A Retrospective: 2008

In 2008, I: fell in love, had my heart broken, broke someone’s heart, became an aunt, learned how to ice skate, went to Paris, attended many weddings, ran a few half- marathons, set new PRs, traveled to Minnesota (a lot), went to some new states too (Wisconsin, I’m looking at you) laughed until I cried often, kissed a lot of boys, spent a lot of time on the phone and the Internet

I gained: a new love, a new roommate, a beautiful niece, a few pounds, more responsibilities at work.

I lost: a great aunt, my boss, a few pounds, my favorite black hoop earrings, a lover

I stopped: running five days a week, but then I started again, talking in a British accent

I started: this blog, running five days a week, reading Harry Potter

I was hugely satisfied by: being nominated for a few design awards

And frustrated by: not winning those awards, his lack of response

I am so embarrassed that I: threw up at a friend’s wedding

Once again, I: held on for too long

Once again, I did not: learn Spanish, drink less, forgive my mother

The biggest physical difference between me last December and this December is: my hair is now more than halfway down my back

The biggest psychological difference between me last December and this December is: I don’t care as much

I loved spending time: at museums, in Paris with friends, on White Bear Lake

Why did I spend even two minutes: writing him love letters

I should have spent more time: sober

I regret buying: that plane ticket to Hawaii

I will never regret buying: another year’s membership to my running club

The most relaxing place I went: Mexico with my mom

Why did I: let him treat me that way? Not see it coming?

The best thing I did for someone else was: love them unconditionally

The best thing I did for myself was: let go

The best thing someone did for me was: listened

The one thing I’d like to do again, but do it better is: run a marathon, Chicago 2009.

Shelf Life

My weekend was filled with so much laughter that it's a good thing you can't run out of it because I would be running near or close to empty. I've proven over the past few weeks that it is quite possible to run out of tears, I also proved that here a few months ago. But laughter, I don't think you can ever have too much of it. There is pretty much nothing, other than my niece and my puppy that I love in this world more than laughter. If I could have things my way, I would bottle every moment, every single hearty laugh, every single tear I've shed from laughing, every single moment my face has hurt, my stomach has hurt and every single moment that has left me gasping-for-air-because-I-can hardly breathe laughter and arrange them on a large shelf in my bedroom, ya know for a rainy day or just for a Wednesday. I also kind of love the way that laughter is so fleeting yet so has the potential to be so lasting at the same time. If I were really good with gadgets I could probably figure out a way to make this possible. I could record my entire life, edit it out and somehow transfer these little MP3s and put them on some sort of something that is activated by the opening of the lid to said jar. It would be like a spice rack but for making yourself feel good instead of for baking or cooking or any of those things that I do not do. My spice rack includes salt, pepper basil and sometimes parsley. And cinnamon sugar, 4 jars of it.

I not only sound insane right now but I feel insane from having just written that. Go ahead, steal my brilliant idea and make millions. Just mention my name in the fine print of the patent.

Just to Get By

The good news about hitting rock bottom is that the only place to go from there is up. I woke up in tears again, for the third straight day and after coming to it from my Xanex-induced sleep coma, dreamless and restless, the way all sleep should be when you feel the way I feel, I made it to work successfully without crying on the subway for the first time all week. I call that a victory.

Today I'm surrounding myself with my favorite things, the holiday music is blaring from Pandora® and I'm enjoying a mug of half coffee half sugar free hot chocolate as I write this. I need to procure some gummy frogs, a ball of silly putty or play dough and some plastic inflatable toys (just for the smell) and I'll have enough things to get me through till 5:00 where I'll go and have grown up things like champagne and martinis, enough to make the night disappear into a haze. I'll have my favorites by my side to share in the wallow, or the jubilation as it were. I'm not ready to deal with this like a real grown-up but I have a theory about that. It's too soon to share my theories. I don't really care. I'm doing anything I can to make it, and if that means listening to "All I Want for Christmas is You" on repeat for two hours, so be it. This day too, will end and tomorrow is a new one where I can stay in bed all day in the fetal position until I've had enough. And then I'll get on the train and go make something of myself; make something new.

Geometry

The past two weeks have been painful and cut deeply, wrecking any semblance of damage control I had done unto my heart. The past two weeks have been sleepless, restless, loveless. And man, am I tired. I have a habit I cannot break, a voice I cannot speak, a love I cannot give and a heart I cannot shake. I'm stuck in the middle between what I know to be true and what I wish were true, the given, the geometry of my life. I'm caught in that crossfire between my fucking head and my bleeding heart and I wish, dear God I wish I knew the way, the answer, the road out of this mess. I cannot see a light, there is no light, none that I can see. It has gone out, the flicker that was once a roaring flame, a wildfire, has nearly gone out completely, even the wind cannot help to spread, to bold and beautify. Tell me, where is the fuel or the matches? Have we run out on this journey and most importantly where do I restock? Does it come in bulk?

I am drained of any energy I once had, of that brilliant spirit people have come to expect from me, and most specifically the laughter I once knew. It has made a grand exit and left in its place a literal puddle; water spilling over from the blue vase onto the table and down my leg. The cracks have become gaping holes that swallowed me whole, like a vortex in the deep night sky. It has sucked me dry. I am twisting and I am turning and mostly I am wanting, so much, to find the trigger or the plug whichever I stumble upon first in this seemingly endless given, the geometry of my life.

There Would Just be Love

If I could have it my way, everyday would be Saturday and 75˚ and I'd get to spend the first two hours of my day with my darling little niece snuggled on my chest as the gentle rise and fall of her little breath lulls us both to sleep, a mug of lukewarm specialty coffee resting on the couches' arm and my beautiful sister-in-law busily cooking up a hearty breakfast in the nearby kitchen; there would never be a sad goodbye and one last kiss on the forehead at the end of the weekend, a pit in my stomach and a red-eye flight back to NYC, a day spent at work missing her so much it literally hurt, a day spent at work fighting the urge to fall asleep head-first on my keyboard; there would never be a day I couldn't see her, touch her, hold her and adore here; there would never be a week spent lost in translation, lost in confusion, lost without you; there would never be snow in October or nights spent tossing and turning wondering when, if ever, you were coming home; there would never be a line to get a cab at JFK, my flight would always be on time and we would get off the plane together; there would never be just me, groggy and depressed to venture back to my tiny apartment where, my roommate and dog are already sound asleep and the lights too, have gone to sleep; there would never be a morning where I wake up and wonder why I left, where I am and why you can't be next to me; there would never be a night where I didn't talk to you before going to sleep, an entire day you didn't say my name or care when I scream yours; there would never be days on end spent at work reading text messages through tears or trying to set up a three page brochure with blurry vision from both loss of sleep and loss of love. There wouldn't be any of this, really; there would be hardly much of anything else. There would just be love.

My Own Holiday

"Sometimes it's not holding on...but letting go that makes us stronger."
---
It's beautiful today--an almost perfect Autumn day in New York, but more importantly an almost near perfect day in my own life. The sky is clear, there are no clouds and the temperature is such enough to have lunch in the courtyard with a friend. Inside at my desk, things are getting done, projects are being finished, laughter is plenty and the happiness is written all over my face. I could not ask for anything more.

Two years ago to the day, I sent an IM to a friend that said: "I have really big news." A few minutes later when she saw it she immediately replied with her congratulations because she assumed, and almost rightfully so, that I had gotten engaged. It was only after I told her "actually no, we broke up" did she feel like a total ass. Yep, it was two years ago to the day. It was two years ago today that I became single for the first time in over six years; the first time I walked the New York streets alone, cold and vulnerable; the first time I wasn't a "we," I was just a "me." And I stumbled. For a long time. I cried, I slept, I cried some more and I hurt. A lot.

And then one day, I woke up and I was okay. It didn't hurt anymore. I'm not sure when it actually happened; that day wasn't quite as memorable as the break-up itself more so because it wasn't one day, it was an entire process of healing, growing and changing. Some say that the freedom really comes when you stop counting, but I disagree. The counting just means I recognize it. And that too, is important. I am not a robot. I am not void of feelings even if they are two years in my past. I think that if I had just turned around and gotten myself into another unhealthy and codependent relationship or shut down completely and not allowed myself to love again, I think that would have been a bigger tragedy. What I did do however, all the right things in the right order, has led me to where I am today--in this big and wonderful place in my life. And I suppose that's why I choose to act as if today is a day to celebrate. It's not so much that I'm celebrating having my heart broken or being "free" (though in a way, I sort of am) but in so many other ways, I like to celebrate it because that day eventually bridged the gap to where I am today.

Autumn in New York

I had the most amazing weekend; the kind where on Sunday night as I was pulling back the comforter to crawl into bed, I almost couldn't remember everything I had done and when I really thought about, like really really thought about everything, I couldn't believe it had taken place over the course of 48 hours and not say...148. And not just because I had done my fair share of drinking in those 48 hours.

