I've never really fancied myself a pretty writer. I don't delve too far into description or go off on a tangent of details. My phrases are more often short. I try to get straight to my point.
The structure in my head is like that typically. Staccato sentences. Quick. I have an extra special love for punctuation.
I often write of pretty things. Of love and memories, of thoughts and emotion. But I don't think I use too many pretty words. My writing is not precious. But I try to keep it eloquent.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
An ending
The African sun was hot and my arm burning from hanging it out the window. Earlier that day there had been elephants and zebra barely a foot away, a monkey had mischievously cracked the window down trying to find food the evening before and my seat was wet with morning dew. At sunrise a lion blocked our path as we pulled our rental car out of the campsite and into the animal reserve. It was now mid afternoon and the air sizzled. The wildlife had naturally hidden away in the shade so we had driven without a glimpse of anything for the past hour. My irritation with him was rising as quickly as the thermostat.
For years I was desperate to make this pilgrimage to South Africa. And convinced that the man I pined for on the other side of the ocean was my soul mate. Not having him, I had told myself as year after year went by apart, was the source of my unhappiness.
It had once been as simple as a glass marble found at a toyshop. Something strangers had touched and held before. Yet it was only meant for us. It had waited patiently amongst the others, drawing little attention to its self, lost in a cool sea of glass.
We were at Hamley's on Regent Street in London. We wandered from floor to floor; shooting laser guns, playing video games, testing our skills on the giant piano floor mat. Suddenly he stopped, transfixed. “Marbles!” he exclaimed with a childlike enthusiasm typically lost by the tender age of seven. He was nineteen and in many ways far more mature than the irresponsible college boys I knew back home. Yet, he still exuded an innocence that I clung to, desperate to feel what seemed to come so natural to him.
And now, he insisted on buying me a marble at a toy store.
There was a pureness to our love. A simplicity. And it was ours alone. It was as if no one in history had possibly experienced love before but rather it was a feeling we created, within a world that belonged to us alone. We could wrap ourselves in its elegant softness; caress the silk that engulfed our newly discovered existence. Over the years I carried the painful memory of its extinction tightly in my hand, my fingers wrapped around that marble as if it was the most precious artifact in the world.
Now here I was, five years later and halfway around the world hoping desperately to experience that sort of magic again. “Are you mad?” he asks. “You know I was just joking with you.” I stare out the window and straight into the blaring sun, silently holding back the impending tears. I don’t even have the strength to argue with him anymore. We fought constantly, a sign to me that our relationship was real. Only someone I really cared about could make me as angry as he did. But the fact that I could hardly muster the intensity to fight back clearly meant something.
“I’m not mad, baby.” I reply, forcing a smile. There was no need to ruin our last day together. Despite all the plans and promises over the years, I knew he was never going to move to America and I hardly saw a life in South Africa as my future. Clutching my marble in my fist, I relax into my seat and watch the vast African terrain stretching out for miles.
I felt the strange sensation of being a child and discovering my parents, not Santa Claus, were putting the Christmas gifts beneath the tree. Swept up with mourning, I finally admit to myself that there is nothing left of my love other than a scrapbook of beautiful memories and a person who simply does not exist anymore.
For years I was desperate to make this pilgrimage to South Africa. And convinced that the man I pined for on the other side of the ocean was my soul mate. Not having him, I had told myself as year after year went by apart, was the source of my unhappiness.
It had once been as simple as a glass marble found at a toyshop. Something strangers had touched and held before. Yet it was only meant for us. It had waited patiently amongst the others, drawing little attention to its self, lost in a cool sea of glass.
We were at Hamley's on Regent Street in London. We wandered from floor to floor; shooting laser guns, playing video games, testing our skills on the giant piano floor mat. Suddenly he stopped, transfixed. “Marbles!” he exclaimed with a childlike enthusiasm typically lost by the tender age of seven. He was nineteen and in many ways far more mature than the irresponsible college boys I knew back home. Yet, he still exuded an innocence that I clung to, desperate to feel what seemed to come so natural to him.
And now, he insisted on buying me a marble at a toy store.
There was a pureness to our love. A simplicity. And it was ours alone. It was as if no one in history had possibly experienced love before but rather it was a feeling we created, within a world that belonged to us alone. We could wrap ourselves in its elegant softness; caress the silk that engulfed our newly discovered existence. Over the years I carried the painful memory of its extinction tightly in my hand, my fingers wrapped around that marble as if it was the most precious artifact in the world.
Now here I was, five years later and halfway around the world hoping desperately to experience that sort of magic again. “Are you mad?” he asks. “You know I was just joking with you.” I stare out the window and straight into the blaring sun, silently holding back the impending tears. I don’t even have the strength to argue with him anymore. We fought constantly, a sign to me that our relationship was real. Only someone I really cared about could make me as angry as he did. But the fact that I could hardly muster the intensity to fight back clearly meant something.
