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Italian Trash and Self-Realizations

Part of: LA , Seinfeld-esque

Breakfast: Asiago and parmesan bagel with vegetable cream cheese.

I’m at the Self-Realization Center in Encinitas. It’s so peaceful and beautiful, except for the loud tourists who only came for the ocean view. I’m sitting on a white marble bench. Someone just sat near me, which is annoying, because there are tons of other places where people aren’t sitting. It never fails. I need to radiate mean vibrations in the future. My new neighbor is wearing a tie-dyed top, that she obviously dug up to wear here because she’d appear New Agey—gag. She’s also wearing baggy khaki shorts and her hair is in a bun, topped off with a hard straw visor that can’t be comfortable. She’s reading one of the free brochures, probably trying to figure out how to meditate. I mean, she’s just reading, not even looking at the view.

Back to my special bench. The arms are carved peacocks, which I’m a fan of. Peacocks represent enlightenment or something. (I have a really cute peacock T-shirt that I got from the Gap—it’s multicolored and kind of ‘70s, and you can’t tell it’s from the Gap. I also own a peacock ring that I got from my favorite Indian store in NYC)

My neighbor sat still for 2 minutes (if that), looked at the view for 1 minute, and then walked away. I swear I didn’t start sending negative vibes, either. A lot of people still have a hard time being still. I’ve always been more into moving meditation myself.

I can’t believe how much I love the ocean. If I could find a person that I loved as much as the ocean, I would be amazed. I thought about sitting by one of the Koi ponds, because the Koi fish are really charming, and I’ve always liked lily pads. I guess I associate them with early childhood, because our neighbors had a fountain with them. Jesus, these two older men (65+) are like thirty feet away from me and are talking so loudly about politics. It’s not something that I want to think about in this setting. There are a million other places with a great view where they can go and talk. I wonder if I should tell them to shut the fuck up. Well, I’d ask them nicely. One of the guys is wearing a Louis Vuitton baseball cap that I am having a hard time processing, because the rest of his outfit is Joe Tourist. I think I need to stop writing and pretend to meditate so that people will leave me alone.

I have about 5 minutes of silence. A new woman sits on the marble slab to the left of my bench. She has that yogi book that seems to be part of the requisite books for New Agers and Buddhist types. Oh, the name is written in Italian. Now that I know she’s Italian, I’m not annoyed anymore. 13 Pelicans just flew by—significance? I slip off my shoes and walk to the railing. I lean over it looking at the view. The Italian woman comes over and literally sits down exactly where I was sitting. I am shocked. I try to sit back down.

I say, “I was sitting here. Can you please move?”

She looks at me blankly, so I point to my shoes and the seat. Italian bitch is acting like she has no idea what I’m trying to communicate.

“Do you speak French or Italian?” she asks in Italian.

I glare at her.

“Spanish?” she questions. Italian bitch says that she speaks Italian.

Well, duh! Yeah, so how is she getting around in the United States without knowing a stitch of English? I am flustered and can’t remember how to say, “Please, can I have my seat back dumb bitch?” in any language. So, I move my bag over and sit there to write this. The bench is tiny, too. It’s smaller than a loveseat. Italian Bitch moves my flip flops out of the way and takes her sandals off! I sigh—just another karmically challenged person. I wish I would’ve sat on her.

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