Lamo Out Loud

To my three loyal readers,

2009-01-06T10:27:00.004-05:00

If you're wondering where I've been or how come this blog seems pretty much abandoned, go here.
When I'm inspired to write again, I will but right now I just don't have much to say. I'm in a weird place in both heart and mind.

Sincerely,
Lamo

A Retrospective: 2008

2008-12-31T15:21:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-24T14:56:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-14T12:27:00.004-05:00

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

2008-11-10T15:05:00.001-05:00

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

2008-11-03T13:30:00.004-05:00

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

2008-10-15T14:48:00.002-04:00

"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

2008-10-13T13:33:00.004-04:00

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

2008-10-08T15:14:00.005-04:00

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

2008-10-06T11:08:00.005-04:00

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

2008-10-02T13:56:00.001-04:00

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...

2008-09-30T15:54:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-25T23:07:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-24T12:49:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-08T16:21:00.001-04:00

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

2008-09-05T14:19:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-04T15:09:00.000-04:00

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

2008-08-28T13:45:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-26T16:37:00.005-04:00

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

2008-08-25T12:50:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-20T16:10:00.000-04:00

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

2008-08-19T16:05:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-14T09:55:00.003-04:00

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

2008-08-11T15:03:00.006-04:00

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...

2008-08-01T14:58:00.000-04:00

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

2008-07-28T13:37:00.007-04:00

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

2008-07-22T12:15:00.001-04:00

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

2008-07-17T15:47:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-14T14:08:00.004-04:00

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

2008-07-08T09:38:00.001-04:00

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

2008-07-02T09:58:00.006-04:00

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

2008-06-27T12:41:00.006-04:00

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

2008-06-24T12:37:00.001-04:00

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'

2008-06-23T16:24:00.000-04:00

• 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

2008-06-20T11:22:00.005-04:00

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

2008-06-16T14:44:00.001-04:00

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

2008-06-10T15:52:00.004-04:00

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

2008-05-29T14:43:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-27T14:10:00.007-04:00

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

2008-05-19T13:04:00.005-04:00

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

2008-05-16T12:52:00.004-04:00

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

2008-05-13T15:35:00.006-04:00

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

2008-05-08T13:02:00.004-04:00

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!

2008-05-07T10:14:00.004-04:00

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

2008-04-30T15:53:00.006-04:00

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

2008-04-29T13:31:00.004-04:00

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

2008-04-28T12:31:00.011-04:00

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

2008-04-21T13:27:00.000-04:00

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

2008-04-17T14:54:00.003-04:00

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

2008-04-16T14:40:00.007-04:00

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

2008-04-14T13:49:00.004-04:00

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

2008-04-11T12:51:00.002-04:00

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

2008-04-10T12:14:00.009-04:00

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

2008-04-08T17:57:00.004-04:00

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

2008-04-04T12:28:00.001-04:00

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

2008-04-03T15:00:00.001-04:00

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

2008-04-01T15:31:00.006-04:00

* 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

2008-03-28T11:41:00.006-04:00

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

2008-03-27T10:27:00.004-04:00

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.

For the Love of Accessories

2008-03-26T10:52:00.003-04:00

We were strolling along the winding cobblestone streets of Montmartre when we passed by a cute leather shop that showcased coin purses and bags in its front window. We stopped and decided that since our mutual close friend adores coin purses, we should suck up the exchange rate and buy her one. Plus, they were reasonably priced. When we went inside there were lots of little signs written in English that said DO NOT TOUCH. We stood there staring at the rows of brilliantly colored small leather coin purses, and without touching any of them, decided upon a squarish-shaped cobalt blue one. I picked it up from under the rest thinking that the do not touch signs referred to while you were browsing. I can understand the store not wanting every single purse fondled by the masses. I figured since we were about to purchase it, it was now okay to touch it. I thought wrong! As soon as I touched it, the store clerk sitting three feet to my left started barking orders in French. My friend who speaks fluent French told me that the woman was saying we weren't allowed to touch anything and to put it back immediately. So I did. My friend then told me I had to ask to the woman to see the purse. Since I speak approximately six words of French and "may I see this blue purse" isn't one of them, I had to have my friend ask for me. And I kid you not the woman then walked over to me, picked up the blue purse, handed it to me and said: "Now you may touch it."

In Paris

2008-03-25T16:23:00.001-04:00

The short of it is: we didn't sleep very much; we ate like queens; we drank like kings; we laughed so hard our stomachs and faces ached. I cried everyday but not because I was sad, mostly because of the laughter, but other times just because I was so smitten with Paris and everything it bestowed upon us...

Nightly dance parties in our little Paris apartment on rue du Braque
Nightly drunken phone calls to the USA
A party that lasted till the sun came up, literally
Another party that lasted till 4 am
A broken corkscrew, a MacGyver attempt to chisel the bottles open, cork-filled glasses of the perfect 3 euro red wine
Endless meals of cheese, red wine, champagne, baguettes and Nutella
Daily trips to the Monoprix
Getting our Jambon on
Cute little cafés complete with delicious hot chocolate or onion soup
Blue sky, puffy clouds, sunshine, trees with buds, flowers in bloom all over the city
Crepes, a stroll through the Jardin du Luxembourg, climbing on benches to get the best pictures, stalking old men
Beach Boys sing alongs in the morning
A British accent that sometimes went Australian
A dinner of fondue and roasted chicken
Butchering the French language and making up my own words, becoming "fluent"
An almost Easter Sunday mass
Cobblestone streets, faded signs, broken shutters and windmills in Montmartre
2 hail storms
Popping the champagne cork and almost killing someone
Trips to the Lourve, the Pompidou and the Picasso, a catnap in the Pompidou
Seeing art that brought me to tears
Despite the hundreds of tourists, seeing the Mona Lisa after years of studying her
An empty Lourve courtyard after the storm
A photo shoot while raving out to one of my favorite techno songs in my mutton pajama pants
Drinking directly from the bottle
A pulled hamstring from doing ballet moves and splits
A daily pain du chocolate
A bottle of Patron, enough said
A party with 2 "sort of" random guys from Providence, RI
Texting a 21 year old on a pink razor phone
A girl-on-girl wrestling match, bite marks, bruises, a scratched cheek (sorry!)
Ghost stories under an orange fleece tent
Brilliant French design and typography
Cute French clothes and shoes that were totally unaffordable thanks to the Euro
Hilarious videos which document the madness that was, rewatching the videos in random places such as the line to get into an exhibition and not being able to breathe because of how hilarious they were
Catching up with one of my favorites, feeling like we haven't even been apart let alone for four months, bonding with another one of my favorites while in one of the greatest places on earth (I say one of because I have to give NYC and Sydney their due credit)

Adventures Await

2008-03-19T11:39:00.003-04:00

I'm armed with an empty 3GB memory card, rain boots and an umbrella. I am seven years older since the last time I was in France, and I like to think seven years more the wiser, happier and self-reliant.

I'll be back next week with stories and lists and hopefully a clear head. And hundreds of pictures of beautiful Parisian architecture, narrow streets, city life and romance.

...au revoir and Happy Spring!

Route Change

2008-03-17T15:35:00.005-04:00

I think the mediocrity and repetitiveness of commuting in this city causes me to do strange things in an effort to break the routine, even in a small and meaningless way. Sometimes I walk down a different street or stop at a different place for coffee since I loathe the thought that everyday starts exactly the same as the day before it. This morning, as it is St. Patrick's day and midtown will therefore will be taken over by thousands of drunken bridge and tunnel people under the age of thirty I decided it was best to avoid the east side at all costs. So I took my extra long commute route: the crosstown bus to the downtown B train, which stops about fifty yards from my office building. I used this method a lot during the bitter cold days of Jan and Feb when I wanted to avoid the two mile walk in single digit temps. But I digress.