“I’m not mad, baby.” I reply, forcing a smile. There was no need to ruin our last day together. Despite all the plans and promises over the years, I knew he was never going to move to America and I hardly saw a life in South Africa as my future. Clutching my marble in my fist, I relax into my seat and watch the vast African terrain stretching out for miles.
I felt the strange sensation of being a child and discovering my parents, not Santa Claus, were putting the Christmas gifts beneath the tree. Swept up with mourning, I finally admit to myself that there is nothing left of my love other than a scrapbook of beautiful memories and a person who simply does not exist anymore.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Excessive gene
My mother goes to the Salvation Army and comes home with two of the biggest, brightest cupcake wedding gowns I've ever seen. They're all lace and tulle, sequins and sparkles, and everything else any bride in the history of the world could possibly want in a gown. But all wrapped up in a single dress (or two matching dresses of varying degrees of whiteness).
She buys them for $15 each. "The girl definitely rang me up wrong, I know they weren't on sale," my mother confides. "Is it bad karma to not point out the error?" I tell her I doubt anyone would argue that these puffballs are worth all that much more.
What she wants is the netting from the skirt really, to make a decorative tablecloth without buying all the yardage and piecing it together. The idea is quite good and I wish I had thought of it.
We try on the dresses one night before the cutting begins. Two grown women dancing around in cupcake gowns (and army boots). My dad reluctantly takes pictures with a sigh. He's used to this behavior. Earlier in the week my mom and I cooked dinner dressed as 50s housewives complete with martinis and cigarettes. We entertain ourselves quite nicely.
"The dresses are so beautiful, it's a shame to cut them up," my mother later tells me with the greatest sincerity. "I think I'll only cut up the bright white one, I just can't see myself wearing it."
"Cause you'll get so much use from the off-white instead?" I ask her.
My mother laughs. She honestly hadn't considered this. "I suppose I won't really wear either of them. But isn't that a shame?"
When I was young my grandma would constantly remind my mom to "remember who is the adult and who are the children." My mother is my best friend. I hope she never grows up.
Friends for a Week
Ilaria misses her group of friends and I suppose there's something to that. I've never really been someone who has had groups of friends, nor do I think as an adult I ever really will.
I've always had a couple of close people in my life at a time and that's really it. I've had friends and acquaintances of course but I never really feel a closeness to many people at once.
In high school I had a constant in Kim, and later Julie. That was it. I had other friends that fluttered in and out of my everyday life but I never felt a particular bond with anyone. "We're all just best friends for a week!" Erica and I giggled on our third day in a row hanging out when we were 14. And it kinda summed up the way our friendships worked for the remainder of our school years. Some weeks Erica was my best friend, some weeks Rachel, then Jamie or Emily or Alex or Tammie or whoever we had a common thread with at the moment. But we were rarely a group of friends. We were too busy swapping our loyalties.
I suppose this high school pettiness was something that I should have left behind. And I suppose the petty part of it has been left. But I've always remained in the same basic mindset with my friendships. I only really ever feel I have a couple of real friends at a time, and the others all become interchangable parts of my life.
And it usually leaves me feeling like I don't have a lot of people I can really go to.
I'd love to have a group of friends for the first time. It would be lovely for the people I'm close with to have things in common with each other, to make plans all together. Like on the sitcoms, a few girls and guys, all close, a tight gang of people supporting everyone else. But how do you develop that kind of relationship as an adult when everyone has their own ties to bring to the table. Is it possible? Cause right now my group of friends pretty much consists of Ilaria but I think she's getting bored of just me.
I've always had a couple of close people in my life at a time and that's really it. I've had friends and acquaintances of course but I never really feel a closeness to many people at once.
In high school I had a constant in Kim, and later Julie. That was it. I had other friends that fluttered in and out of my everyday life but I never felt a particular bond with anyone. "We're all just best friends for a week!" Erica and I giggled on our third day in a row hanging out when we were 14. And it kinda summed up the way our friendships worked for the remainder of our school years. Some weeks Erica was my best friend, some weeks Rachel, then Jamie or Emily or Alex or Tammie or whoever we had a common thread with at the moment. But we were rarely a group of friends. We were too busy swapping our loyalties.
I suppose this high school pettiness was something that I should have left behind. And I suppose the petty part of it has been left. But I've always remained in the same basic mindset with my friendships. I only really ever feel I have a couple of real friends at a time, and the others all become interchangable parts of my life.
And it usually leaves me feeling like I don't have a lot of people I can really go to.
I'd love to have a group of friends for the first time. It would be lovely for the people I'm close with to have things in common with each other, to make plans all together. Like on the sitcoms, a few girls and guys, all close, a tight gang of people supporting everyone else. But how do you develop that kind of relationship as an adult when everyone has their own ties to bring to the table. Is it possible? Cause right now my group of friends pretty much consists of Ilaria but I think she's getting bored of just me.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Internal judgement
I spend a lot of time writing about how I used to write but now I don't write except to write about not writing as much as I used to write and so on.
