.

I love hip hop music and euro club music as well as kirtan and smooth jazz.

I sing very loudly to broadway showtunes especially in the drive through car wash. I find my greatest peace in the dark and the clean soapy swoosh of water that drowns out the notes I can't reach and I am in bliss.

Oh, I'm sorry, you need to take check your voice mail?

I spray my hair with more non yogi, Ozone trippin' spray as I uncork a bottle of white with my feet and left hand. Mama needs her wine. I'm starting to sound like my mama. And, I laugh.

Help a sister out, I scream, which is my mantra, that I speak out loud to myself often when I am in a rush and running around my cage, I mean apartment, trying to get somewhere fast.

Banana doesn't peel, help a sister out!

Sweater falls off hanger, help a sister out!

Cap falls off toothpaste and tube falls in sink amidst dirty spittle...help a sister out!!

Bracelet does not, necklace does not, dress does not clasp with one hand!!!

Help a sister out!!!

I put the foundation on. Yes, I put it on after my eyes. Why? Because I forgot. Not because it's my thing.

Powder after blush. What's my problem?

My problem? I'm not used to wearing makeup, damn it.

Phone rings, help a sister out!!!

I'm here! It's a text. Can I chain smoke my toothbrush in time?

I'm 36. Yes, 36. Did I stutter? I act and look like I'm 26 with the inner stability of a 44 year old with a family and house in the flats of Beverly Hills. Where's my house?

Wait, where are my shoes?

F-ck, where are my keys?

I can't pay my rent or health insurance but I can find and pay for that darling cardigan I'll wear forever. Insurance and rent only last a month.

I'm a girlie girl but piss and get ready faster than a guy. And I listen. And no matter how fast I'm rushing, I'm here. I'm present.

I am still trying to pretty myself up for someone, look in the mirror and think, I look like shit. Then allay my fears and think, no, you just look your age and laugh. And, at least I make myself laugh.

If I die before I wake.

My date is someone who is fine, I'm sure, but ya know what, I'm still squeezing time in for myself.

Who is kidding who?

I wanna date, but I don't have time to date for crying out loud. Give me my f-ing blog, a salad, maybe a cookie and/or a glass of wine and my netflix and I'm good.

I'm starting to mix my stories up, the same one's I've said over and over before but they are getting boring to me so I glamorize them more for drama's sake and I'm still yawning inside. I'm not hear to entertain. But I'm here all week and you still won't reach for the check.

This is too much work and I'm exhausted already and barely want to hear myself let alone you.

What did you say? You don't talk to your mom and dad? I'm really close with my family. Love them like breath, water and chocolate. You have a dog. How cute.

Where's that check?

Here's the deal. I don't want to date. I want...him.

Him is going to be the guy when all this hullaballo won't matter. Him will be where time seems seamless and it will be effortless to get together and prepare. Him will be HIM not yawning across the table from me when I've been stiffling yawns all night not to offend. Not because he's boring, but because I'm god awful tired. I don't have a day off and I'm actually ok with it. I will not be tired with him. Him will ignite sleeplessness. Him will be fit in and fine.

Him, I will wait for. Him, will WANT to ask me out and make time regardless and time will make itself apparent for both of us, tired or not, because we will be...him and her. That's how HIM and HER work. It just is. I've had it before and I will have it again. Him will find the time and so will I. Him will ask me why I wear the obvious ragged bracelet on my left wrist. Him. Him.

So, to him, I wait, but not longingly so. I have plenty of time for ME before him. But if HIM shows up, I'll be already ready and waiting, with my place and person clean and calm and hair washed with soap and water and none of this other bull-shit or obligation or weirdness. It's just NEVER weird with him and her. It never is, when it's right. So, there you go. It just happens. And it's hard. In this day and age, it just is. And the older we get, the more set in our ways and the more baggage. I only have a carry-on and a bunch of funny stories and dry shampoo. But I have a great instinct to wait for Him and not the him until then. I just don't have time for it. And neither do you.

So there. Thank you for dinner. Tomorrow's clients will pay for this nightmare and waste of a good outfit. I like you. But you are not him. And I don't want to pretend you are and you sure don't so we're done.

1AM, shut the facebook up and go to bed. 6AM, starts all over again. Every day. Tired, but fueled by passion, lost but found in service and always...

Yours...

and glamorous,

Laurie