It felt nice to get a seat on the bus and be able to squeeze in a few chapters of my new book before getting to work. Already this day felt different. The bus provided a quiet and calm environment, one where I didn't even feel the need to plug into my iPod.

When I got to the subway station I learned that there was an "earlier incident" on the B train so it was running behind schedule, which for the B train means it is running every forty minutes instead of its usual twenty minutes. When it finally came and I got on, I was completely annoyed that the alteration to my commute was now causing me to be really late for work, not just the usual 10-15 minutes late I am everyday. I was still iPod-less and was able to get a seat; this day was definitely feeling different. Right then, right as I was thinking all of this, the conductor came on and announced to please use all available doors. It was then that I realized something which quickly deflated my spirit. I realized that this is the same conductor as the last several times I rode the B train. The reason I know this is because for one she's a woman (and there are very few woman conductors employed by the MTA) and for two, she calls 81st Street the Natural Museum of History instead of 81st Street. I always thought this was interesting and worth noting.

Today I just found it mundane. Per usual.

Hurricane

2008-03-14T12:42:00.004-04:00

All the sudden it's like a storm is raining down on the six of us, like all the laughter and singing and drinking and sometimes falling/tripping and ripping new holes in our stockings or waking up with no voice and random bruises on our knees has been put on hold for a large category five storm. The weather channel did not warn us and the storm took a sharp left turn; we are New Orleans, equally unprepared and shocked.

The six of us always have something going on, after all, this is life. But this week it seems different I guess because these aren't petty things, like falling down and ripping holes in our stockings. Okay, well now that I think about it, one of these things is totally trivial. Aside from that [one] thing, everything else is worthy of filing under extremely important.

Luckily some of us are headed on vacations next week to recharge our batteries that so easily get drained by living in New York City. The rest are looking towards their vacations later in the Spring. I haven't decided if going through hard times collectively will make us stronger or weaker; it seems like it's easier to lend a hand when you're not holding your own umbrella. I guess time will tell but until then...let us board up the windows and prepare.

Somewhere My Fourth Grade Teacher is Cringing

2008-03-13T16:46:00.000-04:00

An hour ago at Kinkos where I went to quickly* review some proofs:

Kid at counter: How many are there?
Woman standing by printer: 900
Kid: I thought there were 3 separate sets?
Woman: So times 900 by 3.

Me in my head [shaking my head knowing this project can't come out correctly with these people in charge.] Um last I checked 900 "times" three is 2,700. I only ordered 900 total; I believe the word you're looking for here is "divide."

*By quickly I mean this took 45 minutes.

The Promise of

2008-03-12T16:04:00.002-04:00

I'm having a tough week, sort of. It's super busy at work, which makes the days fly by which is a nice change of pace. But I'm also dealing with a lot of side bullshit that makes getting through the day kind of a bit...awkward. Plus, my body can't get used to the springing forward we just did. I'm loving the extra hour of sunlight but my body refuses to adjust to the daily alarm sounding at what seems like an hour earlier; damn you stubborn REM-sleep-dependent body of mine! ANYWAY I've got a lot to say and not a lot of time to say it because I have too much to get done in the next hour. So I'm just going to make a short list of things that are currently making me happy. It's important to focus on these things right now. And as usual, it's the little things:

The scaffolding that has been removed on the corner of one of the streets near my hosue. It's like a brand new corner. I am seeing things I've not seen in the almost three years I've lived at said residence.
Organic granola that I found, which is actually cheaper than the regular non-organic sugar-filled crapy granola I used to eat everyday for breakfast.
Fantasy trip planning, dreaming of somewhere safe and warm(er) than this city
March Madness
9 days until the official start of Spring
Getting a seat on the 4 train two mornings in a row
The promise of cherry blossoms
Jelly Belly Sports beans
The new Spring coat I picked up at H&M
Tickets to see the Little Mermaid on Broadway in June (with my pseudo little cousins and favorite aunt)
Coffee cake. Cut in two.
Setting a new 4-mile PR
My room mate is away for the week in Poland and thus it's like I'm living alone.
The new shower curtain liner and the apartment smelling like plastic!
Down pillows in a pastel blue stripe
the new Chuck Klosterman book I picked up last night on my walk home
pad thai; a rainy day; an apartment in harlem; girl bonding; Jackson Five Christmas music in the middle of March
the promise of a baby niece coming at the end of July
Falling Slowly; the Swell Season at Radio City
the promise of being on a jet plane headed for Paris in seven short days

Circa 2001

2008-03-07T15:15:00.002-05:00

Excuse me, I'm having a moment. A moment where I'm so far lost in the memory that I forget where I am or what I'm doing. This song just came on channel 36 (the dance station I've been hooked on to absorb some good Friday vibes) The song is called It's a Fine Day. ATB and Miss Jane have done covers of it, although the version I'm familiar with is by ATB, which oddly enough would have been my initials had I married my college sweetheart. I have not heard this song probably in a solid 3 or 4 years and hearing it just does something weird to my body. Part of me wants to turn it off right away and forget it exists, but the bigger part of me (the romantic) wants to turn it up to eleven and bust out in a mini dance party right here in my office. Hey, it wouldn't be the first time.

Suddenly I am 19 years old again and I am in a small cinder block college apartment sitting on a leopard print ottoman bought at Walmart for $19.99. The TV stand is adorned with absolute bottles filled with highlighter fluid and a black light that makes them glow. I am so in love and filled with the kind of passion you naively think will last forever. It is dark except for the black light and he is the acting DJ wearing a red Ecko sweatshirt and baggy UFO pants. He puts on a CD called Mousey's Mix and this particular song is on it. Because he is a DJ, he will only let the first 45 seconds of the song play before changing it to the next track. I always hated that.

I think it is utterly amazing how music can affect us, transport us, transform even. They say that smell is the strongest sense tied to emotion. I beg to differ. I think it's hearing.

A Reminder

2008-03-03T11:37:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I did my long weekend run in Central Park for the first time since November. This winter I spent most of my time on the treadmill or in a spin class where it's safe and warm. The sun was brightly shinning and although the temperature was only about 31º, my special/expensive winter running gear kept me plenty warm. At about mile six, the steepest and most difficult part of the run, my favorite running song came on providing me the boost I needed to get up the hill. I was now running directly into the sun, the temperature had risen a noticeable bit, and I was finally beginning to sweat. I looked down at the woods edging the pavement and smiled not only because I had made it up "the hill," but because I saw the first signs of Spring; a small bunch of crocuses had peaked their yellow heads out from under the thawing ground. At that moment I wanted to stop and hug the ground, I wanted to scream out loud for everyone to hear, I wanted to release all my energy into the air in one single moment of exhale. I was, after the long and cold winter, rejuvenated. After all this time I felt that thing again, that feeling like yes, this moment right here, right now, this is why I run. This is why I train. This is why I love New York. Period. And it was exactly the reminder I needed. Amen.

Ace of Hearts

2008-02-29T12:46:00.001-05:00

This week has flown by, mostly because for a change I've been extremely busy at work as evident from my lack of postings this week (sorry, KB) So while it's important to note that I haven't written in awhile, it's also important to note that a lot has been going on behind the scenes.

There are moments in my life where I can feel like something big is about to happen; like all the cards are in the right stacking order and at any minute that Ace is going to pop up and give me the royal flush I've deserve. These are the moments when I see it coming, when I've correctly counted my cards and played them well. There are other clashing moments where I lose track and pick blindly from the pile. Those moments are often the most fun, full of the most unique surprises and help me grow the most. But as a textbook "type A" person, these moments pretty much drive me up the wall because I can't see them coming and god forbid I don't have it written down beforehand in Sharpie on my calendar.