And it confuses me. Am I no longer inspired? Have I lost my ability to form interesting sentences? Or am I frightened that what I write won't be as good as I want it to be and therefore by not putting it on paper (or my computer screen) I can continue to pretend that I'm full of fascinating world observations and stories that I just don't have time to sit down and put into words? I'm thinking it's mostly the latter.
I've never really been able to understand exactly why I'm so insecure because when it comes to rational thought I actually do think I'm pretty great. I've just never really understood how to convince myself that I have the ability to make others believe that as well.
I'm a good looking person, I've always been told that I'm intelligent, creative, interesting and talented. And yet I can't make myself internalize that. I second guess every decision. Panic when I have present any piece of work. Did I do it correctly? Will they judge me? Think to themselves how silly and stupid I must really be? I had a full on anxiety attack the other day in an attempt to make a birthday card. Why do I give in to fear this way?
I spend most of my waking hours creating prose in my head. I'm constantly rewriting every moment into fiction, reworking conversations, imagining the inner dialogue. But I'm petrified to write it down. Because what if it's just plain not good enough? What if I try things and try things and never become really good at anything?
Is it worse to fail at everything or succeed at nothing for lack of effort?
And it confuses me. Am I no longer inspired? Have I lost my ability to form interesting sentences? Or am I frightened that what I write won't be as good as I want it to be and therefore by not putting it on paper (or my computer screen) I can continue to pretend that I'm full of fascinating world observations and stories that I just don't have time to sit down and put into words? I'm thinking it's mostly the latter.
I've never really been able to understand exactly why I'm so insecure because when it comes to rational thought I actually do think I'm pretty great. I've just never really understood how to convince myself that I have the ability to make others believe that as well.
I'm a good looking person, I've always been told that I'm intelligent, creative, interesting and talented. And yet I can't make myself internalize that. I second guess every decision. Panic when I have present any piece of work. Did I do it correctly? Will they judge me? Think to themselves how silly and stupid I must really be? I had a full on anxiety attack the other day in an attempt to make a birthday card. Why do I give in to fear this way?
I spend most of my waking hours creating prose in my head. I'm constantly rewriting every moment into fiction, reworking conversations, imagining the inner dialogue. But I'm petrified to write it down. Because what if it's just plain not good enough? What if I try things and try things and never become really good at anything?
Is it worse to fail at everything or succeed at nothing for lack of effort?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Lost time
I've been feeling really old lately... and a little unsure of the direction my life is headed. I guess I always assumed by my late 20s I'd have things figured out a bit more but really I'm just about as lost as I was fresh out of college.
My best friend growing up got married a few weeks ago and the experience really shook me up. Partially because I'm nowhere near getting married myself (not that I ever really thought I'd marry before 30 but I did always think I'd at least have some contenders by this time) and also because it pointed out just how many years have gone by without me really noticing. You move away and you start to lose touch with people, that's just how it is. But how did I manage to go years without being friends with the once closest friend I had? How had it been 3 years since I'd even seen her? How was it that our friendship, once such a solid and important part of who I was, become completely forgotten, as if it never even existed. Here I was at the wedding of someone I really didn't know wondering how I had allowed so many years to simply pass by.
Of course I'm totally to blame in many ways. I've never been good at keeping in touch with people so it was easy to let this friend slide off my radar unintentionally. But it was also more than that because the truth was I had spent most of these years of lost communication angry.
When I moved to New York I struggled for some time. I had a horrible job in film (which I thought was exciting but really was just demoralizing) that left me totally insecure and uncontrollably anxious. It was during this phase in my life that my once best friend decided to cut me off. "We have nothing in common anymore," she told me one day and just stopped speaking to me. Sometime later we became friendly again but it was never the same. I could never forgive her for dropping me when I needed the stable people in my life the most.
My resentment never really went away and when I showed up last month for her wedding I suddenly realized I'd been holding on to this grudge now for 5 years. Of course I wasn't part of the wedding (shocked as old friends and family members were, recalling the 10 years of inseparable friendship), I didn't even know the bride anymore. I knew who she was growing up, but everything I knew was ancient history. And that was a strange feeling.
I never felt so old.
Or lost.
My best friend growing up got married a few weeks ago and the experience really shook me up. Partially because I'm nowhere near getting married myself (not that I ever really thought I'd marry before 30 but I did always think I'd at least have some contenders by this time) and also because it pointed out just how many years have gone by without me really noticing. You move away and you start to lose touch with people, that's just how it is. But how did I manage to go years without being friends with the once closest friend I had? How had it been 3 years since I'd even seen her? How was it that our friendship, once such a solid and important part of who I was, become completely forgotten, as if it never even existed. Here I was at the wedding of someone I really didn't know wondering how I had allowed so many years to simply pass by.
