I finally did it. I finally visited New York.
No work, no agenda, nothing to do but soak in the city with two of my best friends. I will never forget looking out the plane window and instantly recognizing the shape of Manhattan and the only light being the glare from the rising sun bouncing off the Freedom Tower. It was a major moment.
I really found it to be a louder, more crowded, more aggressive, more diverse, chicer version of Chicago. WHICH IS FANTASTIC. Don't get me wrong, I love Chicago intensely, but it's almost a 3rd home for me at this point, I can navigate it with ease.
New York felt new and scary and overwhelming. I love still getting that feeling as an adult. Sometimes you don't know if anything can shock you, intimidate you, or impress you anymore. Good to know how wrong I was.
I don't know that I have what it takes to be a true New Yorker; I'm far too sentimental. I do envy them though, they're tough. It's a humbling place that makes LA look like an elementary school play. It's pushy and angled and harsh and smelly and bustling and smart-assed and hypocritical and snobby and packed yet accepting of you, no matter what you want to be. Unless you want to be a little bitch and walk slowly.
Obviously, I loved it. I'm already looking at plane tickets to return.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
INDCP
I think about my Grandma all the time.
It's really incredibly strange to think I haven't seen her in 16 years because she is as clear as can be in my head. I remember her skin and her hair, the texture of both. I remember what holding her hand felt like. I remember she smelled like Oil of Olay and Lancôme Tresor. I remember her facial expressions and her smile and her laugh. Man, she got mad at me a lot when I was a teenager!
It's weird that when I think of her, little specific moments come to my head. Her in her white shorts. Her sitting at the kitchen table writing in her journal. Mostly, I remember her standing against the front wall of Menard's waiting to pick me up from work one day. That always sticks out and I can't figure out why. Maybe because it was one of the last times I saw her.
She was so petite and proper and the best caretaker in the world. I think of her all the time now when I get into bed with dirty feet or talk too much on the phone or do anything in general that she disliked.
A few days ago, I stood in a window with a mirror and tweezers to pluck at my face and I stopped in my tracks because I remember her doing exactly the same thing. I was even holding them at exactly the same angles that she used to. Sometimes I wonder if that means I'm programmed just like her. She hadn't had children by my age either. Maybe that's why I don't. Maybe I'll follow her exactly and I'll be a good caretaker and I'll be calm in my old age and I'll think of everyone else before myself. I'll worry too much and I'll obsess about my hair and clean sheets. I'll constantly play cards, make really good chili and tell my grand kids I love them and they need to slow down more.
Sounds about right. I hope.
It's really incredibly strange to think I haven't seen her in 16 years because she is as clear as can be in my head. I remember her skin and her hair, the texture of both. I remember what holding her hand felt like. I remember she smelled like Oil of Olay and Lancôme Tresor. I remember her facial expressions and her smile and her laugh. Man, she got mad at me a lot when I was a teenager!
It's weird that when I think of her, little specific moments come to my head. Her in her white shorts. Her sitting at the kitchen table writing in her journal. Mostly, I remember her standing against the front wall of Menard's waiting to pick me up from work one day. That always sticks out and I can't figure out why. Maybe because it was one of the last times I saw her.
She was so petite and proper and the best caretaker in the world. I think of her all the time now when I get into bed with dirty feet or talk too much on the phone or do anything in general that she disliked.
A few days ago, I stood in a window with a mirror and tweezers to pluck at my face and I stopped in my tracks because I remember her doing exactly the same thing. I was even holding them at exactly the same angles that she used to. Sometimes I wonder if that means I'm programmed just like her. She hadn't had children by my age either. Maybe that's why I don't. Maybe I'll follow her exactly and I'll be a good caretaker and I'll be calm in my old age and I'll think of everyone else before myself. I'll worry too much and I'll obsess about my hair and clean sheets. I'll constantly play cards, make really good chili and tell my grand kids I love them and they need to slow down more.
Sounds about right. I hope.