I woke up on Sunday morning and decided it was time to lay the cards out on the table. It was time to fold. Not in the giving up sense, more of the giving IN sense; it was time to face my fears, time to take a positive step in my life, time to make a change that would forever shape the course of my life. It was time to forgive and let go. It was definitely time to move forward. And while it was terribly scary and unlike anything I had done up to that point in my life, I did it (and am still alive to talk about it). And although there was no Ace, I still feel like I got the royal flush.

When

2008-02-20T16:18:00.001-05:00

You know you're addicted to the Starbuck's iced-green tea latte when you're willing to borderline get your ass kicked by a Black guy with a grill whom you've just mouthed off to while waiting in line for over twenty minutes just to sip the sweet sweet goodness. For the record, he left the store and my friend and I just stood there. Baffled.

You know you're addicted to the Starbuck's iced-green tea latte when the woman behind you in line already has a venti coffee, but by the time she actually gets to the register she'll be ready for another one.

In Living Color

2008-02-15T13:45:00.000-05:00

I save Friday as my official do nothing at work day. I would never in my right mind schedule a meeting for a Friday. I almost always wear jeans and rarely change out of my sneakers. I switch between vocal electronica, rap and oldies on the radio all day long and frequently close the door to do a little dance while no one is looking. Sometimes on Fridays I flip through design magazines or books to waste time, not because I'm particularly trying to becoming inspired as I don't like to do any work at all on a Friday. I usually clean up my desk and straighten up around my office from the hurricane of the past week that has swept through. I can't come to work on Monday and discover a messy office. It clutters my brain too much. But as I look around now my office I'm realizing it is totally and completely immaculate. All my ducks (literally I have a rubber duck in here) are in a row and I don't think I can possibly wipe down the desk one more time with a Lysol disinfecting wipe without my brain falling out of one side of my head. My office and desk are so clean because I've done nothing all week; we have no work right now. There is literally nothing to do. And I don't mean there's work that I don't want to do. I mean my boss and I are literally making up projects to keep us busy, like, reorganizing our online server and other exciting menial tasks that don't waste enough hours. Even those projects are complete. It is the most dead time of my life, well at work. The flip side of that is that I'm having the time of my life when I leave this office at 5:01 evey single day. Today I might leave at 4:50 because I'm just that daring.

Today is a totally different kind of Friday however, for today I am recovering from the best Valentine's Day I've pretty much ever had. I'm going to hire a film crew to start filming my life because between my friends & I, we're more entertaining than half the shit that's on television these days. Fuck the writers, we don't need a script. This is what reality TV really is, not that shit they pan off as scripted reality TV (hello, "Real World.") I can't really remember all the finite details, but I do know that today I am very very glad that I do not have any real work to do besides making sure that at the end of the day all my colored markers end up back in the box in rainbow colored order. I like the purple one one best; it smells like grape.

Big on Chocolate, Not on Fat

2008-02-14T15:11:00.001-05:00

"Except nothing and you shall never be disappointed."

Smart man whoever first said that, smart man indeed. This year my expectations for my Birthday and today's Hallmark holiday were at an all-time low and subsequently have both blown me out of the water by how great they've been. It's still a bit early to say how VDay will pan out, but my spirits are high and nothing is bringing me down today. Not even an e-mail saying that a project I spent an entire week working on didn't need to be done in the first place. Nope, not even that.

Being single on Valentine's day is only as depressing as you make it, I think. These people who wear all black and rename it Singles Awareness Day trouble me. Getting that bent out of shape about a holiday designed to sell overpriced flowers, cards and candy seems about as sensible as punching a hole in a wall when you're angry. The wall can't feel pain and your bloody broken hand is only going to be a constant reminder of your stupidity for the next six-to-eight weeks. This is the second year in a row that I'm single on Vday and while admittedly last year was a bit rough, after having had a date for the ten years prior, I got by. And I will this year too. Besides, even when I did have a boyfriend on Vday, my expectations were never blown out of the water. And I kind of like the view from up here this year.

The Art of Giving

2008-02-13T16:32:00.002-05:00

It came in a small box. I remember being scared to open it not because I didn't know what was inside, but because I did. It was obviously jewelry by the small rectangular box, the first piece he had bought me since we had been together for some 3+ years. I can't however, remember if it was for my Birthday or Valentine's day, as these holidays often blur together or get doubled up in the gifting process. When I opened it, I remember thinking it was the most unique ring I had ever seen: a large square with eight smaller squares, each of a different color representing a stone and in some cases like the turquoise, it is the actual stone. It was beautiful and artsy and unique. It was something I immediately treasured. I treasured the ring and I treasured this man for knowing me well enough to buy it for me. Never in my life (even to date) had I worn something that I received more compliments on than this silver, colorful square ring. Cashiers at the gas station convenience store would tell me they liked it; random people on the subway in NYC would comment, foreigners in Germany would say in plain English how pretty it was. It was my most favorite thing ever, not unlike the man who gave it to me.

From that night forward I wore that ring every single day. I took it off only to shower, sometimes even forgetting to take it off when I slept. That ring has been all around the world with me, missing and then found, cracked and then repaired.

I kept wearing the ring immediately after the break-up. I wore it for probably another few months, three at the most. Then one day, much like the pain, I stopped wearing it and my heart stopped hurting. The ring is synonymous with the pain and struggle I battled during the last few years of that relationship, long before it finally soured like a rotting apple and we parted ways.

Yesterday I wore that ring again for the first time in almost a year. I didn't expect that it would make me sad, and it didn't. I didn't expect that it would make me happy, and it didn't. I didn't expect anything from it. I didn't think about it. I put it on in the morning and went to work the same way I had the previous day, and the day before that. When I got to work and my friend complimented me on it a tiny part of me was still, even after all these years, grateful for that man...

Not Unlike the Soap Opera

2008-02-11T15:48:00.000-05:00

The past few weeks have dizzyingly gone by (is that a word cause I just made it one) There was so much fun and so much laughter and time with my girls that I almost forgot the impending doom of V-day, just ten short days after the day when we celebrate my birth. My Birthday came and went and as you've previously read was the most fun I've ever had on such day, but as all good things in life do, that fun too, came to an end. It came to an abrupt end when, on the third night of sleeping less than three or four hours at a time, I contracted some sort of illness. And not just any illness. A very serious/rare/can be life threatening illness. Let me state for the record that I do get sick a lot and it seems like I am always battling some sort of something. I feel badly for my boss. But I get by. And keep on living...barely.

There are many theories as to why I am always sick but I think it boils down to bad luck. Well that and God hates me. Nobody ever appreciates their health more than when they don't have it and it's amazing to me, how, when I'm lying on an outdated plaid couch in my parent's house, how I would do almost anything to be able to move even a finger, to get up and walk around the house or venture outside the colonial colored walls. When I am sick it almost feels like I will never get better, like ever. And sometimes I really convince myself that I'm going to be sick forever, then gradually the panic sets in followed by depression. This time I stopped it at panic. I'm too happy for that depression bologna right now. I am on the mend now after almost 72 non-stop hours of fluids, Motrin, pain pills and the occasional screaming for my mom to come help me move, get up, walk...live.

And not unlike every time I wake up Saturday morning completely hungover from too much sex in the champagne room the night before and vow never to drink again, this time, I'm vowing to take better care of myself because after all, I've only got one life to live. I want to be around to see my brother's kids have kids (I would say to see my grandkids, but let's be serious here)...

...this time I think I [could be] serious.