Of course I'm totally to blame in many ways. I've never been good at keeping in touch with people so it was easy to let this friend slide off my radar unintentionally. But it was also more than that because the truth was I had spent most of these years of lost communication angry.
When I moved to New York I struggled for some time. I had a horrible job in film (which I thought was exciting but really was just demoralizing) that left me totally insecure and uncontrollably anxious. It was during this phase in my life that my once best friend decided to cut me off. "We have nothing in common anymore," she told me one day and just stopped speaking to me. Sometime later we became friendly again but it was never the same. I could never forgive her for dropping me when I needed the stable people in my life the most.
My resentment never really went away and when I showed up last month for her wedding I suddenly realized I'd been holding on to this grudge now for 5 years. Of course I wasn't part of the wedding (shocked as old friends and family members were, recalling the 10 years of inseparable friendship), I didn't even know the bride anymore. I knew who she was growing up, but everything I knew was ancient history. And that was a strange feeling.
I never felt so old.
Or lost.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
boundaries
I have this friend... who will hopefully never read this blog.
And let's try that again.
So, I have this friend. And I hopelessly want to be with him in a not just friend sorta way. But how does one even take that kinda step?
We met a few years ago, hit it off and he asked me to drinks. My friend who was with me when we met was already referring to him as my soulmate and I was pretty excited for the date. Except that apparently it wasn't really a date. While out on our non-date I was told that he actually had a girlfriend but he really wanted to hang out with me so he asked me out anyway. Ouch.
My first thought was how much I wanted to do the always popular in movies (and oh so fun looking) martini in the face move. My next was to suck it up and just be his friend.
Years later I am still just his friend, despite the fact that we're both currently single. And I'm having a really hard time figuring out whether I can ever cross that line.
Which sucks.
And let's try that again.
So, I have this friend. And I hopelessly want to be with him in a not just friend sorta way. But how does one even take that kinda step?
We met a few years ago, hit it off and he asked me to drinks. My friend who was with me when we met was already referring to him as my soulmate and I was pretty excited for the date. Except that apparently it wasn't really a date. While out on our non-date I was told that he actually had a girlfriend but he really wanted to hang out with me so he asked me out anyway. Ouch.
My first thought was how much I wanted to do the always popular in movies (and oh so fun looking) martini in the face move. My next was to suck it up and just be his friend.
Years later I am still just his friend, despite the fact that we're both currently single. And I'm having a really hard time figuring out whether I can ever cross that line.
Which sucks.
Sad...
And now I just realized that the last post was the first one I've written in 2010. Bad bad bad me!! I need to get back on track stat!
End of an Era
Once upon a time I was in love. That kind of naive, life can never be the same without each other, kind of love that you can only really have once and only really feel when you're too young to know better.
I was 20 when I fell in love for the first (and only) time in my life. And at 28 I'm finally trying to cut the ties of that moment and move on.
I've held on to Ryan as a back up for myself for a lot of years despite the fact that I knew perfectly well that I was no longer in love with him after I returned from my visit to South Africa. I just didn't want to let go, didn't want to admit that I had been waiting for a person that no longer existed.
When it comes to dating I'm hopeless. Either I am completely uninterested immediately or I am overly interested to the point where I build things up too quickly and ruin it all. I just can't figure out the transition from casual to relationship considering the one serious relationship I have ever been in happened pretty immediately. We met and that was it, love at first site kinda nonsense (ok, maybe we weren't really in love immediately but we were an insta-couple).
Anyway, despite the 7 years of being broken up and the already mentioned fact that I know I'm not in love with him, I've still let myself keep Ryan on this strange pedestal. Until recently.
He did something that I've never been able to do, found himself in love with someone new. Someone who is also long distance but he's willing to wait around. Someone who isn't me.
After feeling my heart speed up to panic mode everytime I signed onto my stupid Facebook account, terrified to have to face another stupid "i miss her so much" or "this is such a new feeling for me" or even "the best people are worth waiting for," I finally just unfriended him. No more contact, no more heartache.
I always thought it was amazing how Ryan and I could stay in touch across the world via the internet and even text messages. Things were so difficult when we had our long distance relationship, trying to keep up with the phone booths and phone cards, scheduling exact times to be available at a certain number. And now, we could chat anytime. Catch up whenever we wanted.
Which is exactly what was holding me back.
How did I expect to move on when my once love of my life was still very much in my life?
So I cut him off. And I'm really hoping this makes all the difference.
I was 20 when I fell in love for the first (and only) time in my life. And at 28 I'm finally trying to cut the ties of that moment and move on.
I've held on to Ryan as a back up for myself for a lot of years despite the fact that I knew perfectly well that I was no longer in love with him after I returned from my visit to South Africa. I just didn't want to let go, didn't want to admit that I had been waiting for a person that no longer existed.