Monday, October 7, 2013
She Makes Me Wanna Work, B*tch
Can we PLEASE talk about Britney being back in actch??!!
I mean. I almost can't deal. I need to make a list to organize my thoughts.
1. Her song sounds fresh with techno-newness, but it's still "so Britney" as well.
2. She's totally back into the phase where she wears statement t's, sweats and the high blond ponytail everywhere she goes just in case there's an impromptu dance rehearsal.
3. Now on to the video....can we just? I mean.
4. There's totes a twinkle in her eye during the dance routine parts. You can tell she missed organized dancing with other simple bitches behind her SO MUCH.
5. Her bod looks super legit for someone with two kids that once survived on only Cheetos and Frappuccinos. (not that there's anything wrong with that)
6. When she's between the two white walls and she sinks her booty down and does the really fast "turning my head to the side to look away from you" thing. So Brit.
7. When she's kneeling down in the shark pool with the pink dress on and she arches her back and tilts her head off to the side while singing "keep it movin higher" and also conveying that she gets you think she's sexy, but she needs to sing right now. So. Fucking. Brit.
8. When she gives the sexy death stare right into the camera, leaving you wondering how you can pledge your soul to her for safe keeping and naughty time as well. SO FUCKING BRITNEY, YOU GUYS!
9. It seems like forever ago when I had to write her an open letter begging her to get her shit together and now there are memes about how "If Britney could survive 2007, I can get through Thursday", you know what I mean? It's not just a comeback, it's a super-crazy sexy "I never left, whores" all up in your face.
10. I can't WAIT until MTV starts whipping up Britney specials for us to watch the glory of rehearsals and prep for her Vegas show.
I mean. I almost can't deal. I need to make a list to organize my thoughts.
1. Her song sounds fresh with techno-newness, but it's still "so Britney" as well.
2. She's totally back into the phase where she wears statement t's, sweats and the high blond ponytail everywhere she goes just in case there's an impromptu dance rehearsal.
3. Now on to the video....can we just? I mean.
4. There's totes a twinkle in her eye during the dance routine parts. You can tell she missed organized dancing with other simple bitches behind her SO MUCH.
5. Her bod looks super legit for someone with two kids that once survived on only Cheetos and Frappuccinos. (not that there's anything wrong with that)
6. When she's between the two white walls and she sinks her booty down and does the really fast "turning my head to the side to look away from you" thing. So Brit.
7. When she's kneeling down in the shark pool with the pink dress on and she arches her back and tilts her head off to the side while singing "keep it movin higher" and also conveying that she gets you think she's sexy, but she needs to sing right now. So. Fucking. Brit.
8. When she gives the sexy death stare right into the camera, leaving you wondering how you can pledge your soul to her for safe keeping and naughty time as well. SO FUCKING BRITNEY, YOU GUYS!
9. It seems like forever ago when I had to write her an open letter begging her to get her shit together and now there are memes about how "If Britney could survive 2007, I can get through Thursday", you know what I mean? It's not just a comeback, it's a super-crazy sexy "I never left, whores" all up in your face.
10. I can't WAIT until MTV starts whipping up Britney specials for us to watch the glory of rehearsals and prep for her Vegas show.
Friday, September 27, 2013
The 10 Stages Of Me Seeing A Snake At Work
There I was....sitting on the ground enjoying the sunshine....