It was the kind of weekend where I was reminded why it's so much fun being a girl and so much fun having girlfriends to gossip with in the meadow at Central Park on a Saturday in October that felt more like a Saturday in July; or girlfriends to have an al fresco brunch with on a quiet street of the UES; where meeting a friend's mother and getting a peak into her childhood almost makes perfect sense; where laughs and giggles and 'remember whens' far outnumber any present matter, pressing or not; where a quick stroll through MoMa reminds me that I really should partake in more cultural activities and that even an hour's outing always make me feel so humble and grateful all at the same time; so incredibly fortunate to live in this city where, at any given moment there are 50 zillion amazingly fun things to see, to do and to love; where dinner at a new-to-me Italian restaurant makes me stop and wonder why I rely so much on the old standby favorites; where a meal shared by five friends is so much richer both in taste and price than a meal shared with myself, in front of the TV and an old episode of Jeopardy on the DVR; where a Belgium beer at 5:00 is the perfect appetizer; where the lights of the Empire State Building still make my heart smile; where another walk across the Brooklyn Bridge literally makes me stop in my tracks and smile and sigh and almost have to pinch myself to realize yes, I live here; those tall buildings I'm walking towards...that's home; where walking across the bridge shoulder-to-shoulder with my dear friend feels more like a movie than real life but at the end of the day is more real life than any movie; where the sun is in the perfect position to cast brilliant shadows and make for wonderful pictures and the sky is a color that even a master couldn't replicate; where there are no clouds, no smog, no nothing. just pure and rich blue; where watching football at a bar on the UWS while my friend steals sips of my beer during her double shift feels absolutely like home, even if most of the time, I have no idea what is going on in the game; where a friend from our kickball team stops by and together we share laughs and embarrassing stories that really belong in an issue of Cosmo; where the bus ride back across town through the park feels more like a beginning and less like an ending, like another chapter in my NY life and not the close of one; where the weekend reminds me of where I live and who I am and why, just the very reason why I am so incredibly happy and why, yes, at times, I need a reminder. We all do.

New York is incredible and has a way of doing that every now and again, of tapping you lightly on the shoulder and saying YooHoo, get off the couch and get outside; discover me; enjoy me and remember me. There will be a day when I'm 40 that I'm glad she did. Hell, I'm grateful that she did this weekend. In turn, she gives me fabulous memories. And meals. And friends. And laughter. And a life unparalleled to anything I could dream up on my own. And I am almost always entirely grateful. I have to be or the next time, she will just kick my ass instead.

Kid at Heart

There is something to be said for the sheer innocence of a child; the way the outside world (which right now is in literal shambles) has no affect on their day; the way things like paying bills, getting to work on time and doing a good enough job to keep your job never even cross their minds. They want to play. And build really tall buildings out of colored blocks and then knock them over. They want to throw sand and eat worms and play pretend tea party and dolls. A child is a window to a simple world.

I dated a guy one time that said the reason we were so compatible is that I, like him, never want to grow up. And today, after a business lunch that went two hours longer than predicted, two hours of arguing about last night's Presidential debate, the economy and whether or not a woman is qualified to be our next VP (strike that, whether or not Sarah Palin is qualified to be our next VP) I found myself back at my desk dizzy, drained and wishing I could throw a pretend tea party at my desk complete with pink plastic tea cups and kettle.

So instead, I opened YouTube and watched a cartoon. It's the one where Bugs Bunny plays the piano, that really difficult song called 'Hungarian Rhapsody No 2' and the mouse ends up stealing the show at the end on his own mini piano. Bugs actually gets up on the piano and hops down it like a real bunny, on all fours. He picks up all the keys and lay them down. He gets a phone call during the performance and claims he doesn't know who "Mr Liszt" is. Clever. Smart but yet totally silly all at the same time.

Growing up, it was always one of my favorite Bugs cartoons. If DVR existed back then, it would be permanently saved on my list for easy access whenever I needed a fix. I only watched it once because it is over seven minutes long, but the entire time I was giggling and smiling just like a child. For those seven minutes, I felt like a child stuck in a big kid's body. Kind of like the movie Big but without the whole falling in love with an adult part. I was totally transported. And it was...awesome. I don't ever want to grow up. I want to watch cartoons with my kids because I want to not because I have to. Man, being a kid is so much fun!

Thrills

I waited once, for two hours in line at Six Flags Great Adventure to ride the world's tallest & fastest roller coaster. It's ridiculously scary. As far as thrills go, it was pretty high on the list. I mean bungee jumping is definitely a helluva lot scarier but it's ranked pretty high nonetheless. Was it worth the two hours on line? I guess so. The way the line was set up and snaked around the grounds, my friend and I spent half the time standing right in front of the boarding area. The fun of that was watching people freak out right before the coaster takes off and zooms from 0 to 128mph in 4 seconds flat. Every single person was just screaming at the top of their lungs. I was too when we finally got our own shot on the ride. Right before it takes off you sit there as the operator counts down: "3-2-1 enjoy your ride." You then fly forward at quite literally the fastest you've ever done anything. This isn't Germany; we don't drive cars that fast here. You reach the top of the hill, you're there for a half-a-second and then you start falling, your hair standing up almost completely on end as you feel weightless in your seat. And then you twist and turn a few times and then....just like that it's over. There is so much anticipation, so many moments leading up to that <40 second ride that afterwards, you aren't even quite sure what really happened. We stood in line for two hours for what breaks down to forty seconds of thrills and screams. Looking back, the anticipation probably outweighed the actual ride. The two hours in line freaking out watching everyone else freak out was probably more scary than the actual ride. But I'm not sitting here three years later wondering why I did it. I know why I did it; the same reasons anyone rides a roller coaster, jumps out of an airplane or off a bridge attached with what equates to a giant rubberband attached to their ankles. We do it for the thrill. For the joy. For the rush. For the experience. For the merit. For the bragging rights. And in those instances, it doesn't matter whether or not it's worth it. You do it and it's fun and it's okay when it's over. You expect that from a roller coaster.

You don't expect that same thing from life or from love.

The Tenth Month

I woke up this morning and realized that it's October. I know technically yesterday was the first day of October, but yesterday I wasn't paying attention; that whole September only has 30 days thing always throws me for a loop. I don't really remember October. For me it's a forgetful month, no offense to all your Scorpios. Maybe it's because October lacks a federal holiday for that long weekend or a much needed day off. Maybe it's because the air starts to chill and this year my feet are still firmly planted in August; my mind stuck back in May or June when things were just starting, when the flame was a mere flicker and the sun stayed up well into the evening's breath.

Last year I spent October preparing for the marathon. I spent it sleeping and icing and popping blisters along with Advil. This year, since I have officially opted out of the marathon due to a too-busy-to-train-the-right-way summer, I'm not sure what October has in store for me. I kind of feel like I've been given the gift of time, like suddenly there's an extra month in my year. My summer went by in a blur, like a college graduate backpacking in Europe, rubbing my eyes each morning wondering what train station I had just pulled into. I want my Fall to feel differently not only than last Fall but different from all the rest. I want to feel it all, slow and winding, like a drive on a country road through the backwoods of Vermont. But I don't actually want to go to Vermont. The last time I went to Vermont, my heart was broken and my life, forever changed. I want defiant moments that don't feel defiant until months later when I look back and think that moment, that moment was a good one. While it's happening though, I don't want it to feel like I'll remember it. I want to be fooled by my own mind. I want it to matter less but yet more. I am a walking paradox. I'm done spelling it out, each detail planned out so that every moment matters as much as the next but yet, not less than the one before. I'm freewheeling and free falling all at the same time, or at least, I want to be. Maybe that's it; maybe I just want to be free?

If You Know...

you need to swipe your ID to get into the building every time you enter, why do you wait until you're standing in front of the machine to pull out your ID from your purse?

there are 300 people trying to get off the subway, why won't you step aside instead of blocking the doors at Grand Central Station?

you know you have to pay for that coffee, why do you wait until they ring it up to even get out your wallet? The price hasn't changed from yesterday and I'm willing to bet that if it's 8:30am and you're buying coffee dressed in a suit, you aren't a tourist. I'm willing to bet you are a fair-trade junkie just like myself. Have your money out and ready.

you're next in line to order, why are you not prepared to rattle off the ingredients you want in your salad when asked?

you need to choose whole wheat or white or Italian herbs, why do act as if the decision is impossible? This is a Subway® sandwich, not a buy or sell on the market floor.

the deadline was Friday and it's now...Tuesday afternoon, why am I the bad guy for not making an exception to a deadline you clearly couldn't follow when you had over two weeks to complete it?

your client is a "super important one" why do you wait until 5 days before you need a special-custom printed item to ask me for it? Newsflash: you're not my only project and I can't make exceptions for you because you didn't do your homework and allow lead time.

I work 9-5, why do you e-mail me at 7:00 and ask me to send you a file? Newsflash, I don't bring my computer home and have files available after I leave this office. If you can't seem to find the time between 9 and 5 to e-mail and ask me, clearly you need to learn better time management skills and then maybe you wouldn't be in the office at 7:00 needing files that you can't have!

...Okay I'm done now.

S.A.D

For some reason, I am having a really hard time adjusting to Autumn this year. Yesterday was one of those unusually cool mornings and yet, I walked to work sans coat and full-body goosebumps instead. My runs in the park are finished in near total darkness. I keep waiting for the weather channel to tell me the temperature next week is going to be in the 80s and then I'll get one last chance to sport my favorite summer dress or my flip-flops that are now so much molded to my feet they feel almost like second skin. I usually don't fight the change this much. I embrace the leaves changing colors, the cider, the apple picking and the light weight sweaters that have sat neatly folded on my closet shelf. Typically I embrace the shift to my laceless converse kicks and the black coat. But not this time. I've developed an intense case of "Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)." Look it up; it's a real condition. It's right up there with "Restless Leg Syndrome."