When it comes to dating I'm hopeless. Either I am completely uninterested immediately or I am overly interested to the point where I build things up too quickly and ruin it all. I just can't figure out the transition from casual to relationship considering the one serious relationship I have ever been in happened pretty immediately. We met and that was it, love at first site kinda nonsense (ok, maybe we weren't really in love immediately but we were an insta-couple).
Anyway, despite the 7 years of being broken up and the already mentioned fact that I know I'm not in love with him, I've still let myself keep Ryan on this strange pedestal. Until recently.
He did something that I've never been able to do, found himself in love with someone new. Someone who is also long distance but he's willing to wait around. Someone who isn't me.
After feeling my heart speed up to panic mode everytime I signed onto my stupid Facebook account, terrified to have to face another stupid "i miss her so much" or "this is such a new feeling for me" or even "the best people are worth waiting for," I finally just unfriended him. No more contact, no more heartache.
I always thought it was amazing how Ryan and I could stay in touch across the world via the internet and even text messages. Things were so difficult when we had our long distance relationship, trying to keep up with the phone booths and phone cards, scheduling exact times to be available at a certain number. And now, we could chat anytime. Catch up whenever we wanted.
Which is exactly what was holding me back.
How did I expect to move on when my once love of my life was still very much in my life?
So I cut him off. And I'm really hoping this makes all the difference.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Book club for the dating pathetic (part 1)
We were discussing starting a book club when Sara first made the suggestion. Initially it was meant as a joke. "My book will be He's Just Not That Into You," she declared. "You bitches need all the help you can get."
I laughed, of course, but then the brilliance of the idea started sinking in soon after. A book club devoted solely to self-help, a monthly meeting where we tell each other exactly what we're doing wrong. And maybe take some action.
Ilaria and I got started last night with a book called The Four Man Plan: A Romantic Science by Cindy Lu. Its one of those books that showed up on my desk during my book publicist days, even though it wasn't a Harper Collins title, just one of those ones publicists sent to other publicists in an effort to build buzz. Even though I could use all the help I could get in the dating department I never gave the book much thought.
Last night I pulled it off the shelf on a whim, why not give it a glance? I figured it just advocated dating multiple guys at once (which in the most basic terms, it does) but on further inspection its actually pretty fucking awesome.
Here's the general idea, each 4MPlanner (as the author refers to all women following her theory) fills up a slot card of 16 spaces, each with a different man or giving the men who progress the rights of multiple squares and chucking out those that don't (there are of course rules set up for who moves on and who gets removed but that's later). The whole process is approached as a science with Einstein quotes guiding the way. The real brilliance of it though is that the author is hilarious, like seriously funny, as opposed to the dowdy psychologists that doles out ridiculously unpractical advice filling lesser self-help tombs.
First we were prompted to make a list of all our personal dating deal-breakers. My list:
1-Men shorter than me (I'm a tall girl and its a self conscious point)
2-Men in finance (gross)
3-Men older than 35
4-Menwho use drugs regularly (including the pot smokers)
5-Unattractive men
6-Overly muscular men
7-Fat men
8-Bald men
9-Men who are obsessed with making money
10-Men who live in New Jersey/ Staten Island/ Bushwick/ Queens (I'm not big on the outer boroughs other than most of Brooklyn)
11-Anyone allergic to dogs (Zozie is way too important)
12-Bad kissers
13-Men who have strange Muppet voices (this is a weird tick I have and usually other people don't even notice these apparent weird voices but I do)
14-Men who stay out late partying alllll the time
This all seems pretty reasonable to me. But Lu then instructs that we are absolutely not allowed to turn down ANY man who falls into this list. None. Make no exceptions. Blah. I guess short old guys with money need love too or whatever...
Next we have to compile a list of our expectations in a man, whether shallow or not. Here's what I end up with:
1-Sexy
2-Artistic
3-Well-read (if a man tells me he's not that into reading, I'm quickly not that into him)
4-Interested in all things ME
5-Gives me lost of attention (without being annoyingly clingy, there's a fine line)
6-Incredibly intelligent but in a worldly way not the numbers way (yawn)
7-AWESOME kisser (I've liked men that are only so-so but really, what's the point in keeping those around too long)
8-Great sense of humor (I'm my mother's child, not funny is equal to no fun)
9-"Gets" me
10-Appreciates the Counting Crows (this one is a little picky but I could never spend a lifetime with someone who can't understand my ridiculous love for this band, its just a straight up fact)
11-Must LOVE Zozie (she's here to stay, they are can be replaced)
12-Close to their family (but not so close that my family won't always come first)
Is that so much to ask for?