- "SCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAM! OH FUCKING GROSS! SCREAM!" (out loud)
- *Scrambling backward while attempting to stand up, basically crab walking while having a bobblehead, trying to unsee what I just saw*
- "Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ewwwwwww" (out loud with eyes closed quickly walking away)
- 'HOW did this happen on the very last garden day of the summer?' (inner dialogue)
- 'Do I even WANT a garden next year? I mean, this is bullshit' (inner dialogue)
- 'What kind of snake WAS that? Was it an adult or a baby? Why was it so shiny?' (inner dialogue)
- *Looks at hands and feet to check that no other snakes, bugs, amphibians attached themselves to me. Burst in door of kitchen*
- "YOU GUYS I JUST SAW A SNAKE OUTSIDE *tear drips down face* AND SOMEONE NEEDS TO GO TAKE CARE OF IT!" (Said out loud, received with laughter from co-workers)
- 'I hate all of these jerks. I bet they would have pissed themselves a little bit too.' (inner dialogue)
- *Looks down one more time to MAKE SURE no other snakes made it in the door with me some how, shivers*
- "SCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAM! OH FUCKING GROSS! SCREAM!" (out loud)
- *Scrambling backward while attempting to stand up, basically crab walking while having a bobblehead, trying to unsee what I just saw*
- "Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ewwwwwww" (out loud with eyes closed quickly walking away)
- 'HOW did this happen on the very last garden day of the summer?' (inner dialogue)
- 'Do I even WANT a garden next year? I mean, this is bullshit' (inner dialogue)
- 'What kind of snake WAS that? Was it an adult or a baby? Why was it so shiny?' (inner dialogue)
- *Looks at hands and feet to check that no other snakes, bugs, amphibians attached themselves to me. Burst in door of kitchen*
- "YOU GUYS I JUST SAW A SNAKE OUTSIDE *tear drips down face* AND SOMEONE NEEDS TO GO TAKE CARE OF IT!" (Said out loud, received with laughter from co-workers)
- 'I hate all of these jerks. I bet they would have pissed themselves a little bit too.' (inner dialogue)
- *Looks down one more time to MAKE SURE no other snakes made it in the door with me some how, shivers*
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Dual Cassette Deck?! Luxury!!!
I remember my very first cognizant experience with anger not paying off.
I was living in the farm house on 90th avenue and I had the entire upstairs to myself. (I ended up having many introductory adulthood lessons in this room, including the loss of my virginity, but that's not what this story is about.) I had a really big bedroom with tons of space and 2 beds and in the corner was my favorite thing I owned: a sweet, by 90's teenager standards, stereo with remote control.
This was long before I found pleasure in shopping for endless amounts of clothing, shoes, make up and accessories I didn't need. I really didn't have a lot of use for many material things, I was totally involved in other pursuits. (so much smarter back then). The stereo was a gift, in fact, I didn't even ask for it. I got it because I would leave whatever previous radio I had on all night and my dad didn't like that so he looked for one with a remote that I could time and turn off. I loved it. I loved it so hard. This stereo made mix tapes like nobody's biz and played Prince and Boyz II Men or Open House Party with John Garabedian at decibels offensive to most human ears while I perfected "spiral curls" on many an occasion. Anyway...
One day, and the best part is that I don't remember what it was even about, I got so angry that I snatched the remote off the table holding the stereo and fast pitched that mofo into the wall so hard it exploded. It was one of those moments in life you read about where I didn't even know what I was doing until it was over. I basically blacked out with madness. And this used to happen to me quite often. My temper was such that I would seriously physically lash out and act a fool. I slapped people, threw glasses, kicked people out of cars in the middle of nowhere; I was like a Real Housewife of New Jersey before they knew what table flipping was! When my breathing slowed slightly and consciousness slid back into my brain, I looked down at the remote shrapnel and realized I had only hurt myself in that situation. Nobody was there to witness the display, nobody else used that remote, I didn't teach anyone a lesson with this act. Not even myself at the time.
I'd go on to have several more spectacular outburst in the future before finally getting choked out by my best friend and learning my lesson, but I really never forgot sitting on my floor picking up pieces of plastic and rubber buttons and gluing it all back together. I felt idiotic. And regretful. And I decided breaking my own shit was not the best way to express myself. Slapping people was still an option, but my stuff? Nope.
It has been literally at least 2 decades since this happened and I can remember it like yesterday. Now, when my fingers curl around a champagne flute in rage or I can feel my shoulders start to tense and my breathing start to rise and the blood vessels in my cheeks filling up with warmth from the incredibly stupid things that happen around me, I remember how I almost had to actually get out of bed to turn of Boyz II Men and I shut that shit down. I can't remember the last time I had "an incident" even though sometimes I get cute-crooked-smiled-at after a particularly infuriating comment in anticipation of just such an event. Way to be, me!