I May Have

2008-02-04T16:06:00.001-05:00

stayed out till 2:30 on a sunday night
met a Texas Cowboy, an LA country singer on tour and a stalker from queens or brooklyn or SI
forgotten the names of the bars
taken one too many shots, drank one too many beers, had five too many glasses of wine
taken five jello shots in the span of...thirty minutes or less
taken many. many shots of tequilla. whack!
drank champagne
had the best meal made by my friends
had quite a few dance parties
received 2 dozen roses
told everyone i met that i would slay them
gotten way into the superbowl
gotten into an argument (which i won) about kansas basketball
sang at the top of my lungs
lost my voice
sang at the top of my lungs
lost my voice
slept in till noon
slept in till eleven
showed up an hour late to work
gotten a free bagel and a birthday card from my deli guy. my deli guy!
gotten phone calls from all over the world
received a phone call from my favorite!
high fived every giants fan i've seen in the last 18 hours
talked to my long lost african rafiki
played chicken with a taxi, kicked a mini van, almost ran from an $8.90 cab ride
called Ireland
eaten cake for lunch, had an entire diner-full of people singing to me and caused a scene when I was told there was no more whole wheat toast
made some serious wishes on said cakes!
laughed my ass off all night long
laughed my ass off all night long the next night
laughed until i cried

had literally the best birthday celebration weekend of my life; no that actually did happen, the rest just "may have..."

I Heart the Internet

2008-02-01T12:09:00.000-05:00

We're in a serious lull here at work; there is no work coming in and subsequently very little to keep me occupied between the long hours of 9 and 5(ish) My desk is clean, my office is even cleaner and I've e-mailed just about everyone I've ever met to stay busy. Yesterday I painted my nails and made vector Valentine's day cards for my friends. Yep, just another day at the office.

In honour of Friday, I spent my morning in a total emotive state watching youtube clips of my favorite television shows from the 80s and early 90s. My friend came in during this marathon session where mostly she just witnessed a giant smile plastered across my face for over an hour. My favorite part about the world wide web is just how far you can get in less than ten seconds. A click here, a click there and next thing you know you're watching an entire thirty minute episode of David the Gnome from 1991. It's just fantastic! It makes the marathon reminiscing sessions so much easier and quite frankly more enjoyable. How fun is it to say "do you remember that show Today's Special" and then the other person says no, not really (because they are probably from a household that had the Disney Channel and they were busy watching the Mickey Mouse Club or something equally awesome.) We didn't have the Disney Channel because it didn't used to be free with basic cable. I think it's much more fun to say "do you remember that show Today's Special" and when they say no you say "really, not even after you watch this awesome introduction" and then before you know it both of you are on the verge of tears because the escalator scene is bringing back very fond memories of the days of morning kindergarten and afternoon naps followed by episodes of Gummy Bears, The Snorks, Smurfs, The Little Prince or Noozles depending on what kind of house you lived in. Of course in my house it was mostly GI Joe, the Transformers and later endless hours of Top Gun, which for the record, we still own on VHS. Once I get myself together after reliving my childhood courtesy of youtube the phone rings and the request for a powerpoint deck brings me back to reality...

Sprechen sie Englisch?

2008-01-31T12:54:00.000-05:00

I got an e-mail yesterday from an old friend (and by old I really mean past and by friend I mean someone I am no longer friends with) and this e-mail literally left me baffled by the entire male species. Sometimes I wonder if we're even speaking the same language, us women and those men; mostly I feel like we're not. This time is one of those times when we most definitely are not. In all fairness to this person, which I don't know why I feel like I have to be fair (but I'm a nice person) it sucks to have a broken heart. I should know. Regardless, a broken heart is not the invitation to start acting like a complete moron and say things that do not have any semblance of how we agreed, sort of, in the end, that we would no longer be friends. This e-mail might as well have said Dear Lamo, I don't listen to anything you say, ever, and am sticking to my convictions so go fuck yourself. Love, the idiot or more specifically the entire male species.

The entire argument which lead to us no longer being friends in the first place all stemmed from a serious serious communication breakdown. Well that's only half true. But I can't really unveil what happened right here on this blog without being overcome by both extreme sadness and then extreme ANGER followed by rage. And nobody wants that. Plus, you never know when my mom will welcome herself into the Internet age and learn how to navigate to my blog. And the last thing on earth I need is for my mom to find out just how it all went down with said idiot; I will never hear the end of it. You don't know my mother!

I can't figure out why women and men can't always seem to speak the language. While most of me thinks that it's because we are wired differently, not wired to understand something we are not, there's a small part of me that thinks "God" is just really mean. I want to live in a world where no means no, and yes means yes, not a world where no secretly means please beg me until I give in, and yes means throw all caution to the wind and ruin everything in one single moment! I want to move there and live happily ever after with the other people who live there and all speak THE SAME LANGUAGE.

Like the Movie, Only Better

2008-01-25T15:19:00.000-05:00

To compensate during the writer's strike I've been reading a lot more, perhaps ripping through a book or two every week. I've also been watching a lot of movies and much to [probably] my mother's dismay, I've been going out with friends too much and drinking too much but subsequently been having a lot of fun, perhaps too much fun? This is one of those moments that feels so good but is also so scary. It's like I'm on the first page of a new chapter of my life...

Anyway, right now I am reading a book that I can feel changing me with every page I turn. It's so good that I want to sit down and read it all in one bite, like a giant Magnolia cupcake. Except it's so good that I also want to savor it, much like said cupcake. I find myself wishing I could read faster so I could get to the good parts (my friend tells me the best is the last section) but then again, I'm enjoying the middle section so much that I almost want to leave it untouched. I almost want to stop reading it so that I don't have to finish it; I have commitment issues. It's this sort of double-edged sword. And I absolutely love that! I love falling in love with a book, with a movie, with a moment so much that I wished it never had to end but am so anxious for it to end so it can be a complete love. So I can relish in its every complex moment, its every last detail. So I can share the love and pass on the joy that this book/movie/moment has brought to my life. The clarity. The AH HA moments and the moments where I pause to to reflect on just how it is that this is affecting me. Just what it is the author is trying to really say, beyond the words written on the page. I love this book so much I might read it again, which, for the record I've only done with two other books in my entire life: The DaVinci Code and To Kill a Mockingbird. I'll rewatch a movie fifty zillion times (hello, Garden State) but when it comes to taking the time and the effort to reread a book, I always somehow say no.

I've been replaying this one specific paragraph in my head for the last 24 hours. The author talks about how every city has a word that describes it and its people perfectly. Rome, for example is "sex." She goes on to say that NYC's word is "achieve" or "succeed" which, who can argue with either one of those? She was then asked what her own word would be, and was unable to come up with an answer. If someone were to ask me what my word is I don't think I'd be able to come up with an answer, at least not right away. Trying to quantify your entire life and existence on this planet using one and only one word is no easy task. It's like asking an artist what inspires them; there is never just one answer. The possibilities, in a way, are endless. But. If I really had to, if I was with my back against the wall and absolutely had to come up with one word; one single answer; for right now, in this present moment, I'd have to say...

ALIVE!

The Day the [Internet] Died

2008-01-24T14:23:00.001-05:00

In the past few weeks, irony has followed me everywhere I go in every instance of my life, like a shadow, a dark and haunting shadow. My life is stuck on repeat and no matter how hard I try, I can't change the track to something more upbeat like Money, Time or hell even a truly appropriate song I heard just now called Better Days by the Goo Goo Dolls, of all bands. It's not that my days aren't better than they have been, because they are. They really are. But I could deal without the extreme irony breathing down my neck.

