in the groove

When I got laid off last summer (with one hour's notice, thank you very much) I immediately began thinking of Palm Springs. I've been coming out here to unwind and stargaze for the last eighteen years, and always told myself that if I could make a living out here, I'd move in a heartbeat. So when it all went down last summer, I decided to give it a try.

I wasn't entirely sure whether the weekend retreat would play on a week long schedule. But there was literally nothing to lose. Some friends tried to discourage me, my stylist warning me that "everyone who moves to Palm Springs becomes an alcoholic". So contrarian that I am, I moved out here, and quit drinking. And shock of the world, I'm becoming a gym rat. At age forty-whatever. I know, I'm shocked as well.

But after a couple of months of spinning my wheels, the whole gig is working for me. Gayberry is a small town, with all of the small town charm that exists nowhere in Los Angeles. I know the names of all the people in the Coffeehouse, and they know my name and my favorite latte. I chat with the regulars and catch up. For example, I learned from several sources there that someone named Josh is the town tramp. I guess I should look him up.

I have cardio buddies at the gym and am now doing cardio six days a week, instead of forcing myself to get maybe three sessions per week. That, plus the lack of alcohol and the pounds are falling off. My trainer is probably as excited as I am. And in all honesty, the people at the gym are quite nice and friendly. I've learned to relax and spend time there. It's become a pleasant destination instead of a resented task.

And the freelancing has picked up. February is on a pace equal to the average month last year, and with a couple of breaks could even pull ahead. Even better, the six day bell to bell workday is long gone. I'm loving my desert home. So I guess the midlife crisis is finding its own level. It's funny, I always thought I should live here and when I try it, I find out I'm right. I hope you all are so fortunate as to love the place where you hang your hat.

gayberry

I've always loved Palm Springs, and even more so since moving here, but was in a dilemma of how to refer to it. I rename almost everything in my world. My best friend is now Trixie, my car is Kitty (the old Mercedes was Otto- how cute is that) and my hunky trainer I call Binky. And he likes it. Years ago friends relocated to a place up in the grapevine. There were two tiny towns in shopping distance which I nicknamed Hooterville and Pixley. We still use those.

Back in the early 90's ago my ex, John, insisted that Palm Springs was the model for Bedrock. Both Hanna and Barbera had homes here, and if you look at the backgrounds in the Flintstones, Bedrock is a low rise community with Palm trees and mountains in the background. I'm pretty certain he is right on with his theory but it's nonetheless a terrible nickname for anything other than a lizard motel.

I've been referring to it as the Gay Small Town. The population within the city limits is statistically 53% gay or lesbian, but the town retains its very small town charm. My favorite part of the pride parade was the High School Marching Band.

I was discussing it with my new stylist last week (in the fabulous salon next to the fabulous bookstore which is next to the fabulous coffee house) and he agreed. "I call it Gayberry" he nonchalantly remarked.

Gayberry. He nailed it. I'm living in Gayberry. Okay, I'm off to the Snappy Lunch.