Apparently while following this little plan though I am to focus on only the 3 she gives me and to ignore my other criteria, which again is just me being picky (boo). I must only expect a man to be HONEST, LOVING and WILLING. At this point Ilaria and I are at least a bit intrigued. Then we're dealt a blow in "A Powwow with Your Hoo-ha." That's right, the vagina is not to be the boss, she is not to make decisions, she gets no real say until much, much later in the dating game. Damn, this is going to be a tough one.
(This post will be continued later as I am taking the books advice and off on a date)
I laughed, of course, but then the brilliance of the idea started sinking in soon after. A book club devoted solely to self-help, a monthly meeting where we tell each other exactly what we're doing wrong. And maybe take some action.
Ilaria and I got started last night with a book called The Four Man Plan: A Romantic Science by Cindy Lu. Its one of those books that showed up on my desk during my book publicist days, even though it wasn't a Harper Collins title, just one of those ones publicists sent to other publicists in an effort to build buzz. Even though I could use all the help I could get in the dating department I never gave the book much thought.
Last night I pulled it off the shelf on a whim, why not give it a glance? I figured it just advocated dating multiple guys at once (which in the most basic terms, it does) but on further inspection its actually pretty fucking awesome.
Here's the general idea, each 4MPlanner (as the author refers to all women following her theory) fills up a slot card of 16 spaces, each with a different man or giving the men who progress the rights of multiple squares and chucking out those that don't (there are of course rules set up for who moves on and who gets removed but that's later). The whole process is approached as a science with Einstein quotes guiding the way. The real brilliance of it though is that the author is hilarious, like seriously funny, as opposed to the dowdy psychologists that doles out ridiculously unpractical advice filling lesser self-help tombs.
First we were prompted to make a list of all our personal dating deal-breakers. My list:
1-Men shorter than me (I'm a tall girl and its a self conscious point)
2-Men in finance (gross)
3-Men older than 35
4-Menwho use drugs regularly (including the pot smokers)
5-Unattractive men
6-Overly muscular men
7-Fat men
8-Bald men
9-Men who are obsessed with making money
10-Men who live in New Jersey/ Staten Island/ Bushwick/ Queens (I'm not big on the outer boroughs other than most of Brooklyn)
11-Anyone allergic to dogs (Zozie is way too important)
12-Bad kissers
13-Men who have strange Muppet voices (this is a weird tick I have and usually other people don't even notice these apparent weird voices but I do)
14-Men who stay out late partying alllll the time
This all seems pretty reasonable to me. But Lu then instructs that we are absolutely not allowed to turn down ANY man who falls into this list. None. Make no exceptions. Blah. I guess short old guys with money need love too or whatever...
Next we have to compile a list of our expectations in a man, whether shallow or not. Here's what I end up with:
1-Sexy
2-Artistic
3-Well-read (if a man tells me he's not that into reading, I'm quickly not that into him)
4-Interested in all things ME
5-Gives me lost of attention (without being annoyingly clingy, there's a fine line)
6-Incredibly intelligent but in a worldly way not the numbers way (yawn)
7-AWESOME kisser (I've liked men that are only so-so but really, what's the point in keeping those around too long)
8-Great sense of humor (I'm my mother's child, not funny is equal to no fun)
9-"Gets" me
10-Appreciates the Counting Crows (this one is a little picky but I could never spend a lifetime with someone who can't understand my ridiculous love for this band, its just a straight up fact)
11-Must LOVE Zozie (she's here to stay, they are can be replaced)
12-Close to their family (but not so close that my family won't always come first)
Is that so much to ask for?
Apparently while following this little plan though I am to focus on only the 3 she gives me and to ignore my other criteria, which again is just me being picky (boo). I must only expect a man to be HONEST, LOVING and WILLING. At this point Ilaria and I are at least a bit intrigued. Then we're dealt a blow in "A Powwow with Your Hoo-ha." That's right, the vagina is not to be the boss, she is not to make decisions, she gets no real say until much, much later in the dating game. Damn, this is going to be a tough one.
(This post will be continued later as I am taking the books advice and off on a date)
Friday, October 16, 2009
22
I've been listening to Lily Allen a lot lately, mostly cause I think she's so damn funny. And this one song kinda struck me in one of those totally self-obsessed "she is so talking about me" sort of ways except in regards to this song, that fact is totally depressing.
Anyway, here's the lyrics, I may add a youtube post to the video later but the video is even more horrifyingly depressing I may not be able to bring myself to do it...
When she was 22 the future looked bright
But she's nearly 30 now and she's out every night
I see that look in her face she's got that look in her eye
She's thinking how did I get here and wondering why
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
She's got an alright job but it's not a career
Wherever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears
Cause all she wants is a boyfriend
She gets one-night stands
She's thinking how did I get here
I'm doing all that I can
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
Anyway, here's the lyrics, I may add a youtube post to the video later but the video is even more horrifyingly depressing I may not be able to bring myself to do it...