Yesterday I came into my office and started my computer the same way I have every day since I started at this new job. I logged into my gmail, opened a few more tabs for all the daily blogs I read and of course, opened a tab for facebook. You can imagine my surprise when this mean little window popped open and said it was...BLOCKED. I blinked. And thought, this just can't be. I was on it yesterday. I was on it Tuesday. So then I tried a few of the blogs I read. BLOCKED. I tried my own blogger dashboard. BLOCKED. I went across the hall and asked our web designer just what in the hell was going on and to my dismay he told me that overnight my company had installed a new Internet service provider. Remember, back in the day when we had our competition and I was basically working on dial-up. Yeah well, now we've got this super, lightning- fast, blink and you are there Internet but wait...what's the irony of it all. You can't go anywhere! Almost every website, even ones that are somewhat "related" to my job or at the very least, my field, are blocked. If I want to go check out any upcoming speakers on the AIGA website, I can't. If I need to troubleshoot my mac by using a mac blog, I can't! Unless I get permission from my director first. In reality that seems like a great loop hole, but in all actuality, I can't spend everyday of my life asking my director for permission to access the web. Look it's fine if you want to block facebook or myspace (hell what do I care, I don't even have a myspace account) but when you start blocking things that are, in fact, related to my JOB that's when the world starts turning on a crooked axis. And above all, that's when I stop liking it here and start hating my job and further hating corporate America. If you want to block it fine. But don't give me full access for four months and then take it away. When you take away my Internet, you take away the trust. And we all know what happens when you take away the trust...the shit hits the fan like big time!

My boss put in a request for his entire department to be released from the blocked list. I can now access Internet on my PC (that's right, I'm so cool that this new job gave me 2 computers) but the irony, that's right, more irony of that is that my PC has a hard drive as small as a thumb drive. It's 9.5 GB. I don't think most of you are as nerdy as I, so for the record, that's about as big as a Nano or a whopping one third of most of our video iPods. So any time I open even the lousy Internet, the damn thing can't handle it and crashes. And then it takes me roughly 15 minutes to reboot only to have it freeze again. I haven't decided yet if this cycle is irony or just plain shitty circumstances.

Regardless, until they clear our mac stations my postings will be scattered because I can't choose between my love of sanity or my love for writing in this blog. Either I post on the freeze-n-go PC or I wait till I get home at like 11:30 when the last thing I feel like doing is sitting in front of my computer. It's way more likely at that point that I will snuggle into my bed with my puppy than rant about how my stupid company ruined the Internet!

Something Borrowed

2008-01-18T14:56:00.000-05:00

While reading one of my daily/favorite blogs, I came across this list that asks where you learned to do the following things. I've added a few of my own after the break.

• How to hunt for bargains: My college best friend, my current roommate
• How to choose colors: Grad school, my old job
• How to rescue old furniture: My dad and brother/AT website/DIY websites
• How to sew: My mom/7th grade home-ec
• How to make compromises in decorating: Oh boy do I, thanks to my current roommate
• How to love modernism: "The" ex
• How to like doing the dishes: My current roommate
• How to cook: What is this cook you speak of?

• How to love danish design: Grad school, D*Sponge blog, my brother, subletting, my most recent ex
• How to appreciate minimalism: My best guy friend from college, Justin
• How to use writing as an outlet: Karen, my 11th grade creative writing teacher
• How to love living in NYC: My brother, my friend Kristen, gothamist, Broadway, only in NYC moments, the marathon, leaving NYC and coming back even after just a weekend in the country
• How to stay sane: By running. Far.
• How to forgive: Working on it but my gay boyfriend is to blame!
• How to forget: A fifth of anything usually does the trick

Fresh Out

2008-01-17T11:55:00.000-05:00

I wish I knew more about dreams and what they mean because maybe then I could make some sense about the kind of insane week I've been having whilst sleeping. If I didn't know any better I would assume I had taken five hits of acid and then tried to take a little nap; or better yet, taken anti-malaria pills again because holy shit those were some crazy dreams that week in Africa and the three weeks prior. This morning I had a dream that quite literally left me in a full-body sweat. It's been a tough week, and I've been so tired every single day that getting through the entire workday is the ultimate challenge. At the very least I've had to drink four cups of coffee, sometimes even more. I was so tired yesterday morning that I put both contacts in the same eye and then couldn't figure out why I couldn't see clearly. No seriously. I ended up getting so frustrated with the complex situation that I wore my glasses to work. Today I was so tired that I put the cereal box in the fridge. This would be the moment when I'm thankful I don't have to operate machinery in order to get to and from work. The thing is, I've been getting plenty of exercise, and for the most part have been eating right, so this absolute exhaustion is completely random and uncalled for. Unless of course you factor in the stress caused by losing something you can't replace and having to start over from scratch.

I think loss causes us to do strange things and it takes its toll differently on everyone. I used to let grief manifest itself by curling up in my bed for days at a time, blaring some sort of suicidal music like Damien Rice "O" and crying until my jaw hurt. But I can't remember the last time I cried, and if you knew me three years ago I know you don't believe that statement in the very least. But I honestly can't. I guess I cried on Christmas Day when my brother announced that he's going to be a father. But those weren't actual sad tears. I feel almost as if my crying mechanism is broken. And sometimes, even when something is incredibly sad and I want to cry or feel like I should cry...I don't. I'm fresh out out of tears. I think I wasted them all in college on a dead-end relationship. I think I wasted them in the two years after college on nasty professors and rude comments about how I suck/sucked as a designer. I wasted them on good-byes and starting over and letting go and trying to pick the pieces and reconfigure them into something resembling a happy life. I think I've done a pretty good job in retrospect so in a way, this time shouldn't be any different. Except I can't figure out why it feels so totally different. I'm right back where I started and I seem to have misplaced my manual.

Among Other Things

2008-01-14T11:51:00.000-05:00

Now that you're gone I've switched back to non-waterproof mascara; does that mean I cry less?

Now that you're gone I've wrestled with anger and rage, but seen the good in humankind; does that mean the hate depreciates?

Now that you're gone I've started writing and reading and learning again, I've started formulating and calculating and analyzing again; is that the formula for happiness?

Now that you're gone I've slept less and spent too much time dreaming; does that mean one day happily ever after prevails?

Now that you're gone I've toasted to life and to change and to good things to come, to new beginnings and to starting over. Again. Only this time not with you.

What! Oh what! What have you done other than play catalyst and wrecking ball.

[On] People & Things that IRK Me

2008-01-09T16:39:00.000-05:00

It's been awhile since I did a bitter New Yorker rant post in which I just list a bunch of things that bothered me today, yesterday or everyday of my life as a New Yorker or perhaps just as a human. And with everything that's been going on the last few days, I feel like I have a solid case. So without further ado:

Wanda Sykes' new voice-overs for Applebees. Wanda Sykes voice period
Any design where I'm forced to use papyrus, comic sans or arial; it's just not right and it's against everything I was taught in grad school.
When you ask for someone's opinion re: said design and they say "well it's not bad." Oh well thanks, so is it also not good? I'm not using this font by choice, FYI.
People who wear puffy coats with the fur hoods when it's 50+ degrees out
People who don't wear a coat or who wear shorts when it's really freaking cold out
People who use an umbrella when it's not raining. People who use giant umbrellas large enough to shelter a family of 9 and are clueless as they knock into everyone on the sidewalk. People who don't put their umbrellas down when walking under 2 or more blocks of covered scaffolding.
People who stop in the middle of the sidewalk to text or e-mail on their blackberry.
People who stop at the bottom of the escalator like holy shit, this thing moves?! That's new.
People who push to get into the escalator line, as if pushing makes me move faster. No, it just pisses me off!
People who push the elevator button over and over and over as if that makes it come faster; everyone knows it doesn't.
People who say the word important and don't pronounce the Ts and therefore slur the whole word together..like impordnt. There's 2 "Ts" in that word, people. 2!
People who leave spin or other such workout classes as soon as the workout portion is over, like, oooo I'm too cool to stretch. Also, people that come to class late. I got here on time, why are you so imporTanT that you couldn't. If you're going to come to class 25 minutes you really just shouldn't come.

