I live/work in a concrete, industrial style loft that I call the “cement Shangri-La”. It’s my oasis. I have one entire wall of windows that look out into LA.

Tonight I thought I would stay in. Conserve some energy. Beginning tomorrow, I have a social butterfly schedule that will culminate (I hope!) in NYC next weekend. And I want to save all my wildchild energy for NYC.

And, truth is, last night I had an unexpected guest. I’m exhausted. He kept me up all night.

Not that kind of guest. It was a cricket that insisted on chirping ALL NIGHT LONG! What is a cricket doing in the middle of downtown in a concrete loft? Was he ousted from the forest? A misfit cricket doing time in downtown. In my loft?

So, I spent the night, tossing and turning,  reading, and finally, around 4 pm, watching old episodes of “Sex and the City” (ok, I admit it. It’s one of my vices.) I was tortured ALL NIGHT by the shrill chirping that crickets make. It’s ok when you’re in the country and they are outside of the house. It’s not ok when they are hiding in the corner of your loft, directly across from your bed! But he seems to have left for greener pastures today. A one night stand.

But it appears that I will have another sleepless night as my neighborhood is being invaded by a festival. I think it’s the tamale festival or maybe that’s spring. I can’t keep track of them. Outside my loft there are Mariachi bands, ferris wheels, llamas, and thousands of people milling the streets. Maybe I should don my dancing shoes and just salsa the night away. I DO love to dance. But not tonight. I also need the proper dance partner. I don’t think the cricket, if he’s still here, likes crowds.

Every time one of my New Yorker friends apologizes for the noise in their apartment when I visit, I remind them where I live. This is more of an urban jungle than any place I’ve lived in NY. Usually, I love it. Tonight -- not so much.

Maybe I should just savor that I live in a neighborhood that has somewhat gentrified but only in the radius that is my building. This is an 8 block stretch that stays true to its roots. The mom and pop shops still exist. The Sunshine Cafe where you can get a quart of milk, tuna sandwiches, burritos and cash from the ATM machine is still here. Family-owned. Langers Deli and the Peruvian tamale restaurant have been here forever too. And they show no signs of being edged out. I love that. 8 blocks down, there is a chic restaurant/bar called Blue Velvet. That’s fine. Great to go for a cocktail, sit by the pool and outdoor fireplace.

But there is something lovely about this little enclave that is held true to its ethnicity and culture of doing business.

So, I have one more sleepless night but I should be grateful for my little hood. I will put up with it. I think I’m only on season 3 of “Sex in the City”. And there’s always the final Paris episodes to indulge in. I just hope that the cricket is done with me.