(I also sprayed perfume on my cat in this room and thought I almost killed him with it, but he went on to lead a really long life. Way to be, Mr. Cat!)
I was living in the farm house on 90th avenue and I had the entire upstairs to myself. (I ended up having many introductory adulthood lessons in this room, including the loss of my virginity, but that's not what this story is about.) I had a really big bedroom with tons of space and 2 beds and in the corner was my favorite thing I owned: a sweet, by 90's teenager standards, stereo with remote control.
This was long before I found pleasure in shopping for endless amounts of clothing, shoes, make up and accessories I didn't need. I really didn't have a lot of use for many material things, I was totally involved in other pursuits. (so much smarter back then). The stereo was a gift, in fact, I didn't even ask for it. I got it because I would leave whatever previous radio I had on all night and my dad didn't like that so he looked for one with a remote that I could time and turn off. I loved it. I loved it so hard. This stereo made mix tapes like nobody's biz and played Prince and Boyz II Men or Open House Party with John Garabedian at decibels offensive to most human ears while I perfected "spiral curls" on many an occasion. Anyway...
One day, and the best part is that I don't remember what it was even about, I got so angry that I snatched the remote off the table holding the stereo and fast pitched that mofo into the wall so hard it exploded. It was one of those moments in life you read about where I didn't even know what I was doing until it was over. I basically blacked out with madness. And this used to happen to me quite often. My temper was such that I would seriously physically lash out and act a fool. I slapped people, threw glasses, kicked people out of cars in the middle of nowhere; I was like a Real Housewife of New Jersey before they knew what table flipping was! When my breathing slowed slightly and consciousness slid back into my brain, I looked down at the remote shrapnel and realized I had only hurt myself in that situation. Nobody was there to witness the display, nobody else used that remote, I didn't teach anyone a lesson with this act. Not even myself at the time.
I'd go on to have several more spectacular outburst in the future before finally getting choked out by my best friend and learning my lesson, but I really never forgot sitting on my floor picking up pieces of plastic and rubber buttons and gluing it all back together. I felt idiotic. And regretful. And I decided breaking my own shit was not the best way to express myself. Slapping people was still an option, but my stuff? Nope.
It has been literally at least 2 decades since this happened and I can remember it like yesterday. Now, when my fingers curl around a champagne flute in rage or I can feel my shoulders start to tense and my breathing start to rise and the blood vessels in my cheeks filling up with warmth from the incredibly stupid things that happen around me, I remember how I almost had to actually get out of bed to turn of Boyz II Men and I shut that shit down. I can't remember the last time I had "an incident" even though sometimes I get cute-crooked-smiled-at after a particularly infuriating comment in anticipation of just such an event. Way to be, me!
(I also sprayed perfume on my cat in this room and thought I almost killed him with it, but he went on to lead a really long life. Way to be, Mr. Cat!)
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
"You Guys Were Really Good With Boxes...I Mean REALLY Good."
Last night I had a dream that all the plumbing techs at my business were moving my mom from one house to another. She was refusing to participate because she was busy resurrecting a relationship with one of her old boyfriends. I got all pissed off and yelled at her and told her she needed to help because we didn't know where she wanted her things. (I also added in that I hated his goatee, but that is about as irrelevant as this entire blog)
This was an intensely weird start to a dream. But not nearly as weird as the part where we all had to sleep in the same room for some reason and I was in a bed between 2 of them trying my absolute hardest not to touch either.
In fact, it got the weirdest when I came in this morning, saw all of the techs gathered to receive their paperwork and decided to actually tell them about said dream. I pulled a Louie and swapped out "we all had to bed down together like animals" for "you ended up having to camp in my back yard". This didn't make it any less awkward that I was telling a group of grown men I had a dream they were all in. I do not look nor do I sound a thing like Judy Garland, so it wasn't even a little bit endearing.