In Times Like These I Turn to:

2008-01-08T14:07:00.000-05:00

my best friend and confidant who is 250 miles away, my local girls that understand what I'm saying even when I'm not talking

staying busy, not watching the clock

singing in the street, skipping down the sidewalk, humming on the elevator

hour long lunches, sweedish fish

long and deep conversations with my favorite man on planet earth (after my dad) that remind me of better times, true love and honesty

jewel, kelly and channel 30

fantasy trip planning, fantasy house shopping

actual trip planning

the treadmill, the spin bike, the elliptical

dance divas II

movies, repeats of my favorite shows on DVR, OnDemand Sex and the City

flipping and flipping and flipping through the pages of my past favorite Print annuals, west elm and ikea catalogs

cracking the spine of a new book, one that requires no thinking

B&N twenty minutes before it closes

prose

green tea

cooking dinner while listening to music from the 90s

plum toenails and a massage chair

talk radio, following the news very closely, more talk radio, more NPR, more voices

Fucking Ouch, Dude

2008-01-06T01:15:00.000-05:00

My favorite aunt always tells me that "it only takes a day." It only take a day for your life to change. One person. One incident. One phone call. All it takes is one day. And she's right I mean, it does in fact, only take one day to meet someone and fall in love or to get the job offering of a lifetime, have a child etc. But on the flip side to that, sometimes it only takes a minute, a split second for your life to change in a negative, heart wrenching, inexplicably upsetting, mind numbing manner. And when that happens, you wish it took longer.

I'm not going to say much more than that, because I'm still processing that moment. And even though I could say so much more, I'm still trying to figure it out and stop blaming myself for not having seen it coming. I'm trying to get through the hurt. For as much learning and growing and observation as I've done in the past 15 or so months, I expect more from myself and maybe that's why this moment hurts so much more. Because I let myself down and sometimes that is far worse than being let down by someone else, even if it is by someone you never expected would, or at least hoped would not....

But did.

Year of the Rat

2008-01-03T12:42:00.000-05:00

Despite it being the year of the second most disgusting creature on planet earth (just a hair short of the cockroach, both of which we have plenty of here in the big apple) I, like most of the world, am always highly optimistic at the beginning of a New Year. And I, like most of the world am always disappointed about three days into said new year, when nothing seems to glitter like gold. In Corporate America we call this: SSDD, but instead of it being the same shit, different day, it's a different year or SSDY. Big whoop. That's right, I said big whoop. And maybe your 86 year old great Aunt from Canada says that too!

Anyway, maybe this will be the year it all changes, what changes I'm not so sure, but by golly (that's right, I said by golly) "it" will change!! [Double bang there for emphasis.] Maybe this will be the year I get up the gumption to move "west" to Chicago, buy a brownstone with a fenced in yard, get another puppy, name him Duke or Scooter and live happily ever after in the bitter cold long winters. Or...maybe not. Maybe this will be the year my blog is nominated for a Blogger's Choice Award and I get so much publicity from it that I can quit my day job and blog for a living making enough money to pay off my loans AND buy a place in Manhattan. Then I can just take pictures for pocket money and fun and travel around the world in my super awesome private plane and can then afford to buy the things I see on all my design blogs or more specifically from the store design within reach which is LIE for nothing is within reach from that store, except for millionaires, I mean. Or...maybe not! Probably most definitely not. Maybe this will be the year I win the lottery and can do all of those things and throw in a place in Hawaii and pay off all my friends' loans. This would be a good time to step forward if you are in fact, a loyal reader of my blog.

The truth is, I don't have any super big plans or resolutions to make and then later break for this new year. I want to run another marathon, or two. I'd like get back into taking lots of pictures. I'd like to learn Spanish. And do more charity work. We'll see. There's plenty more fun to come; stay tuned...it's gonna be a good* year!

*By good I mean mediocre, a solid medium

My Home

2007-12-27T11:09:00.000-05:00

"...it just sort of happens one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist...I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place." Garden State
--

Maybe it was the finality of it all, our last Christmas in our house, the house I grew up in; maybe it was that my brother and his wife are going to have a baby and I'm going to be an aunt. maybe it was the fact that my dad allowed/asked someone else to do the dishes and as I stood there at the sink washing away lasagna noodles and salad dressing, I realized that you really do miss out on a lot of the action when you're the dad; maybe it was the comments my mother made about her mother. or her grandmother; or my dad laughing so hard he cried, which reminded us all of his mother. our beloved grandmother, who we all miss most at Christmastime; maybe it was because it was the first time in four years we were all together on Christmas, where one of us wasn't overseas fighting a "war" that shouldn't be, or in California with his in-laws, because last I checked we aren't old enough to have in-laws are we; maybe it was because for the first time ever in my life I left my house on Christmas day like my brothers used to do when I was little; maybe it was when I left my parents for bed and a quiet house; maybe it was because I have to work the day after the day after Christmas or because I spent the day after at Target and the mall with my sister-in-law shopping for maternity clothes, and clothes for my best friend's daughter who turns two in just a few days; maybe it was the air, still and crisp and clear revealing a universe of stars that the smutty NYC air masks; maybe it was the rain that came later, beating down on my skylights like pebbles; maybe it was a freshly cracked book that I already can't put down; or the solitude in my apartment when I arrived home; maybe it was the candle I lit to warm the air with hints of vanilla. or the hot shower I took where I wasn't afraid to sing really loud; or maybe it was when I folded my laundry and sat mystified by my hospital bills; maybe when I called home to say "I got home safely, talk to you soon" or when my brother pulled away and I pictured him and his wife watching me fumble to find my keys to get into my walk-up; maybe when I checked the mail and it fell out onto the floor in an awkward obtuse pile; maybe when I received my "own" Christmas cards from my cousins, brothers and friends; maybe when my parents said thank you for coming out and for such a special Christmas; maybe it was then that I realized I had somehow become a grown up. that this city is my home and my house is just a place I go to visit, and soon that house will just be a memory, part of the distant past.

maybe that was the moment I needed; the moment I had been waiting for; the moment I knew I could move forward with my very own life in partial clarity.

Old Man Winter Please Bring Me:

2007-12-21T12:58:00.002-05:00

Continued off-the-wall days at work thanks to my new espresso addiction
Cobalt blue walls, orange accents
Duke in the Final Four; tickets to the Final Four (from my boss!); tickets to Spring Awakening
A black and white printed scarf, preferably handmade
A spin instructor certification card; a gig; 100 great playlists
More red days, more pink days, more pounds lost
Dodgeball Champions!
Another spa/massage day
Motivation to start training for the San Diego marathon
A birthday card from afar, a birthday card from my favorite
A call from my brother that says "We've been reassigned to Virginia!"
More design blogs than I can read, more inspiration than I can manage, ideas brimming at all hours of the morning
A cactus for my office window
A two-foot tall brushed metal letter "A"
Crisp. New. Black. Sharpies. Both fine and medium point.
A Birthday that comes and goes and doesn't matter but is fun as hell, regardless
ONE huge blizzard that dumps 4 feet of snow on Manhattan and then the next day it's 65 degrees and it all melts (aka a repeat of 2004) AND a trek to Central Park to photograph nature's stillness before it all turns to snirt

The Future of America

2007-12-19T10:16:00.000-05:00

When I don't wear my iPod to work in the morning, which by the way is almost never, I usually remember about twenty seconds into the subway part of the commute just why it is that I wear it day in and day out almost without fail. Now that I finally sucked it up and bought the world's greatest headphones (after my 10th pair of Apple ones broke) I have no reason to skip wearing it, unless, like this morning the battery is completely DOA. Today's subway ride was complete with a car-full of elementary school students from the Bronx and here is some of the hilarity that ensued in the seven minutes that I shared a space with them. I also heard something almost as funny once I got on to 42nd Street.