I'm chalking the entire thing up to change overload. Too much change and not enough time to adjust to each change before the next one happens. But things that never used to bother me seem like the most pivotal things. I don't want to wear a coat. I don't want to wear sneakers. I loathe the thought of long pants against my shins, the thought of socks on my feet all day. I feel somewhat out of control. I'm scared. And I'm running. Fast. But I'm not sure what I'm running from or where I'm going to end up when I finally stop to take a drink of water or to breathe, to think, to listen. I'm sure by the time I stop it will be winter, the park will be covered in snow and I will have given into the full-length down coat, hat, scarf and mittens. I have no choice. It's coming. Fall gives way to winter too quickly around here.

Little Boxes

I finally have a second to breathe and I'm trying to write this quickly because if I have learned anything from the three weeks since my boss' departure, it is that free time must be used wisely because you never know when and if you will see it again.

I spent the weekend in New Jersey at my parents new house, and I meant/wanted to blog about that much sooner, but I never had time. And now the thoughts and the feelings have escaped further from how real they felt at first. This is probably a good thing but let it be said, there were tears.

I woke up Saturday morning in quite frankly, the most barren and bright room I've probably ever slept in. I had no idea where I was or why the entire house smelled like new car. It took me a few seconds to realize this is where I will wake up on Christmas morning for probably the next ten or so years. This is where I will spend Thanksgiving and random weekends during the summer, when the city has become insufferable and I need grass and quiet. The room I slept in, known as the "guest bedroom," informally known as "my room," faces due east and therefore is brighter than the face of the sun itself by 7 am, making for sleeping in on the weekends virtually...impossible. My mom is excited about how bright the new house is; her gigantic room is on the opposite side of the house. She doesn't get any morning sun and can therefore out-sleep her daughter. And she did. Both days.

Every time I came in through the front door nothing was as it used to be; the tile is a different color, the walls are all the same shade of boring, the ceilings are like 30 feet tall and my dog's bark echos to an almost ear-piercing degree. Nothing is the same, but yet everything is. The exterior is new, the walls are new, all the windows are thick and actually keep heat IN. The interior is all the same furniture, just rearranged in a new way, a couch in a different room than it used to be, an end table repurposed as a TV stand. It's like a mini condensed version of my old house. Mini. And stale. I want to like it. And I'll learn to. But some small part of me cannot let myself. I equally as much want to hate it for the purpose of hating it, because that is easier. Or maybe because it's not what I've always known; because it smells like new car; because the faucet in the guest bathroom clicks when you turn it on; because the shower head is one of those gigantic wastes water spa-like shower heads; because the driveway is six feet long and flat and there's hardly any room to go sledding; because the back yard isn't fenced in and is roughly the size of my office; because the kitchen has a pantry and a lazy susan; because both my parents now have walk-in closets; because it doesn't feel like mine. Or theirs. Or my brothers. It feels lost in translation, lost in a bright white light, lost in the sameness.

Tangerine Season

as a child, the end of summer was dictated by cooler evenings, early to bed early to rise, a breeze through my bedroom window that signified an ending. but also a beginning. wide-ruled paper, yellow #2, a pencil case that smelled like fall. like delicious. a thermos and a triangular shaped sandwich filled with peanut butter goodness.

the lazy days of swimming and playing were over; hours wasted on the lake drinking Sunkist™ from the vending machine; 75 cents spent, a million giggles gained. seaweed. screaming. dunking. ducking. treading water. blowing bubbles. the gentle rocking. and pulling. and pushing. and tugging on the anchor rope to get to the bottom. diving to where the water is cool and the sunlight stops shinning. a subtle shift in wind. ending up where the weeds were as tall as me. My tiny legs covered in bruises from bouncing. from falling. from the fins of the lake shark. but drenched in sunlight nonetheless. the end of summer always felt somewhat sad but also sweet, like the last section of a tangerine.

the rind is sour and rusting on my chair. the leaves will change, dry and fall like eggshells on the avenues. but if i play this song one more time summer will not end? the sun will not set before i leave this office. i will not need a wool coat. or mittens. i hit snooze. maybe i can sleep through winter and wake up when the buds are bursting with color. when the birds are hungry. when i am hungry.

if i just play this song one more time, i can make it. i can do it. i can get there. i can get to tangerine season once again. if i hurry...before the rind goes dry.

The Road

Everything I know is changing. My world has become a constant paradigm shift from familiar to uncomfortable, from ordered alphabetically to cluttered chaos in a whole other alphabet entirely. I feel like a toddler stumbling on my feet to take my first steps, a teenager behind the wheel of my first stick shift. And yet I keep stalling at the intersections. I cannot move this vehicle known as my life forward enough to pick up speed and hit the cruise control. I want something familiar, just one simple thing to remind me of where I am. Something I can recognize as my own or something that I've known; not something I once knew that is no more, or something that has been washed away by the storms, the winds and the downpour.

When I was little and I would nap on car trips in the back of the minivan, I could always tell we were getting close to home by the look of power lines and the telephone poles. In the night, I knew the acceleration up the hill leading to my street, the deceleration of going down the other hill and turning into the driveway. I knew all of that by heart, lying down with my eyes closed in the dark. It was as familiar as my own breath.

And now I keep looking for something just like that. First left and then right. And then left again thinking that if I turn my head again the next time I look, something will be there; something has to be there. But it isn't. The street lamps have all burnt out. The road is dark and winding and the guard rail ended many miles back. Eventually there's a dead end and a place to turn around but I haven't gotten there yet...

Rule #1

During my daily pilgrimage to my deli to purchase my $10 chopped salad, this woman was being so rude to my "salad man" Steven, that it took everything in my arsenal to not break out my umbrella from my purse and spear her with it.

Woman: What kind of dressing is this?
Steven: Ginger
Woman asking again with a slightly more rude tone: What kind of dressing is this?
Steven: Ginger!
Woman asking yet again with an even more rude tone: What kind of dressing is this, I didn't hear you?
Steven: GINGER!
Me sensing Steven's annoyance: It's ginger!
...
Then I looked over at her and realized she still had her iPod headphones in her ears. Yes hello, this is the manners police: remove your freaking headphones when placing an order.

Ending

spur of the moment, the last minute, no plans, any plans, the moon, the stars, every single star in the sky, shooting stars, white noise, no noise, crickets, the winding roads leading to somewhere--anywhere I haven't been, the swampy marshes, the darkest road i've ever driven on, 35,000 feet, the final approach, takeoff, butterflies, silliness, the first dance, the last dance, all the dances in between, the first and last page, the morning and the evening, the spaces in between, half-awake, staying awake, deciding to stay asleep, the first and the last kiss, long runs, short sprints, long sleeves, shorter shorts, freezing water, steamy outdoor showers, friday afternoon, monday morning, vodka sodas five too many, ice-cream cake, saltwater skin, rock sculptures, sand castles, the tears of joy, the tears of pain, the bittersweet life changes, the happenings, the excitement, the astonishment, the blessings, say hello and cry good-bye

One-Liners that Kill

While browsing the aisles of Circuit City yesterday I saw something which I immediately deemed quite silly: an armband for the iPod shuffle. Seems a bit...unnecessary, no? Or at the very least a little overkill? Then this conversation occurred via text with the only person on the planet who I knew would agree with me. And then I laughed so hard I almost got hit by the M3 bus while crossing the street.

Me: Doesn't the arm band for the shuffle seem a bit...dumb?
Friend: It does until you consider the number of people that exercise in the nude.

On Beauty

I spent this past weekend on a small island off the coast of northern Wisconsin on Lake Superior. It was, in a word, stunning. In two more: peaceful and serene. I'd not yet previously been to this particular great lake, but Michigan and Erie are marked off the list. I was elated to add this to the completed tasks on the list of things to see and do before I turn 30.

Wisconsin is beautiful. And big. And the sky, just like in nearby Minnesota is endless and this almost-unidentifiable shade of blue that we just don't get here in the city. The palette that mother nature has put together sometimes blows my mind. Its an explosion of colors onto a canvas untouched by man. A palette that seems unmatchable even with the help of a computer. There were moments that I felt like I had been picked up by my neck and plopped down into a fairytale land. That the place where I was couldn't be real; that places of such stunning beauty can't exist, not if I can't see them all the time without having to close my eyes.

One afternoon we took a lazy Sunday drive (on Saturday) through the woods and down dirt roads, the rocky shore of the lake as our only guide. We passed stretches of rocky beaches untouched and unreachable. Pine trees and birch trees together dotted the landscape and the sun peaked through offering tiny glimpses at the sky. We were under a canopy of green and blue and browns so rich that my eyes couldn't blink. And even though I know it does because I'm in the middle of it right now, at that moment I thought to myself that it is so hard to believe that a place like Manhattan can exist. That a place so opposite in comparison is the place I call home. But then I suppose, that's the beauty of it all, the push and the pull, the ying and the yang. Even more amazing, is that I am capable of finding beauty amongst this man-made concrete place so contrary in look and in feel. But today, as I continuously close my eyes to transport back to that blue-raspberry lollipop sky and crystal clear cold water, I'm having a much harder time than usual finding beauty in this place, this maze, this jungle.

Sea Legs

Even though there is no work right now, work has been the most stressful it's ever been. Ever. And that is no hyperbole. My boss announced yesterday that he is leaving. A few days before that, two other very important people left. And before that two more. It's been like the rush to get off the island before the biggest hurricane ever recorded hits land.

Now as I sit here, gently thumping my giant rubberband ball against my desk, I am contemplating whether or not to get in that line or to ride out the storm strapped to my desk with one big giant rubberband. I generally like my job. I am one of the lucky ones. One of the few. I like the people I work with. I love MY office (emphasis there on the word my). But that being said, I cannot react purely on impulse and emotion right now. I cannot react based on the fact that everyone else is doing it. I have to stay if not because someone has to pick up the slack, then because I need to do this for myself. I have to learn to make it through a transitional period without running away, because it's easier or because it's what I've done before. I need to become an amphibian, adaptable in any environment.