Finally, after a long pause following my story, one of them spoke up with "Um...is this the part where you tell us we have to move your mom?" and another asked "Wait, is your mom even moving?...or are YOU moving?" which lead to several of them asking questions about what this dream meant, how it would affect them, and if there was incentive-based pay involved.
Moral of the story here is: if you expose the sicko depths of your subconscious to your field staff, you will inevitably end up in a conversation about Obamacare and new power tools.
I'm sure this is relatable to EVERYONE.
This was an intensely weird start to a dream. But not nearly as weird as the part where we all had to sleep in the same room for some reason and I was in a bed between 2 of them trying my absolute hardest not to touch either.
In fact, it got the weirdest when I came in this morning, saw all of the techs gathered to receive their paperwork and decided to actually tell them about said dream. I pulled a Louie and swapped out "we all had to bed down together like animals" for "you ended up having to camp in my back yard". This didn't make it any less awkward that I was telling a group of grown men I had a dream they were all in. I do not look nor do I sound a thing like Judy Garland, so it wasn't even a little bit endearing.
Finally, after a long pause following my story, one of them spoke up with "Um...is this the part where you tell us we have to move your mom?" and another asked "Wait, is your mom even moving?...or are YOU moving?" which lead to several of them asking questions about what this dream meant, how it would affect them, and if there was incentive-based pay involved.
Moral of the story here is: if you expose the sicko depths of your subconscious to your field staff, you will inevitably end up in a conversation about Obamacare and new power tools.
I'm sure this is relatable to EVERYONE.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Why Can't I Dream About Flying Or Winning A Chili Cook-Off?
Saturday night I had a dream about cats again. This time, there were only 2 cats; one yellow and one calico. They were both overweight, cuddly and they had zero interest in running away from me. They were adorable with smooshed in faces and kept meowing and pawing at me for my attention. When I'd pick them up, they'd just go totally limp with the relief of cuddling. I also had the good sense to have a carrier for them this time, which they happily hopped into whenever asked.
I woke up yesterday not thinking much about this. I was in autumn happiness mode and focused on what was happening around me, getting dinner plans in order, begging for a tomato sauce recipe, sipping a pumpkin latte, eating candied pecans, deciding if I want seasonally scented candles or the usual spa-like smells, watching football and fretting about how I was going to slot one billion hours of Breaking Bad in to catch up in time for the series finale. You know, important stuff.
Last night, when I woke up to a call at an inhumane hour, I gave little attention to the chat as I was only half conscious. Upon hanging up I realized, out loud, "The cats don't represent kids! They're adults!" and then fell back asleep. A peaceful, dreamless, cuddly sleep.
When I remembered my breakthrough this morning, I analyzed it for a hot minute while shaking my head and smiling. There is one prominent fact here: whether cute and cuddly or manic and escape-driven, even when they're as sweet and happy as one can possibly be, cats are still cats. They are still barf machines who shed on your favorite slacks...... and shit in a box.
I woke up yesterday not thinking much about this. I was in autumn happiness mode and focused on what was happening around me, getting dinner plans in order, begging for a tomato sauce recipe, sipping a pumpkin latte, eating candied pecans, deciding if I want seasonally scented candles or the usual spa-like smells, watching football and fretting about how I was going to slot one billion hours of Breaking Bad in to catch up in time for the series finale. You know, important stuff.
Last night, when I woke up to a call at an inhumane hour, I gave little attention to the chat as I was only half conscious. Upon hanging up I realized, out loud, "The cats don't represent kids! They're adults!" and then fell back asleep. A peaceful, dreamless, cuddly sleep.
When I remembered my breakthrough this morning, I analyzed it for a hot minute while shaking my head and smiling. There is one prominent fact here: whether cute and cuddly or manic and escape-driven, even when they're as sweet and happy as one can possibly be, cats are still cats. They are still barf machines who shed on your favorite slacks...... and shit in a box.
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