Kid to teacher: Yo Mr. Spignelli, are you a polyglot?
Teacher: Um, I don't think so.
Kid laughing: You don't know what a polyglot is; you haven't seen that commercial for that dictionary; yo that shit is mad tight.
Teacher: I don't have a TV.
Kid in shock: How come you ain't got no TV, it's the greatest invention of this decade.
---
Me to kid: Where are you going on your field trip?
Kid: Um I don't know (shouting to teacher) Yo where we goin anyways?
Teacher: I told you when we got on the train.
Kid to friend: Yeah but it's not like I be listening.
Kid to me: We're going somewhere to look at some shit, it's probably old shit.
---
Salvation Army volunteer ringing his bell and talking into a microphone:
"For one dollar, the price of your morning coffee and your hamburger for lunch, you could help someone today."

One dollar! One dollar!! Last I checked the only thing you can get in this city for a buck is...um...wait, I can't think of anything; but it damn sure isn't a coffee AND a hamburger.

Key of F

2007-12-17T13:21:00.000-05:00

I've sung karaoke all of two times in my entire life:
Once this past summer on a blind date, after we decided that 1 am was a good time to take shots and rock out to the hardest song ever in the history of the world to sing.

And

On Friday night at our office holiday party in Times Square after what seemed like twenty vodka on the rocks (oh and also, I never drink anything on the rocks but decided this was the night to start). At that same party I argued with my boss about something insane, he threatened to call my ex and instead called my better half and spoke to him to try to win his argument. We also made phone calls to the girl I replaced, who was, for the record, still at work because in CA, it was 3 in the afternoon! He fell down the stairs in front of our President and everyone is still talking about it. There's richer, much more crazy stories I could share, but I've learned my lesson from Dooce and am not going to say any more; I've got a dog to feed!

The moral of this half-ass story is: Karaoke is evil.

HR would so not approve

2007-12-12T16:30:00.000-05:00

Once I discovered the glory of ordering whatever I wanted from the Office Max catalog and it magically appearing in my office the very next day, I ordered myself an over-the-door coat hook so I could stop using my windowsill as a place to hang err throw my coat. It was not until I actually received and tried to install the hanger above my door did I realize that our doors in this office are about nine times larger and taller than most regular doors. I had to get a chair to reach the top of the door and shortly thereafter realized that if I needed a chair just to hang the damn hook, that I was going to need some sort of ladder to hang up my coat everyday, and although they sell them in the catalog, I don't think admin would approve such a purchase.

The other day I was in my boss's office and I noticed he had a hook on the back of his door, one that blended in with the door and was of a normal human height, not the height of the giants who apparently built this office monstrosity. I asked him in complete disgust why he had a hook and I didn't and he said that I should have one too; had I looked? Then! Then I discovered that I had a hole for such a device, but no device in which to use. So I got my coworkers involved in operation help me find the "hook"...which was then [sort of] appropriately dubbed, [She] needs a shaft. She has a hole but no shaft! Later in the day someone found a hook in storage for the back of my door, and instead of handing it to me threw it at me from across the hallway and it rolled under the couch. After a few minutes of crawling around on the cold tile floor, they all came in to watch as I screwed the tiny piece of plastic into the back of my door. They giggled like teenage boys and make jokes about my new shaft and my hole, which then turned into jokes about other people needing to find a shaft, which quickly became jokes about...being gay. Yep, just another day in corporate America!

You May be Right, I may be Crazy

2007-12-10T14:12:00.000-05:00

At my friends' Holiday dinner party Saturday night we had a discussion about married phrases, mostly song lyrics that stick in your head so much to the point where you can't possibly say one without the other. You know what I mean, like when someone says "how bizarre," and you just can't help but sing the next few lines, or more likely just bop your head and kind of hum that tricky beat because let's be serious here, nobody knows any of the words to that song except those two words: "how bizarre." Another prime example is "Ironic" because I swear every time in the last decade or so that I've said "Isn't that ironic," like when I was being totally serious and telling a story about something truly ironic, one of my friends just couldn't resist the temptation of "don't you think" and then launch into the chorus full of spoons, knives and rain on your wedding day. So while my friend was making dinner at said party, her apartment got really hot, so hot that I started to sweat. Finally I busted out a plea to open a door or a window or something because I was blazing, blazin' hip hop and R&B jams (but of course #11) Since apparently these friends had never been in my presence when I was blazin' I had to [try to] explain that although I am somewhat of a freak show, mostly it's in ways that you can't see or hear on a daily basis...with the exception of when I'm hot as hell!

Well now it's Monday and I'm back to work and to important deadlines. There was just some free food in the kitchen (the highlight of the day, for certain) and I had been between the kitchen at least 6 times heating up the food, forgetting my drink etc. That deadline is literally thirty minutes from now, and sure, I should be working and not blogging, but whatever, I got inspired to write. I was just about to dive into the salad when I realized I didn't have a fork. Since I had been to the kitchen and beyond 6 times already (and I'm on deadline) I figured I'd just look in my drawer full of goodies to forage for a fork. And wouldn't you know it, all I had was 10,000 spoons and a few knives.

On BIG Decisions

2007-11-26T15:37:00.000-05:00

It's not that I'm scared, it's just that [it's] delicate.

It Only Took One

2007-11-20T13:04:00.000-05:00

My professor said I had two choices: keep them or make art out of them. She told me her husband had gotten over 300 rejection letters before he was awarded his dream job. Being a crafty man, he burned them all and used the ashes to make a painting. Only having four, which at the time seemed like a million, it was still not nearly enough to make anything. I took the road less traveled and kept them. That was over three years ago. Seasons change, time passes and eventually the disappointment fades to gray...

Last night, I was cleaning off a bookshelf to make way for some pictures that I am having framed as part of my redecoration process. I took each thing off, and dusted off the three inches of dust that has accumulated since the year 2005, coincidently, the same time I put all that stuff on those shelves. I found mostly novels that I had forgotten to read and a slew of puppy pictures and lots of old notebooks from both college and graduate school. However, I also found my senior year college sketch book. At first I didn't think much of it and simply dusted it and put it on the pile of the other "crap" I had uncovered. A few minutes later, when the shelf was empty and the book was now lying on my bed, I felt like I was being called to read through it. I thought, if anything I might remember some of those great AH HA moments I had back in the day. I slowly thumbed through the pages and four sheets of folded paper fell out. I knew without looking what these were. I bent over and picked them up, taking the time to unfold each one carefully as to not tear or crumble their perfect preservation. Without reading much past the first line of each letter, I folded them back up and placed them into the spine of the book.

And then something odd happened...I smiled.

Keeping it Real

2007-11-19T14:37:00.000-05:00

Last night while having Thanksgiving dinner with my girlfriends (which turned out to be more like a potluck dinner that so happened to fall the weekend before Thanksgiving) we were jokingly discussing things that we were thankful for, like your parents probably made you do when you were little, or more specifically, what my mom still makes us do but only after the 9th bottle of wine so that the only answer you can muster is...grapes. The most common answer among my friends was of course, family and friends, the equivalent of saying "thank you" when someone you don't love tells you they love you and you are left dumbfounded by their words and secretly wish you could make a phone call telepathically to your best friend in Boston and fill her in on all the drama that just transpired. It's the easy way out, if you will. But I think that's okay, sometimes. After all, thinking of things your thankful for is kind of hard thing to do because until you sit down to really, truly and earnestly think about it, usually those things that you are thankful for are the things you mostly take for granted. So without further ado, my 2007 list:

*The health of both myself and my loved ones. I have a grandfather who is 92 and two parents who, aside from a few aches and pains are in very good health. My health was what enabled me to cross the finish line.