This happened at my old job as well. There was a slew of lay-offs and people quitting all in a matter of just a few weeks. The only difference was, at my old job, I was one of the ones waiting in line at the one-lane bridge to get off the island. And I got my turn. It was time to leave that job, time to move on to bigger and better projects, to a company that valued me as well as needed me. And because I ran from there to here to seek shelter from the storm, I will stay. For awhile at least. I will ride out this storm and see how strong my sea legs truly are.

Take THAT Ms. Moriesstte

It's been a little slow at work for the past few days, so to pass the time a few of my coworkers and I have taken to doing really dumb things, the dumbest perhaps of them all is building a rubberband ball. It's now spanned to a building contest amongst our department. Who can build the biggest ball by the end of the day; by the end of the week? Ours started out the way they all do about the size of a gumball, but in the past day or two has grown to about the size of a baseball.

Last night as I was shutting down my computer and getting ready to leave for the night, I realized that the box to my new camera had ripped and would no longer close on its own. I didn't want the contents to fall out on the commute home and break before I had even used it. I thought to myself: not a problem; I'll just throw a few rubberbands around it. It only took me about three seconds before I realized the giant flaw in my superb plan. I don't have any rubberbands left. Not in any of my drawers, shelves or cabinets. There is not one single lone rubberband to be found in my office.

That right there. That's irony.

The Beat Goes On

Coming back to the city after being away for even just a week is always sort of a weird feeling. On one hand, I'm always so anxious to return for the noise, the hustle, the whenever/whatever I want, I can have, the excitement of it all. New York is home; anywhere else falls short. But on the other hand, there's always a tiny part of me that doesn't want any of that. There's a part of me that longs for the lazy days on the beach, the huge dinners with my family gathered around the table, the mid-afternoon naps on the beach blanket, the simpleness of it all. The quiet. The inner peace.

While I do travel quite a bit, for some reason coming back to the city after the week at the beach is always the hardest. I don't know whether it's because it's like going from one extreme to the other: being surrounded by 18 people at all times in a huge beach house -- to sitting alone in my less-than-huge apartment, or if it's just because it signifies the end of something; the end of summer; the end of another year; the end of paid time off; the end of a tradition.

Unlike when I used to go on this same vacation in college or even high school, returning to NYC after a week away always bestows so many changes. There are usually so many changes it's almost hard to notice them all. It's quickly evident that the city kept on going at record pace. It's just like when I used to cut class back in high school and go "off campus" for lunch. Once I left the parking lot it was always like holy shit, in fact, life is going on while I spend my days sitting in class taking notes. I always remember thinking that it felt so liberating to leave school like that, to get a little preview of what the rest of the world was doing.

It's part of the deal when you agree to live here: do not get attached to anything. A week in NYC is the equivalent of a few months anywhere else. Where as change in my hometown takes a gradual and slow pace, it only takes a day for a restaurant to close here, a week for it to be replaced by something new, different, bigger, faster better, now with more sizzle. It only takes a few days for an entire Avenue's length of scaffolding to come down near my office that has stood there for over three years revealing an entire building that I've never even seen before. And apparently, it only takes a week for lots of people in my office to quit leaving everyone to wonder if it's time to jump ship too.

Midnight

My hair is sun-drenched with natural blond highlights from the sun and saltwater deluge of the past week, my skin the color of a roasted almond and my mind more clear than the water in which I floated in for hours upon end. The past week which is rich in tradition, was vaguely similar to the weeks of vacations past, yet vastly different all at once.

There was star gazing as there always is. Every year we seem to be at the beach during a huge meteor shower. After an hour of watching, you lose track of how many you've seen. It's wonderful. But this year, as the comets zoomed overhead I wasn't wishing for things I wanted, I was wishing for the things I have. I wasn't closing my eyes and wishing for true happiness, for true love or for health. I have all of those things and in good plenty. And I wish for nothing more; just for, I suppose, that these things to continue to grow, to evolve, to continue to amaze me with a fraction of surprise that each has individually brought to my life as they unfolded delicately, like silk upon my lap.

I can vividly remember the summer before my junior year in high school, watching a huge star with a long tail shoot over the ocean and making a wish that same very second. I remember this moment because just two weeks later, that wish came true. It honestly did. Looking back it was probably due to my own volition, but youth has a wonderful way of blacking out the obvious and fostering hopeful dreams. Ignorance is sometimes a filter I wish popped up more often in my adult years. That was the first time in my entire life that I wished for something and it actually came true. It was a stupid wish; I thought that then and still think that now. But it didn't matter. I wanted it. And it came true.

Nearly ten years later, as I sat there Friday night watching dozens of shooting stars fall from the sky, I realized that I didn't even need to make a wish; that everything I could possibly wish for, short of riches or fame, I have right now. And that realization was so much more fulfilling than the biggest star with the biggest tail shooting across the entire midnight sky.

Charging...

Living in this city depletes my batteries pretty quickly. Between just the general grind, commuting and dealing with everything this city sometimes throws your way, this past week has also been a barrage of emotions, good news and bad, moments where I wasn't sure what to say and moments where I could not put into words how I was feeling. That is a rare thing, for me to be-speechless, but the big moments are sometimes the ones where I try to be cautions with my words. My new little niece has me dumbfounded in so many ways but mostly in the way that I've suddenly taken on a huge love for her and all things baby. I never saw that coming. Never.

But in the midst of going baby crazy, of becoming an aunt and falling in love, there's also been moments of total devastation, the kind that rocks your world to the core. And this kind of rocking has me questioning my beliefs and envying those that have faith in something bigger and more powerful than any of us know. And I wonder, if a niece can change my view on babies and children and love, can this devastation change the way I feel about faith?

And while I'm sure the answers to this question won't come any time soon, it's certainly something that will keep my mind occupied while I'm laying on the beach for the next nine days recharging my badly drained batteries.

Welcome to the World

My cousin told me after meeting her newborn niece Sarah for the first time that she "loved her like she didn't know was possible." And while I kind of agree that at the time it sounded like a cliche thing to say (no offense WB) I could now not agree more.

On Friday, July 25 my first niece was born: Sophia Louise. She is healthy and happy and looks just like my brother. I am overjoyed by her birth. In fact, I am overwhelmed by the emotions I have experienced in the last 72 hours since her birth. Forgetting for a second that I spent more than half my weekend in airports stressed and tired, hungry and anxious, these emotions were different from the ones I have known before. I found myself tearing up when my dad would send me a picture message of "Grandma" holding her. During a short phone conversation with my sister-in-law, I found myself sobbing because little Sophia started to cry. Hearing her 'voice' for the first time, over the phone, over thousands of miles both warmed and broke my heart. It is the sweetest and most tender of times, but it is also the most painful of times. I want to be near her; I want to be with her; I want to hold her tiny hands and kiss her soft head. I want to know her in this fragile, helpless and adorable stage. But I don't get to. And that breaks my heart in more ways than I thought it would. I've known for quite some time that she will only live in Las Vegas for a few months; then she and her family will move across the globe to Korea. That's a fact of life, a fact of life in the Air Force. But now that she has been born that fact is more like a tiny knife piercing my saddened heart. I am overjoyed by her life, by her presence in our lives yet, am saddened by her departure, by her proximity.

I haven't met her yet, and probably won't for a few months but I love her...more than I thought I would. I love her in a way I don't think I love anything else. It's not in the same way in which I love my parents, my brothers, my dog, my friends or even my boyfriend(s) of past and present. It transcends that. The weird thing is, I can't explain it. But I can feel it. And it is so powerful. I find myself looking at my blackberry throughout the day just to see her beautiful round face. I talk about her to people with such pride and such joy; the same kind of pride once reserved only for my dog. I adore her. And yet, I do not know her. It is abstract in many ways, yet palpable in so many others.

My mom has told me for years that I cannot comprehend the kind of love you have for your own children. She always jokes that I should think about the love I have for my dog and multiply that by 10,000 and then even still, I won't understand the kind of love she has for me, or my brother I'm certain, has for his newborn daughter. And although I haven't yet met Sophia, I think I'm starting to comprehend just how strong that love is and can be. Once I do finally meet her, I'm sure this love will only multiply by the thousands.

Headlock

When I was growing up, my family always spent a few weeks every summer in West Palm Beach, Florida where my grandfather and his wife lived. We hated going there, from what I can remember. It was incredibly boring, having to spend so much time sitting around in a house that smelled like mildew and old people. There was a strange saltwater pool at his country club, where sometimes we were allowed to go and play. There was also a bathing suit ringer at this club that looked like a torture contraption from the early 18th century.

Rather than swim in the pool like normal children usually would, my brothers and I would attempt to fill the pool with green berries we picked from the bushes lining the pool's edge. We would throw what seemed like thousands into the pool, and sometimes they would push me in and force me to retrieve them. We would also throw the patio furniture into the deep end and then have a pretend picnic complete with pretend food and pretend tea. We loved to throw furniture into pools; there's something incredibly satisfying about watching a table and four or five chairs sink, winding and turning as it drifts effortlessly to the bottom with one last thunk. We would see how long we could hold our breath while hanging onto on the lounge chairs that also got tossed in. One of my brothers always wore a watch with a timer on it that beeped. He always held the record. I could never beat him. He was like a fish, that one.