When she was 22 the future looked bright
But she's nearly 30 now and she's out every night
I see that look in her face she's got that look in her eye
She's thinking how did I get here and wondering why
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
She's got an alright job but it's not a career
Wherever she thinks about it, it brings her to tears
Cause all she wants is a boyfriend
She gets one-night stands
She's thinking how did I get here
I'm doing all that I can
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
It's sad but it's true how society says
Her life is already over
There's nothing to do and there's nothing to say
Til the man of her dreams comes along picks her up and puts her over his shoulder
It seems so unlikely in this day and age
Bubbles
Our small room in London had a bunk bed but we never really used the top. Instead we slept each hot summer night crammed together on the single mattress of the bottom.
For the most part the top bunk was used only as a tossing ground, strewn with dirty laundry and a blow up plastic chair with a Guinness label which one of our flatmates had drunkenly blown 50 quid to win. Only one time do I recall actually climbing up to lie on the top bunk, both of us, side by side, staring silently towards the ceiling.
In my memory of the moment there are always bubbles. And I really don't know why when obviously in reality there were none. But when I close my eyes and picture the moment, the room is always filled with the brightly colored bubbles, bouncing gently over our heads. A million unsaid words, hanging in the air, waiting to burst.
Pop! "I will miss you."
Pop! "I don't want this to end."
Pop! "Don't leave me."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "I love you."
Instead I say only, "I can't handle long distance again. When I leave here we should just admit its over."
And that's it. I didn't look at him, not wanting to let loose the other words, the ones I mean, that continued to hang in the air silently.
There is a party before I leave and his friend pulls me aside for a word.
"He'll come to America if you really want him to," he tells me.
"No, he'll never come," I sigh. "He says he will but I know him too well, it will never happen."
"You just need to tell him you want him there, he just needs to know how you feel."
But I never did release those words. And he has still never come.
For the most part the top bunk was used only as a tossing ground, strewn with dirty laundry and a blow up plastic chair with a Guinness label which one of our flatmates had drunkenly blown 50 quid to win. Only one time do I recall actually climbing up to lie on the top bunk, both of us, side by side, staring silently towards the ceiling.
In my memory of the moment there are always bubbles. And I really don't know why when obviously in reality there were none. But when I close my eyes and picture the moment, the room is always filled with the brightly colored bubbles, bouncing gently over our heads. A million unsaid words, hanging in the air, waiting to burst.
Pop! "I will miss you."
Pop! "I don't want this to end."
Pop! "Don't leave me."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "Please."
Pop! "I love you."
Instead I say only, "I can't handle long distance again. When I leave here we should just admit its over."
And that's it. I didn't look at him, not wanting to let loose the other words, the ones I mean, that continued to hang in the air silently.
There is a party before I leave and his friend pulls me aside for a word.
"He'll come to America if you really want him to," he tells me.
"No, he'll never come," I sigh. "He says he will but I know him too well, it will never happen."
"You just need to tell him you want him there, he just needs to know how you feel."
But I never did release those words. And he has still never come.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Just checking in...
I treat blogging the same way as exercise. Its something I do in spurts. Nothing, nothing, nothing and then a one month membership at hot yoga, daily classes, organic eating... Then back to a gluttonous existence without batting an eye.
Sometimes I get really into my blog. I get super verbose and can't help but want to tell people things that they probably dont care about but I feel like writing. It'll go for days on end, sometimes whole weeks even. And then, I don't write a word for a month. I think this is why I assume I could never really write for a living, it's just not something I can make myself do. It needs to be organic. Needs to come when I need to get it out. My writing is my therapy and nothing else, but if others take to it, read it, like it, even better.
I've been thinking lately of starting up a blog more devoted to things and less to my actual thoughts and musings. I spent the weekend at the Architectural Digest Home Design Expo and I have all these creative ideas and thoughts pouring out of my head but this blog just seems like the wrong place to put them... We'll see.
We're closing my restaurant during lunch soon for summer hours so I'll have days free pretty much always soon. Perhaps I need to make this new blog into a job type task, something to keep me occupied. Art projects. Do-it-yourself tests. New products, pretty furniture, color palettes. I always wanted this blog to be a daily kinda thing but I just can't force myself to write. At least not publicly.
Anyway, needed to get those thoughts out. Perhaps this week I'll be in the habit of it now...
Sometimes I get really into my blog. I get super verbose and can't help but want to tell people things that they probably dont care about but I feel like writing. It'll go for days on end, sometimes whole weeks even. And then, I don't write a word for a month. I think this is why I assume I could never really write for a living, it's just not something I can make myself do. It needs to be organic. Needs to come when I need to get it out. My writing is my therapy and nothing else, but if others take to it, read it, like it, even better.
I've been thinking lately of starting up a blog more devoted to things and less to my actual thoughts and musings. I spent the weekend at the Architectural Digest Home Design Expo and I have all these creative ideas and thoughts pouring out of my head but this blog just seems like the wrong place to put them... We'll see.