*My job that even though at times I dislike, keeps a roof over my head and food in my belly. Having been to Africa earlier this year, I am also very thankful for all those other wonderful things we as Americans take for granted: food, electricity, access to education, running water, heat, clothing and unconditional love.

*Grad school may have been the worst two years of my life, but I am very very thankful for my advanced education and the opportunities I have seized because of it.

*Advanced medical technology and doctors that together, have allowed both of my friends who are battling cancer to live another day.

*Learning and recovering from my past mistakes, recognizing when something has taken its course, listening to my head and heart as separate entities.

*The last minute. The snooze button. Double-sided tape. Chapstick. Tylenol PM, blister band-aids, double knots, laughter.

I can't make this sh*t up; I'm good, but not that good

2007-11-14T14:54:00.000-05:00

I work for the second largest cable company in the country. I spend most of my days designing stuff to promote our "high speed this or on demand that." And yet, I have internet in my office that is literally almost as slow as dial-up. No, seriously. It's about a millisecond faster. You can't even remember internet this slow. It's from the days when computers were not ubiquitous in every household in America; it's from before I was...born.

And. To top that off, it's not even OUR internet. We have our competitor's service. When our internet goes out for the twentieth time in one day, I am so glad I am not the person who has to make that call and explain to Time Warner Cable why we, in fact need them to come fix our internet.

Only the Half of It

2007-11-13T12:47:00.000-05:00

I can
ID and recognize fonts anywhere especially on menus, determine the weight of paper by touching it, list all the state capitals, use every shortcut available especially in anything Adobe (on the contrary I cannot tell you where anything is located in a menu) daydream to the point of insanity, fantasy trip plan, spend an entire day at work having not done any actual work, eat the same thing for breakfast lunch and dinner, make one hell of a photo collage, envision lots of things I could never actually make, envy the hell out of the Print Design Annual and dream of one day making it, dream of working for Target, moving to Chicago and then Minneapolis or Berlin, count to ten in a lot of different languages, say "This is a gray bunny" in German, play the piano, the flute and once upon a time, the oboe, listen to the same song one-hundred or more times in a row, roll my tongue three times, worry about almost anything, read a book in one day, feel the titanium screw in my knee, find my way around a foreign city via pubic transportation, waste the entire morning in bed, never get sick of home renovation shows or reruns of Friends, spend three hours on the phone, laugh until my face hurts, cry until my jaw hurts, recover from a broken heart, finish what I started

I cannot
remember the last time I made my bed when I woke up, started work right at 9, got to work right at 9 or read Wired cover-to-cover before the next one arrived, drink whole milk even in coffee, see the point of decaff coffee, eat broccoli, stand the thought of touching chicken or read meat, properly use a ruler to measure anything, start my day without listening to NPR, get to work without my iPod, stand riding the subway at rush hour, write with blue ink, use Windows without getting annoyed, easily admit when I am wrong, say the word singlet, refrain from making up my own words, help but sing in the shower, often remember my own phone number, eat pizza for breakfast, fall out of love quickly, imagine leaving Manhattan, live in the suburbs, drive a minivan, play chess, laugh enough

Don't Speak

2007-11-12T14:08:00.000-05:00

I'm going through another one of my phases where I can't handle listening to music with words. This usually happens once a year, but the last time I can remember it happening was when I was in grad school, the Fall of 2005. Let it be said that I cannot work, write a paper or design a logo without some sort of background noise, however I much prefer music to the TV because let's be serious if I even hear Chandler or Monica so much as sneeze, I drop everything and run to sit and obey all things related to those beloved characters. I do the same thing for Forrest, Zoolander and Office Space. I also don't have a TV in my room and haven't since college so the temptation is barely there, although, ever since downloading season 6 of Scrubs to iTunes, the temptation is a bit more palpable. Luckily, I finished that dumb school thing a long time ago and don't work from home. So yes, yes I must have noise and I rejoice daily in the fact that I now have my own office and can listen to music all day without having to wear headphones. Sometimes when I really need to focus, I turn it up super loud and close my door. But sometimes I just do that when I'm throwing a dance party.

The last time I went through this phase, this weird phase where music with words digs so deep under my skin I can almost feel it in my bone marrow, I discovered one of my current favorite bands. I remember where I was sitting, the time of day AND what I was working on when I discovered The Album Leaf and realized that it was, quite possibly, the best music I had [not] ever heard. Two of the songs from their album In a Safe Place top the 'most played' list in my library. I also love that This American Life uses it as transition music on an almost weekly basis.

Sometimes, these random phases that I go through can be quite amazingly productive and unveil great things. The time I went through my 'all I want to do is smoke pot' phase...not so much. It unveiled great things sure, but mostly just in my mind.

Good music is just waiting to be discovered....standby.

While I wasn't blogging this week I:

2007-11-09T11:26:00.000-05:00

Finished the NYC marathon, freaked out about my time being 3 minutes slower than I thought, received the good news that the marathon timing system was flawed and in fact, my time was 3 minutes faster than what was published in the NY Times (that's right, this week my name was also in the NY Times) proudly wore my metal to work on Tuesday morning where all my coworkers made me feel like a celebrity

Woke up in quite literally the most amount of pain I've ever been in, got drunk at 1 in the afternoon on a Monday with my bestests, had lunch at an old favorite in the E Village, napped like a rockstar, took a whole lot of Advil and Tylenol PM, waddled like a penguin around my office, wore nothing but sneakers and baggy pants to work, went down the steps both in my building and to the 5 train backwards, asked for assistance when getting up from the sitting or squatting position on more than one occassion

Got a new blackberry, freaked out at "the T" for charing me $86 for 2 weeks of service, relished at being "IN" again, was perpetually annoyed by duplicated messages coming from "myself" to my pearl, convinced my better half to join facebook because he lost a bet (don't ever make a bet with me unless you plan to lose) started listening to Holiday music, threw a dance party in my office

Finally returned Borat, which, for the record I've had from Netflix since March (!), received a new movie that I have yet to watch but put on the docket for this weekend, went out for beers with my coworkers, learned that my boss is a dem but loves the MTA, battled about the war in Iraq and the '08 election, spent another crazy half hour trying to dodge traffic in midtown for a cab, got drunk off two beers because my tolerance is shot to hell

Ate a lot less carbs than last week, lost three pounds, worried less, slept less, ran less or...none at all, laughed more, smiled more, relaxed more...
returned to normal!

TwentySixPointTwo

2007-11-02T16:16:00.000-04:00

There are so few times in my life that I have been this nervous, anxious, excited and eager to do something, to accomplish something and get something out of the way that I forgot how awful it is to literally not be capable of even thinking straight. Sitting here at work all day, confined to the chair and my desk feels like pure torture. My hands and feet are sweating, and I'm not even moving; my heart has been beating this fast since the alarm went off at 7:26 this morning. I've gotten e-mails and cards wishing me good luck from friends & family all around the country (and the world, actually.) This morning there were a slew of facebook messages, IMs and the occassional visitor dropping by my office to wish me well. I've rarely had such an outpouring of support from the people I love about some event taking place in my life; the last I can remember is "the breakup" of 2006. It is so true, so blindingly true, that everyone rallies around you in times of need and in times of crisis. So I wanted to take this time, in advance, before all is said and done and the gun goes off and the clock starts ticking, to say a big heartfelt thank you to everyone. Your support and your cheers, your homemade T-shirts, posters and banners, your well wishes, your talking me off cliff after cliff after cliff, your shared excitement and joy will get me to and across that finish line on Sunday and for that, for that I could never be more thankful...