Eventually, our parents would come by and yell at us for having put the furniture in the pool. They would ask us to get out and change into our clothes for dinner. And so we would move from the pool to the changing-room area where the bathing suit ringer was located. We would then pick aloe plant leaves and run each one through it, cheering as the plant oozed its contents on the barrel of the ringer. We would throw them at each other and we would stab each other with the thorny edges of the leaves. We would leave the ringer covered in slimy green aloe juice and walk away, giggling like the school children that we were. We would leave a trail of disaster when we left that country club; we would leave our family mark.

I have a lot of fond memories just like these, of the days when my brothers and I vacationed together, of when we played together, of when we lived together and shared everything together, not because we necessarily wanted to, but because we had to. Because we were family.

This past weekend I talked to one of my brothers for close to two hours. This is the first time we had talked in several months, not because we don't like each other, but because until a few weeks ago he lived abroad. The time difference and the expense of calling overseas made it difficult to talk often. We talked about many things: the gossip going on in the family, the sad news I had to bear, the confusion that life has handed us, the excitement, the joy, the pain. And although this is the same brother that used to pin me down and fart on my head, or blow burps in my face, the same brother who would wake me up by throwing objects at me from the doorway of my bedroom, this conversation transcended everything up to that point. It was like all of the sudden we stopped being children and put on our adult masks. And it didn't strike me hard until we eventually started talking about very "adult" things: about how best to handle our crazy mother and about him becoming a father, and about true love, romance and bliss. It was then that I realized perhaps for the very first time that we weren't playing pretend. We actually are adults. We are...adults?

Somewhere between West Palm Beach and New York City and Venice Italy we both grew up and became adults. And not that I didn't think it would happen, I just didn't expect it to happen this way. Yet underneath all the confusion and situations that adulthood bestows, I know that if he had the chance, he would headlock me and hold me there until I begrudgingly scream out ...mercy!

In a Valley

Today is a much better day than any day this week has been and I'm attributing it to the full nine hours of sleep I got last night--the first full nine hours since probably long before Memorial Day weekend. My body fought that nine hours though, waking me up after the four or five its gotten accustomed to this summer. It's been a busy summer, with traveling every weekend and tons of fun and until Sunday it had been a quiet summer on the emotional drama front.

But when it rains it pours, and this week has been no exception. I cannot morally go into all of the things that are storming down right now; storms that are ravishing not only my own life, but the lives of the people I love around me. But let it be said that these are some serious issues, and that if you are a believer of any kind, even if it's not necessarily in a God...that now would be a perfect time to offer up some prayers for my family and for my friends. Let it also be said that I would not ask unless it was absolutely necessary. Without the valleys, the view from the hills would be a lot less beautiful, at least that is what I'm going to continue to tell myself until this all blows over.

Steel

The rain came down hard on the skylights at about half-past five this morning, and even in my delirious state I cursed mother nature for delivering such poorly disguised irony. The weather always has a direct affect on my mood, a way of predetermining the way my day will pan out, the way I can or sometimes cannot face the world head-on and strong. Once I woke up and walked my dog, this morning proved to be no different. The rain was as cold as steel and the air carried a chill that spoke as if to echo my heart.

When I got to work, my office neighbor could immediately tell that something was wrong; he came in and closed my door quietly asking if everything was all right or if I needed to talk. It's no secret that I wear my heart on my sleeve. I do not hide anything well. I never have. I probably never will.

The truth is I am okay. I am better than okay. I am perfectly happy and content with where I am in my life, and where I think I am going. But last night, as I sat on a steel bench at the Newark airport train station, a bench I know that I've sat on before many many years ago, head in hands tears in eyes wishing for one more minute, one more hour, one more day--I didn't feel okay. At that point, I wasn't sure how much time would have to pass until everything felt okay again. It was right then that I realized while it's understandable to feel the way that I do and it's acceptable to cry and to hurt, the only way to get through this, the only way to grow, to learn and to love is to become as strong as the steel bench upon which I sat. And so I took off my sunglasses, I wiped away my tears, I put on the iPod and a smile and did a little tap dance on the cement floor before I boarded a train to head home...

Her Brain was Still on Vacation

Mondays are tough, even tougher when you've just had four days off, even tougher still when you're stuck in the coffee pantry with the one coworker you don't get along with but are forced to make conversation with regardless.

Coworker [begrudgingly]: Did you have a nice weekend; where did you go again?
Me: Went out to Long Island with the girls; Montauk.
Coworker: Oh, is there a beach there?
Me [trying hard not to sound dumbfounded]: It's....an island so...yes.
Coworker: Oh I thought it was connected to land somewhere.
Me: Nope; I think that's kind of what they mean by "island."
Coworker: Oh, I could have sworn Long Island wasn't really an island; I've never been there except to go to the beach.

Sticky Sweet

It has mostly been packing and re-packing, with a little unpacking in between; the bag from the weekend before still sitting half-full of memories and the dresses I was too lazy to hang away in the rightful spot. It has also been mostly sleepless nights, half-awake commutes, triple cup double shot mornings, late afternoon diet cokes and green teas, sneaking in a nap after the gym sometimes in lieu of the gym. It has been new and exciting and intriguing and inviting; there has been so much laughter it's almost as if I have my own laugh track, like the sitcoms. It has been lost in the rapture, lost in the moment, found in the moment and then lost again. It has been mostly wonderful, humid, sticky, hot and sometimes sweet, thunderstorms late at night, rain when the stars have fallen and my eyes are heavy, when it no longer matter if I forgot my umbrella or am wearing flip flops. It has been a blur of fun, a blur of memories I will never forget, a blur of sunshine and blue skies, of puffy clouds and fresh air; it has definitely been one hell of a summer so far...a summer that is only half over!

NYPD Called; They Want their Equipment Back

Tonight I'm getting on a plane to fly 1,029 miles to Minnesota, and when I step off the plane I am being shuttled to the Metrodome to a Twins game. Of course, as a girl, this presents several problems not the least of which is WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR ON THE PLANE!? It has to serve the initial function of looking cute upon arrival, as well as looking practical i.e not overdressed for a baseball game but therefore cute enough to look somewhat human and fashionable when we go out to the bars afterwards. I know I know, my life is sooo difficult.

So during this fashion emergency I called in some of my coworkers to help me make the decision. I tried on three different outfits and listened as they sounded off with their opinions. Have I mentioned that I LOVE MY JOB! Anyway, the final vote was for skinny jeans and a navy vest however, this decision only came after the comments about the vest "not serving a purpose" were discussed, argued against and discussed some more; we then called for backup and discussed again. The guy who stated this is also the same guy who wears plaids that don't match and black shoes with blue pants. But I digress. In the end there were eight people gathered outside my office voicing their votes for what I should or should not wear and the pros to each outfit. The comment about fashion over function eventually came to a hilarious end when someone said:

"The only thing you need to know about a vest is does it protect your heart and is it bulletproof."

Endless Chances

I might
go back to school in pursuit of an MBA, perhaps another Masters this time in Art Education, I am a perpetual student with an unquenchable thirst for learning, for growing, for discovery, for loans and late nights, for not sleeping, for a silver desk lamp illuminating my future, my ideas spewing out only after the rest of the world has long gone to sleep; quit my job and spend a few months traveling to places hardly visible on the map, places nobody goes to, nobody runs from, to places I only see in my dreams, to places I can sink my toes into, my mind into; I might take off in a car, on a road trip in search of the truth, in search of nature, in search of another moment, of something I've not yet seen, felt or held, of something honest and true, of something better or something pure; tear down the wall to see the other side; I might run another marathon or three, one in Chicago and one abroad just to do it, just to see if I can; I might even decide to venture into a triathlon because running is a gateway drug; I just might give it up, walk away, throw myself into something else, something new; something bigger than myself; I might take a cooking class, go Vegan, learn to speak Spanish, teach myself sign language, hire a maid to do the cleaning, get to sleep before midnight and forget to dream until it's too late.

I might not
get out of bed on a rainy Sunday morning, instead turn off the alarm, roll over, snuggle with my dog and drift to the spaces between reality and the fog of dreams I hardly understand, the cacophony of drops upon the skylight, the fan doing its best to mimic a breeze; I might not save the notes, the flowers, the cards or the wrapping paper but wish I did; I might not always wash the dishes, put away the milk or close the cabinet doors, unplug the iron, put away the hair dryer, hang up my wet towels or listen to my parents; remember to take out the trash, take my medicine or take things seriously when I should or take too seriously the things I should not; be capable of letting it all go or of letting it all in, of washing away the dirt, of accepting things at face value or of seeing the truth when it's so totally different from the only one I've never known...

...but someday I know I will.

Summer Lovin'

• more hours of sunlight; late evening thunderstorms; sleeping without the A/C
• lucky bamboo; lilies
• fresh everything; dime-sized blueberries
• the return of eating tomatoes like apples
• linen spray; new couch smell; turning my apartment into a home
• laughter everyday
• strolls along the river; a corner of the grass; wandering along first avenue in the rain; skipping; humming; singing; dancing in the cross-walks
• rooftop bars; birthdays; open air restaurants; al fresco dining
• laying by a pool; classic rock
• BBQ chicken; grilled veggies; cricket pie
• a girls' weekend on the beach; a flag cake; SPF barely; striped towels; an orange bikini; a straw hat; a bendy straw
• lincoln park after dark; midnight at moscow; magenta on standby
• white, silver and gold sandals; flip flops; cotton skirts; throw-on, throw-over dresses with pockets, last minute clearance rack purchases
• wednesday morning hangovers
• three hour phone calls
• beginnings; spontaneity; magic; butterflies

Changing of the Guard

If the past few weeks are any indication of how my entire summer is going to pan out, I am super excited and quite possibly setting myself up for one of the best summers of my life. Of course, nothing can compare to long lazy days spent on the lake swimming, water skiing and playing tag with my brothers. Nothing ever will, but then, nothing really can. The days of summer when you are young and carefree will always be the best, the pinnacles of perfection.