We're closing my restaurant during lunch soon for summer hours so I'll have days free pretty much always soon. Perhaps I need to make this new blog into a job type task, something to keep me occupied. Art projects. Do-it-yourself tests. New products, pretty furniture, color palettes. I always wanted this blog to be a daily kinda thing but I just can't force myself to write. At least not publicly.
Anyway, needed to get those thoughts out. Perhaps this week I'll be in the habit of it now...
Friday, March 20, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Decline of Detroit
There is a haunting photo essay on Detroit's sad decline into abandonment featured in Time Magazine right now. Maybe I'm moved because Detroit is my hometown (well the suburbs of in reality but there is certainly a connection to the city we in the 'burbs surround). I grew up wishing that I was from a vivacious, thriving city like New York or Chicago (and consequently moved to both those cities) and it was always so depressing to drive through Detroit and see the potential it still had.
Detroit is a beautiful city. Architecturally amazing. Brimming with a history seemingly forgotten. There's something quite haunting about the city still, a town of ghosts. Over the years I've tried to explain the oddness of the place to others who have never been. Its almost like taking a trip to Machu Pichu or Pompeii. A civilization destroyed and an ancient ruins remained. The only difference is there are still people alive who remember its days of glory.
http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1882089,00.html
Detroit is a beautiful city. Architecturally amazing. Brimming with a history seemingly forgotten. There's something quite haunting about the city still, a town of ghosts. Over the years I've tried to explain the oddness of the place to others who have never been. Its almost like taking a trip to Machu Pichu or Pompeii. A civilization destroyed and an ancient ruins remained. The only difference is there are still people alive who remember its days of glory.
http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1882089,00.html
Sunday, March 15, 2009
A Change of Seasons
(circa February 2002)
In a different time
when the sun shone bright
in clear blue skies
And flowers started to poke their eyes
from the cold earth
with life again
When the birds returned
to sing their happy melodies
in the glistening of the morning dew
I would see you
and you're face would light up
in a way that let me know
I was more than just a friend
But seasons change
Now that same sun hides
her face behind clouds of grey
And all the flowers are nestled away
under the dead dirt
without a trace
Now that its too cold
for the birds to sing of happy times
amongst this frozen sea
You see me
and try to force a smile
in a way that lets me know
that I have been replaced
In a different time
when the sun shone bright
in clear blue skies
And flowers started to poke their eyes
from the cold earth
with life again
When the birds returned
to sing their happy melodies
in the glistening of the morning dew
I would see you
and you're face would light up
in a way that let me know
I was more than just a friend
But seasons change
Now that same sun hides
her face behind clouds of grey
And all the flowers are nestled away
under the dead dirt
without a trace
Now that its too cold
for the birds to sing of happy times
amongst this frozen sea
You see me
and try to force a smile
in a way that lets me know
that I have been replaced
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Little Things
My second day in Africa I emerged from the shower to find a fresh cup of coffee and a rusk beside my bed. It was the little things he did, the trivial bits like this, that made me love him in the first place.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
I Hate that I don't Hate You
(circa November 2002)
I hate cigarettes
especially Marlboro Lights cigarettes
I hate that you smoke Marlboro Lights
I hate even more that I do too
and think of you with every drag
I hate that I'm underage
I hate that you're younger than me and are not
I hate that you work in a bar
so every time I have an Amaretto Sour I remember
liking it better when you made it
I hate being stuck in Ann Arbor
especially with the obligation of school
I hate that you don't go to school
and live in London
I hate that I love London
but am scared I wouldn't love it without you
I hate that you have an accent
I hate how the way you say "cute" with that accent
is so darn cute
I hate that you end a conversation with "cheers"
I hate even more that you once ended it with "I love you"
but no longer do
I hate that I live in America
I hate that your passport says South Africa
I hate American taboos
and attitudes towards visas
I hate the American mentality of anything is possible
when we've painfully learned it to be false
I hate cigarettes
especially Marlboro Lights cigarettes
I hate that you smoke Marlboro Lights
I hate even more that I do too
and think of you with every drag
I hate that I'm underage
I hate that you're younger than me and are not
I hate that you work in a bar
so every time I have an Amaretto Sour I remember
liking it better when you made it
I hate being stuck in Ann Arbor
especially with the obligation of school
I hate that you don't go to school
and live in London
I hate that I love London
but am scared I wouldn't love it without you
I hate that you have an accent
I hate how the way you say "cute" with that accent
is so darn cute
I hate that you end a conversation with "cheers"
I hate even more that you once ended it with "I love you"
but no longer do
I hate that I live in America
I hate that your passport says South Africa
I hate American taboos
and attitudes towards visas
I hate the American mentality of anything is possible
when we've painfully learned it to be false
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