Do Over Part II

Things continue to be strange for me here in California, in a way that contrasts my first adventure, but not so vastly. I recall on the day that I flew out, I was expecting history to repeat itself -- delays, misadventures, natural disasters. In truth, the trip was uneventful. My flight was on time, my rental car was in perfect working order, I arrived at my destination without getting lost or traumatized in any meaningful way, and I even made a tightly timed dinner reservation to help my sister celebrate her birthday with friends, new and old.

In a way, I had prepared for my second arrival for over 10 years. This time, I had money saved, a car on its way, a place to stay, a new job to start, and a bit of experience under my belt that assured me that I wasn't the naive and unresourceful soul I had once been. I had a boyfriend planning to meet me in a few weeks, and the promise of a brand new start. And I still had the conviction that this was where life was meant to take me. So why would I believe that old patterns die hard and things never really change? Well, because they do...and they don't.

I settled in to my life as a temporary couch surfer at my sister's place. She was gracious and asked no more of me than to keep her dog fed, walked and amused until I started my job and found my own apartment. Nemo was not quite the troublemaker that Mackenzie had been, though I found myself watching him carefully, to make sure he stayed away from squirrels and other small creatures that he liked to chase...

Mackenzie had had similar habits. Only he liked to torment people. And lizards. When I lived at my aunt's house, he would always come to the gate to bark at anyone or anything that came up the driveway. Except once.

On this particular day, my aunt and I had been shopping, and when we returned and walked up to the gate, we were surprised that Mackenzie was not making his presence known in his standard, menacing way. When we entered the garage, we found out why. He was "playing" with a small reptilian creature in the garage, and was distracted by it. While this didn't alarm my aunt -- she told me it was common for him to toy with the small green lizards that inhabited the neighborhood -- I got a glimpse of his new friend and was immediately confused. While I'm certainly no expert on lizards, what I saw in Mackenzie's paws didn't seem to have the tiny legs of your average chameleon. And it had several curious nubs on the end of its tail. And those nubs were making a rattling sound. Like the rattlesnakes you see in cartoons. And in real life.

My aunt got the message right away, and started screaming. She chased the dog into the house and ran for a neighbor to help us remove the baby rattler from the garage. For all my tendency to panic in situations like this, I remained unsettlingly calm, because it was obviously Elaine's time to shine in the panic department. The blood she found in Mackenzie's mouth made it clear that an immediate trip to the vet was in order. And because she loved her dog, it was equally clear that we follow vet's recommendations that we start the droolmatian's antivenin treatment immediately.

Have you ever seen a dog on antivenin? Well, it's not pretty. Mackenzie's head swelled up to the size of a large bulldog's. And it's drooling problem swelled to the size of a small fish pond. And my aunt, in an apparent show of solidarity, broke out in sympathy hives.

The dog recovered and in a few days; his swelling went down, he drooled at comparably tolerable levels, and his cocky attitude returned with a vigor. On the other hand, my aunt's hives didn't disappear as quickly. Coz, you see, it takes about two weeks for chicken pox to disappear.

That's right. My aunt, in her mid 40s, had come down with a case of chicken pox, for the first time in her life. And I, who was busy job searching and couldn't afford to be down for the count for any length of time, had never had them, just like my mother, and her mother. We had thought some family immunity had existed. But not wanting to take chances, I fled the scene and found some places to crash for a few weeks while in hiding from plague.

Not that it did me any good. Two weeks later, a singular pink, itchy bump appeared on my left arm, and my fate for the next 10 days was sealed.

Now that I had endured earthquakes, snakes, boils and the slaying of the first automobile, I began to recall some early old testament education and figured that maybe it was time to get the hell outta Israel, so to speak.

In the midst of all the biblical signs that I should return to the east coast, I actually did get a job offer, with Ford Motor Company. It was far from my dream job, and work in the auto industry was far from what I thought would lead me down the path that I had intended when I began my westward journey to the entertainment capital of the U.S. My stubborn will would have allowed me to work my way up the rungs of the job ladder to the rooftops of my goals, but it wasn't gonna let me climb the Hollywood Hills without a straighter path and surer footing.

So, I booked my return flight and decided that I would return someday, when I had established myself in work, in life, and in my head.

It didn't quite work out that way, of course. Like I said, things don't change all that much, and over the years, I have often fallen victim to fate's cruel double whammy of stupidity and circumstance. Believe it or not, I have come almost full circle. I'm in California. I'm forcing myself to go out and make new friends. I'm learning new neighborhoods. I'm trying not to believe that every time I feel a door slam, it's caused by nothing less than the sheer force of techtonic plates slamming together. And I am working for a web magazine dedicated to marketing...in the automotive industry. Maybe I'll do things right this time?