This summer is the summer of the changing of the guard, of almost everything I've known until this point. My parents are moving in a month from the only house I've ever called home. Tomorrow, a friend I've known for ten years is adding her name to my mailbox and calling me a roommate. My brother and his wife are finally back in America for a few months at least, and in about a month will be parents, which inevitably changes everything. A few of my friends will marry and sadly one will even move on from her life in New York City; she will pick up and move her life to Colorado, start a family and never look back. And even though I've known her longer than I've known anyone (over 20 years) I somehow think things will never be the same. Nothing ever will, but then, nothing really can.

Some variables of my life will stay the same however; the intangible things I've unearthed over the past few months; things like rich laughter, happiness, inner peace and consummate joy; the things I'll look towards to keep me grounded when the world around me starts to shake.

Flood

I once read this book that said when you close a door or chapter in your life, the universe makes room for something else to come in and flood that vacant space. That sentence, I remember, resonated with me then and even now, several months later it reverberates within my soul like the beating of an African drum. Hindsight they say, is always 20/20 and in retrospect I know now what I needed to let go of, what door I needed to close and what memories I needed to clear from the cache.

Several months ago however, I didn't know what door to close and how to differentiate closing it from forgetting it. There is a fine line and sometimes, too often in fact, it's easy to mix up that just because I walked away doesn't mean I forgot and doesn't mean I won't always remember. I have a fear of forgetting. Or maybe it's a fear of remembering. Maybe it's a combination of both, that I can't chose what I remember. The good memories get pushed aside and replaced by newer, better, bigger, faster. Either way I only want to remember the good, to block out the tears and the pain. But sadly, I have to say it is quite the opposite, really. I think of you as a villain, as a disease that plagued my life and blocked my hallway to happiness. But I was young and it was fun and I just couldn't give up on the idea that we could make it work; that we could make us work; that our differences were not to much to overcome; that your anger and your disconnect wouldn't infiltrate and spread from my heart to my soul.

So here I am, after all these years and I realize that I was wrong. For me, there is nothing worse. There are few things harder than failing, than admitting I am wrong, than saying I'm sorry. These are the worst words to mutter, the easiest to forget, the most important to learn. And while I'm not going to apologize now or hold on to the fact that it's many years too late for I'm sorry and I was wrong, I am going to allow the universe to flood me with this one more chance and savor the current as it washes me away.

Blocked

One of my biggest fears used to be waking up and all the sudden not having the ability to create: to draw, to design, to make, to think outside "the box," mostly to have one more ah ha idea. I somehow got over it, I'm not quite sure when or how. But I did. Or so I thought...

I'm stuck right now and even though I've flipped through my usual sources of inspiration, this time it is not working. It could easily be because my brain is still on vacation, or fried from too much sun on said vacation but either way suddenly I'm back to having irrational fears of having already had my last good idea.

Sometimes I envy the people who don't have to rely on inspiration to make it through their day; sometimes I wish I could plug numbers into an Excel sheet or do something as equally left-brained. But then I remember, that too would probably make me feel insane, perhaps more insane than I feel right now. Plus, that's not why I went to graduate school, that's not the way I'm wired and aside from running, that's not what helps me sleep at night when I fear I've gone over the proverbial edge.

Back to the drawing board. Literally.

When the Clock Stops

I want it to make sense and not in the plausible way that everything makes sense-- the analytical way that everything in this universe can sort of add up together to make it make sense. I'm not a numbers girl and I don't make perfect sense of the way things should be, but rather the way things could be. I can't have it both ways even though I don't know it any other way. I can't have it any way, either way. I want it to be that way, either way, sometimes--but mostly one way. It's one or the other but not both. It never is. It never was. I don't want it to be-- I want it to feel. I want it to line up-- to stop, to think that suddenly everything that has lead to this point was drawn with an extra fine line-- to lift the thoughts up and release them. To let go completely and totally. To just be. I want to think about the past and for once not think about how it affects me now still, or how you've done unto me, how you've mastered me still, even after all these years, how you affect me and reflect me. How you oppose me. How you appall me. I don't want to be what you see in the mirror-- I want to be what I feel in the dusk's glow. I want to let it go like a tadpole in a giant pond; I want to swim away with my fins, furiously through the seas, the high seas. I want to end up in a calm lake that makes sense--where its natural and I can burrow my nest in the deep weeds that lie upon the spongy earth. I want the sunlight to reach my bed and warm the earth--to fill my head with deep, profoundly real knowledge, not the kind of clutter that does nothing but take up space. I do not want the dust. I want it to make sense, and not because I made it make sense, but because it makes absolute sense. Because it is. It does. It will. I don't want to rationalize or idealize; I want it to line up, the way planets do, the way people do. The two ideas, the two minds, the two differences, the sameness that you bear. I want it. I want it to make sense.

She Is

In the four years that I've been living in NYC, I've never once spent a Memorial Day Weekend here. I always seem to have travel plans or worst case scenario, I flee to the quiet familiarity of the small town, the parade and the lakeside BBQ. This year as the weekend got closer and closer I realized that I would be staying in NYC for the long weekend. At the last minute my friend decided to visit. The company I work for is generous enough to give us holiday half-days so my weekend was almost four days long. Glorious.

As I sit at this desk struggling to stay awake with every fiber in my being and downing iced coffee as if it were the last drop of liquid on planet earth, I cannot believe that I ever left Manhattan on Memorial Day. The city was empty, the streets and sidewalks were passable, the busses had seats and the weather was amazingly perfect in the I never want this day to end kind of way. There are so many stories and hilarious moments from the past four days that I don't quite think I could list all of them even if I tried (and partially because I only remember about an eighth of them anyways.)

I do however, remember a very unique moment that occurred Sunday night. We had spent most of the day on the roof cooking out and enjoying breath-taking panoramic views of the city. Shortly after dusk, I watched pensively as the lights of midtown twinkled to life. At that moment I realized that I am absolutely and completely in love with this city. I am not ready to leave. I thought I was and my resume still floats out there in cyberspace with companies in Chicago and abroad. But as I stood there, in that moment, New York proved to me once again just how wonderful she really is. Sorry Chicago, you lose again.

Reasonable Exceptions

It's almost June though if you live in the 212 you know it feels more like February or March. Mother nature is clearly either lost or too busy playing havoc with the rest of the world to care about NYC. Waiting for spring/summer to arrive and stay is one of the worst things about living in the Northeast, I think. Traffic comes in a close second but I think the weather easily takes the first place trophy. Since I can't have the kind of weather I want (today, tomorrow or any time this week from the looks of my weather.com widget) here is a list of things I will accept instead:

- My boss allowing me put 'master of the universe' or 'wizard in training' on my business card
- A business-first class ticket to Argentina
- A giant pineapple sliced in perfect circles. Perfect.
- A magic wand or the ability to teleport. Or both.
- A €3 bottle of wine from the Monoprix in Paris
- An empty white sandy beach, clear blue water and a red stripped beach towel (and SPF 28)
- An unopened box of the original Crayola™ 48
- A darkroom in my basement, a basement in my building
- Trademark approval for the company I'm [thinking about] launching this fall

Then

Before I moved to NYC I don't think I ever owned an umbrella. I mean I probably had one in the trunk of my car, but I never thought about it, or used it. Now I own four or five umbrellas, polka dot rain boots AND a rain jacket.

Before I moved to NYC I drove my car to class, which was probably 300 yards away from where I lived. Now I walk to and from work or to and from the subway, either way racking up about four or five miles a day, sometimes in the rain, sleet or snow.

Before I moved to NYC I was deathly afraid of the subway. Now I ride it at 2 in the morning, sometimes without even thinking.

Before I moved to NYC I was somewhat patient; I waited at crosswalks for the green light; I ate out once or twice a month, now it's everyday. I used to never drink coffee, now it's two or three cups a day; I used to run hardly at all, now it's everyday for miles and miles and miles. I used to sleep in till 2pm; I used to think 2am was late; I used to come home smelling like smoke; I used to smoke (!) I used to take vodka shots and chase them with water; I used to think people were following me home; I used to not know how to navigate the bus routes; I used to wear leather pants; I used to care and I once used to love.

Right Before I Fainted

Things that while may seem out of bit out of context, I never thought I'd hear myself say but have found myself saying. Out loud. In real conversations.

• I'm trying to be more careful about what I buy due to the food shortage.
  
• We're actually starting to feel the effects of the recession.
• I'm tired of the hustle. There's just too many people in Manhattan!
  
• I think we're actually headed for a depression.
• $1500 [for rent] isn't that much when you think about it. (YES! IT IS!)
  
• I'm going for a run tonight and I'm actually kind of nervous about it. What if I can't finish 4 miles?
  
• I won't move within Manhattan again; it's gotten too expensive. It's absurd, really. (Note: it's always been expensive! It didn't just suddenly GET expensive.)
  
• I just can't spend that kind of money right now, especially with the recession.
  
• We'll have to wait and see how that affects my 401K.
• I'm opening an ING direct savings account; their interest rates are unbeatable.
  
