City of Angels

I think I wrote awhile back about the terrible, rotten, no good, very bad car accident I got into about fifteen months ago. The one that involved me and a garbage truck, which ended with my car angelically parking its battered, soon-t0-be-junkyard-self perfectly, three inches away from the sidewalk, just as if I'd meant for my car to be there, fully stopped, regardless of any impact with trash-collecting vehicles. Anyway, after that accident, I knew there really were angels in the City of Angels, and seriously thought that when I leave this place, the angels will go with me.
So. Angels have not deserted me!
Saturday night I was getting ready to play in front of people for the first time in a long time.
I'd had my friend Kim come over and help me pick out what to wear...silly, I know, but I needed the moral support. I ended up in a regular black shirt and jeans, but I added a cool spidey scarf in honor of it being Rocktoberfest. I had even written a song (see two posts below) especially for the occasion, and been practicing it day and night, sleep and wake, in car and out. Now it was 8 on Saturday night and I'd gotten gussied up (haha, what a funny expression) and was ready to go. I grabbed my gear and drove up to Westwood. I got out of the car and opened the rear door to grab my guitar and go....but it wasn't there. I blinked, turned around, and checked again. Still not there. I started to panic. Here I was, about to play for real, and I go an lose my guitar. Wait, had I really lost it? Had I really brought it down the stairs with me? Was it still in my apartment? I suddenly had this horrible image in my head of this time when I was in eighth grade and Casey Getzelman had gotten a brand new cool guitar while we were waiting for our jazz band carpool parents to come pick us up, he'd put it on the ground where we were waiting, and then some stupid ninth grader without a license...his name was Paul, and he rather reminded me of Kay in Disney's Sword and the Stone...had driven along and promptly run over it. Had that happened to my baby, my sweet little roommate-fingernail-gouged Seagull? I raced back as fast as hitting every red light possible allowed me to...and get this: it wasn't until I was three blocks away that I even contemplated the fact that someone could have stolen it. I rounded the corner, and coasted by the spot where my car had been parked, and there was no guitar. None at all. Not even shreds of gator guitar case. I got out and peered all around, even squatting to look under the cars on the side of the road. I started to panic even more because I realized that I had put my phone in my guitar case, and my camera as well, and so half my life was missing. I went back to my apartment, thinking I might have left it by the table in the front room, but even as I raced up the stairs, in my heart I knew it wasn't there, because I distinctly remember having the grandiose feeling of walking along, guitar in hand, being a guitar girl for all the world to see. I trudged down the stairs, defeated, not knowing what to do. I sent up shreds of prayers from my heart - I couldn't even form cohesive sentences. As I exited the building, I overheard some lady talking on the call-in phone about how she had a guitar, and some girl was supposed to be playing in a concert that night...and I turned and looked at her, and said, you have my guitar!?! That's MY guitar! You have it? And she said, "nevermind, I found her" and promptly hung the phone up and came and hugged me and said, "we have your guitar." I was seriously about ready to cry from relief. Anyway, the angels, Peggy and Dan, and their dogs, who are nameless to me, but who I see every morning on their walk, had my guitar safely ensconced in their condo. Apparently Peggy had been ready to take the dog out and he started barking and barking and they didn't know if the guitar case was a bomb or not, and then there was my syringe inside for making sure my guitar is hydrated, and they thought it might be drugs...let's just say that in the end, the angels were there for me, and I got my guitar back.
So I found another parking spot, and made it to Rocktoberfest, where I managed to completely bungle the chorus of TMBG's New York City twice, but managed to keep playing anyway...seriously, my ego was at an all time low. I thought, can I even manage to play this next song? This song I put a lot of effort into? Help! It went fine, even though it was so noisy that I wasn't sure anybody could hear me. But I got a few compliments later, which was nice, even if the guy who was my crush of the week last week totally made it obvious that he isn't even the slightest bit interested after I, bolstered in my courage by my successful singer/songwriter debut, made a slight overture. Seriously, being rejected is just no fun. Although it's a lot better than being strung along and THEN rejected, so I guess it's all part of the learning.
Just wanted to say that there are angels. I know, because even though I haven't seen one with wings, they stop & direct wayward traffic and help small lost girls in LA find their baby guitars.