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