• You should be going out every weekend and doing car bombs; not thinking about your career (okay maybe that one isn't so strange)
  
• I can't believe yogurt has gone up 28% (I can't believe I noticed/calculated.)
  
• I just paid $1.25 for this orange.
  
• I ready to move to Brooklyn. Or Chicago.
  

Nothing is Everything

I always miss things more when I don't have them. We all do. It's a fact of life. A few days ago I fell down the stairs in my apartment and banged myself up pretty good. A four hour trip to the ER confirmed that my foot was not broken, but they sent me home with a cane, a pair of crutches and an ACE wrap and told me to stay off of it for a few weeks. Telling a runner to stay off their feet is like telling an alcoholic not to drink; it only makes us want to do it more. The last time I went more than a week without running or exercising of any kind was when I was on safari in Africa and was told not to, otherwise I would risk being eaten alive by the flesh-eating animals roaming just outside our bungalow walls. Seriously.

Right now I feel restless. I feel like a sloth, like a giant waste of space. There is enough nervous energy flowing through my body to light up the city of Baltimore for an entire week. Or at least it feels that way. I guess I didn't realize how much I depend on running to keep my body in balance, not just physically but mentally. I'd say at this point it's 30/70, meaning I value the mental relief more than the physical aspect, though those who know me really well know that's a tough call for me to make. I'm trying hard to find other outlets to keep myself sane like watching movies, reading and researching. I'd like to be able to get to some museums or take this "break" to explore the city but walking far distances is still a bit painful and slow so that too, is out. The other night I was talking to my parents and my mom asked how I was feeling. When I told her I was bored to tears I could hear my dad shouting in the background "enjoy doing nothing!" That's just it. When I've got a lot going on I crave nothingness. I daydream of empty agenda days and planless nights. I daydream about walking the narrow streets of downtown with nowhere to be, no one to see and no expectations. Then when I have the nothing I don't want it, nor do I know how to enjoy it, especially when the nothing seems like everything.

Yours too, NO WAY!

Last night a friend and I grabbed dinner and drinks before attending a concert at the Garden. At the restaurant we were seated next to a couple, which in some establishments in NYC basically means we were sharing a table with them. They were so painfully awkward to listen to, so painful in fact that my friend actually thought they were on a first date it; it was just that bad. However, being the committed onlooker that I am, I noticed that they were married (both wearing rings.) They were tourists, no doubt, in midtown to see a show, telling not only by what they were wearing but how they talked about the city, the food at this sub-par Italian restaurant and life in general:

Man: So what's your favorite part about musicals?
Woman [pausing]: Um...probably the music. And the sound.
Man [nodding]: Yeah the sound is good.

I Guess it Depends on Your Definition of Culture

Last night I was talking to my mother on the phone and we somehow got on the topic of the south. I think it was when she was complaining that it still feels like winter up here and down there it's probably already in the 80s everyday. Then I pointed out that good weather is about the only thing the south has going for them. I'm allowed to make bold, dashing statements like this; I lived there for four years during college. That's a long enough time to form a solid opinion about the south, I think. Then this transpired, and I laughed so hard I cried all the mascara off my eyelashes:

Me: I don't think I could ever live in the south again; there's just not enough culture. It's so...boring.
Mom: [offended as if she lives here] Oh that's not true, they have plenty of culture down there.
Me: Such as?
Mom: Well....they have big houses and...and sweet tea.

Envy

This morning when I went to walk my dog I realized I had forgotten my umbrella. I live on the fifth floor of a walk-up building and there are very very few things that I will walk back up to retrieve. One of them is my blackberry, the other is my wallet. Sometimes I make an exception for my iPod, but only sometimes.

So I walked my dog in the rain. I'm not sure who hated it more, him or I? We always walk past this small gallery on our morning walks, and sometimes I make him stop so I can look at the new art in the window. It changes on a bi-weekly basis and so we stop quite often. Today there was a small pink sign on the door that said: SORRY, RAINY DAY.

I so want that job: sorry boss, can't make it in to work today; it's raining and I forgot my umbrella upstairs.

So Charming

This morning a friend and I were e-mailing about the board game Taboo. I thought about all the times I've played the game then this moment came to me...and it made my eyes roll so far back into my head that I actually got dizzy.

Years ago while playing said game with my boyfriend and entire family:

Me: You were doing this earlier and blowing it in my face and I got pissed.
Him (without hesitation:) Burping!

I didn't say it was a moment I was proud of. But if it matters, we won the game.

And We Aren't Even Blonde

While strolling along the streets of Boston Saturday afternoon we past a sign in front of the State House that read:

GENERAL HOOKERS ENTRANCE

I turned to her and asked why the general hookers had their own entrance,and if the general hookers entered here, then where did the specific, more specialized hookers enter? I wasn't joking around. I was being totally serious. These were literally my first thoughts. And then I took a picture of the sign...because it was hilarious. And I am apparently nine years old.

About twenty yards further we came upon a giant bronzed statue of a man on a horse with a plaque that read: GENERAL JOSEPH HOOKER 1814-1879--and then we laughed for about ten minutes at our stupidity.

On Kindness

Last night while I was walking my dog, I past two young girls discussing whether or not everyone does "like them." Then they tapped a homeless man on the shoulder who had been digging through the garbage and asked him if he would like their unopened box of Girl Scout cookies. They were Samoas® and the girls were right...everyone does like them!

The homeless man was happy with this offer and smiled graciously. It warmed my heart and reminded me that even in this often seemingly cold-hearted city there are so many random acts of kindness everyday. I was lucky enough to witness this one; it's nice to be reminded of them every once in awhile.

Red Flags

In the corporate world, at least the one I work in, there are no report cards, no semesters promising a fresh clean slate, no tests and no final exams. There is also no test for how well you are doing in a relationship, no grading system for how well you learn to react to certain situations and for how well you respond in times of need or in times of trouble. Thank goodness for this because right now I would would be getting at best, a D in this category. Possibly even an F.

I just had lunch with a friend in the park across the street from our office. We were discussing some pretty intense stuff about life when she told me that I am the most compromising person she's ever met. I compromise how I feel to keep others happy; I don't react the way I should; I let things go that I should really address. I suck at confrontation, often pulling my head inside my shell while the moment passes and then later thinking...I should have said this this and this. Then later comes and instead I say nothing at all. If we were grading each other in this conversation, I would have given her an A in the honesty category.

The thing that strikes me as odd about what she said (and I'm not at all offended by the way she said or what she said) is that I never thought I did that when it came to stuff that really mattered. In my past few relationships with men, most specifically the ones post 2006 breakup, I am hyper aware, perhaps too aware of my compromises. Someone told me that I had developed "red flag syndrome," a made up syndrome meaning I throw up too many red flags in situations and relations where there aren't necessarily red flags being flown. I am super aware of what I want. I throw away potentially meaningful relationships over things that shouldn't matter, but that I've made to matter. Maybe it's more of a case of knowing what I don't want rather than what I do. I have learned my lesson in that category; I have taken copious notes. I passed that exam with flying colors. Only because I failed it the first time.

As I wrap my brain around that lunch and everything that was said, I'm starting to realize that maybe there are other aspects of my life where this red flag syndrome has gone into effect. Maybe the person who said that was right after all. Maybe it has slowly overgrown the field and is creeping its way into other fields and other relationships. And if that's the case, maybe it's time to sit down with myself and conduct a parent-teacher conference where I will put down some very strong weed killer.

It is Only Then

I have that very strong tendency to relate certain songs to certain people, so it was only natural when I heard the song Saturday night I got out my phone to text you something along the lines of "our song is playing and I am dancing around like a monkey." But when I got to where your name should have been...it wasn't there. It was then that I remembered I deleted you one night in a drunken fog, wishing I could delete you from my memory, from my life, and not just from my list of contacts arranged in alphabetical order.

The thing about breaking up with you and moving on from you is that while I may have recovered and learned to live and love again, a tiny part of myself can't help but drop a beat when certain songs play in the Springtime night. It is then that I miss you, or should I say, the idea of you? It is at no other time; it is only then.

Sometimes I wonder when the day will come that I won't think about you anymore, when songs can play and they will just be songs and not loaded memories of the idea of you. I wonder when it will be just like hitting the delete button on my cell phone, an action you can't undo. Then I realize that day will probably never come. That was always my problem; I cared too much. And you not enough.

But I'm okay with that, I'm okay with dropping a beat once in a great while, because I know that there are far more things reminding you...of me. That and I don't come with a delete button.

Wendy Beth

I am the second youngest of ten cousins on my mom's side. When we were growing up they all seemed so much older than me because well, they were. Some of my cousins were in college when I was still in grade school (similar to how my oldest brother left for college when I was only ten.) Though in actuality I never caught up to them in age difference (obviously,) eventually the playing field became level and things like age and numbers hardly seemed to matter.

My cousins live all over the country in places as far as Albuquerque and as "near" as Pittsburgh and Virginia. We generally assemble for weddings and funerals, though in the last five years the weddings have fortunately far outnumbered the latter. Through these black dress events some of us cousins have realized that while sure, when they were studying Anthropological remains I was learning fractions, as adults we have far more in common than anyone would think. Through these events I have fostered one of the most important relationships in my life. Through open bars and round table "cynics only" discussions I have formed a bond with one of my cousins that feels more like a sisterly bond, than a cousin who I hardly see. I grew up in a house with all boys. Subsequently I also grew up a spoiled daddy's girl, but I never had the bond that sisters often share...until now. She and I volley e-mails back and forth as if we both don't have other pressing matters like A JOB to attend to, almost as if we are on the phone rather than tangled in cyberspace. She is one of my biggest supporters, my biggest cheerleader and my complete confidant.

Last night her brother's wife gave birth to a healthy baby girl! Most of our day yesterday was spent wondering and waiting for any news to come from Texas, where her brother lives. Before I went to bed I had still not heard anything, and I continuously got more and more worried. I tossed and turned in my sweltering apartment wondering if she had been born yet, if she was healthy, if my cousin's wife was okay. This morning I woke up (first at 3:30 am) and then again at 7:10 to my BlackBerry® alerting me of the good news. I felt such a wave of relief wash over me. It was then that I realized if I'm this excited about a second cousin, I honestly can't imagine the excitement I'll feel when my own niece is born. I'm not much on babies or babies that grow up to be brats, or strollers, minivans, bottles and binkies. I'm nervous and unprepared and feel like I'm going to be a terrible aunt. However, I also feel incredibly joyous and fortunate to be able to experience the world of first-time aunt hood with my favorite cousin, friend and "sister" by my side. Per usual.

Spiderwebs

If you had asked me twenty years ago what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said a teacher; ten years after that I would have said a journalist or a nurse practitioner. Today I sit behind a sleek Apple monitor in a corner(ish) office with a view of the brick wall to the building next door. I am many things in this office but teacher, journalist and nurse are not any of them. I am mostly a designer, sometimes a researcher, a typographer, a layout artist, a logo designer, a brand management official. If you had told me twenty years ago, when I was sharing purple crayons with my best friend at table six in Kindergarten, that I would be sitting here today, at this desk, doing what I do, not only would I not have believed you, I wouldn't have understood you. Computers were still pretty non-existent when I was growing up. I laugh when I think about telling my nieces and nephews that I can "remember when the Internet didn't exist."

If you had told me I wouldn't yet be married with lots of kids I wouldn't have believed you. Of course, when you're six you think you'll be married with babies by age...15. Your perspective is so limited; hell, ten years ago I thought I would be married by now. And yes even as not-so-far back as three years ago I thought I would be married by now. But people and things change and your ideas about life evolve and for me, they evolve on an almost daily basis.

There are many ways to view change just as their are equally as many ways to accept and learn to live with change. The constant ebb and flow of life always has me guessing and sometimes I'm not okay with that; sometimes I want solidified ground to sink my feet into. Other times I am happy having absolutely no plans for tomorrow, next week or the next ten years. I thought I would have it all figured out by now and the truth is...I don't. And in may ways, that's terribly scary and frustrating for me. There are parts of me that wish I was more like some of my friends who do have it figured out; who have the career, the husband-to-be and the six figure income. But in so many other ways, it's exciting not have it figured out. These friends can't pick up next year and move halfway across the world or quit their careers and start over in something totally different. They are no longer a "me" they are a "we." They have plans for kids in the next few years; they will have mouths to feed. I have a dog to feed, so not the same thing.

So while there are many ways to get from point A to point B, I'm beginning to see that half the fun is trying to find the best way to get there, not necessarily just any old way. Along the way I've failed miserably; I've given up and started over from zero. But I've also been victorious. It's like "they" always say about life being more about the journey than the destination. Clichés exist for a reason. Life would be a helluva lot less exciting if everyone had it figured out. The thread of our webs would be less intertwined, less complicated and certainly less easy to rebuild after a storm.

We're Good and We Know It

While flipping through the pages of the 2007 PRINT Design Annual with no hint of irony in his voice:

Coworker "Wow I had no idea people outside of New York City were capable of doing such good design....like fucking Missouri, what? You actually know what's going on?"

I Remember

pink and white stripped Old Navy pajama pants, a gray hooded sweatshirt, my hair in a messy ponytail, yours short and soft when i ran my fingers through it, standing in your living room, mine, holding you if only for a fleeting second in a parking lot, in the dark room, in the computer lab, in the gallery, your tears, my tears

a yellow country club shirt, a lost bike, a found bike, fruit punch in solo cups, watching you from across the yard, laying in the church parking lot waiting for the stars to fall, listening to your heartbeat, your breath, your life, feeling like your hand was part of mine, your tears, my tears

gray pants covered in paint, polka dot sheets, brick sidewalks, the fountain, the lightness at 4am, walking in the grass, a bouquet of flowers, red christmas ribbon, bells, magnolia trees, blossoms, the words "is this our life," a moment of passion, of intensity, of complete and total love, your tears, my tears

a green jacket, a raspberry snapple, a bagel torn into tiny pieces, your tears, my tears, a post-it note on my windshield, rocks against my window, a shared iPod dance, bob dylan, a pizza party, the zoo, the bird atrium, the stolen kisses, stopping to admire, adoring, the red watch, the sunglasses, the piggy-back rides, the airport, the car, Garden State, the phone calls from a linen closet, dreaming, waking, feeling like it would never end, wishing it never would, a foggy morning goodbye, your tears, my tears, your broken heart and eventually...mine.

More than Two Letters

Today I ate the exact same lunch that I ate yesterday. I did not however, eat the same thing for breakfast. When I got to work I turned on my computer, hung up my coat and washed my hands in the exact same order as yesterday. I did not however, put the radio on the same station. There are patterns to my routine, but I break them for sole sake of breaking the routine. I like to see what kind of chaos I can create within my own head by changing just one little thing. Sometimes it works, other times I outsmart myself. Other times I'm just too lazy to try to trick myself.

Yesterday afternoon my boss came into my office to explain a new project. He preambled this explanation by telling me I would have to use Photoshop. Gulp. The more and more I listened, the more I realized something absolutely strange: this is literally the exact same project I did during my senior year of college. Here I am some years later doing the exact same something I did in an ART201 class. You're supposed to take this class as a Freshman but I waited until my senior year; I was the only senior in the class; I was more like my professor's TA than a student. All the underclassman frequently turned to me for advice and I specifically remember spending late nights in the lab with these "kids" teaching them how to use the crop tool. I even surprised some of them with a tutorial in filters! If you've never had exposure to Photoshop and you discover a filter(!) you think immediately filters are next to Napster in terms of just how awesome they are and how much you think they will change your life! Then you grow up and realize filters are lame. But that's a different story all together...

Life is cyclical, patterns are inevitable and things tend to repeat themselves even if there are years in between the cycle. While it's very odd that I'm essentially redoing a project I did so many years ago, it's also kind of amazing. For starters I've got a huge advantage over anyone else i.e my predecessor, who also worked on this project. The fact that I've done this before will aid me in providing a kick-butt final product to the client. The trial and error stage is thrown out the window. I can go right to the creative part; I can start now.

Furthermore and perhaps more importantly it proves, if only to me, that majoring in Art wasn't a complete waste of my time and that the $80,000 framed college degree resting on the shelf above me isn't just collecting dust, though it is doing that too. I've always thought that the smaller degree to its right, the one that says MASTER is the one I should be the most proud of; the one I spent two painful years obtaining; the one I moved to New York for; the one I took an enormous student loan for (sidenote: I will be paying that back until I am 55.) They say that the Master's degree is the new Bachelor's. And while that may be true, for this moment, for right now, I have never been more happy or proud to have a Bachelor's degree in Art, even if it's not the one that got me to where I am sitting right now.

Spring Things

* A fresh bouquet of tulips in bright pink offering life to my office
* The moxie to apply for my already guaranteed marathon '08 entry knowing that if I'm going to run it again, I must break four hours
* The return of flip-flop weather
* Saturdays on the river with the Times; Sundays at the dog park
* Cute cotton dresses in Lime, Apricot and Opal Gray
* Strawberries dipped in Nutella
* Neatly pedicured feet
* Leisurely strolls through the park on my way home from work
* A round trip ticket to South America
* A healthy new baby second cousin, Sarah
* Cherry blossoms in Brooklyn
* A weekend in Boston, DC and Vegas
* One last barbecue at my parent's house
* Survival of a 42-mile bike ride through the 5 boroughs
* Fresh cotton linens wafting through the upstairs
* Short, side-swept bangs
* Fresh ink on my right shoulder

Classy One-Liners

While walking past a beautiful church that nobody knew the name of:
ME: Holy shit, are those punching fists at the top of that church?
AD: Um no...those are gargoyles.

While walking home from the grocery store:
AD: I can't wait to get home and and crack my hip.
ME: [doubled over laughing] I thought you said I can't wait to go home and crap in my bed!

While talking to my mom on the phone:
ME: Everyday I have a pain au chocolat for breakfast, they are so yummy.
MOM: You ate a pound of chocolate for breakfast? (This coming from a woman who takes French lessons every week)

While witnessing a protest from the roof of the Pompidou:
CD: They're probably freeing Tibet again!

While discussing the war late one night:
CD: Oh...you were talking about Iraq; no wonder I fell asleep.

Lost in Translation

While standing in line for the bathroom at the Louvre an elderly woman walked out and stepped on my foot. She looked at me as if to say "excuse me, your foot is in my way." I didn't say anything but thought to myself that usually when you step on a person's foot, you apologize. That is pretty customary around the world, I think. After she was no longer within earshot, I made a clever comment to the women behind me in line about how strange that was. They laughed and agreed that it was rather strange. We got to talking (it was a long, slow moving line) and they asked me where I was from. For some unknown reason I replied with New York City, but it came out sounding like a hybrid British/Texas accent. Then something amazing happened: they told me they had been trying to decipher whether I was from Australia or England.

I have officially perfected my accent. If only I could use these same skills to master a real foreign language.