giving thanks

last night, after realizing that to steam everything i own would take the better part of this next year, i had another moment. 

so i gathered up my bedding and took it to the cleaners. 

then i put on the largest cable-knit sweater i own, drank in the fresh fall air and was reminded why it is that i feel most hopeful in the fall: something about that crisp air and the changing of the leaves. and that too--that was a moment.

so i gathered up all my moments--collected them and gave thanks for each and every one. 

a moment that shall pass.

i had a moment today. at work.

standing there in my crisp, freshly-laundered, black suit, itching away at the little red bites, i thought, i am four days away. another year.  and this is my life?

i've had many a moment like this, this past week.

polishing silverware. a moment.

cleaning tables. a moment.

standing in the midst of $500 dollar vacuums. a moment.

on the corner of 59th and madison. a moment.

lying in a bug infested bed with a boy who i did not wish to kiss. moment after moment after moment.

i could collect these moments. string them together. wear them as a necklace--a warning sign. trouble here. keep walking. 

"i'm damaged bad at best" paul elliot sings and most days i walk around wondering if people can see that phrase emblazoned on my irises. i see the world through a series of scars that make letters that make words that make a thought.

last night as i lay in a bed not my own, i reached into my memory and watched as the last four years clouded over. steam obscuring images obscuring truth. 

this--all of this. this is not an act of courage. it is cowardly and selfish. i write because i cannot speak. i am a mute parading as an artist.

acorns and grapes

sometimes my chicken-little-within feels the thump of an acorn and thinks the sky is falling.

a couple of bad food days.

and so i'm forced to pick up the acorn, hold it in my hands, and describe the things that make it just exactly what it is.

i must go back to the basics. remind myself: the food i want is not necessarily the food my body wants.

and so i pull out my list of fruits and vegetables that i find tolerable. choose one and make it my goal for the day to fall in love with it.  

i do love this grape. i do love this grape. i do love this grape.

and i begin again. because it is not the beginning. just a new place to start.

on the decision to cut my hair

Remember this photo? 

I have a confession to make (in case other photos haven't given my secret away). I never cut my hair in a bob this year. The layers fell in such a way so as to give the appearance of one. And I loved the photo. So much so that I was ready to run out the next day and manifest my destiny. But on my mother's advice I allowed myself two weeks to mull it over...to make the cut or not? I liked it. Unfortunately, I'm knew deep down that my massive amount of hair would never lay quite like that. And so I continued to let the hair grow. And grow it did. Suddenly. So suddenly it seems to have gotten long. Really long.

In Bed, Bath, and Beyond yesterday, I encountered one of the most helpful people I've met in months. He was standing in front of the vacuums giving information to customers. I approached and said, "I want your best vacuum. But I don't want to pay $550. I have bed bugs."

"Ahhh," he said, "follow me." And he led me to the steamers. "This, this is what will get them--eggs and all." A steamer?! Success. Steamers are wildly cheaper than vacuums and will empower me to treat all of my clothes myself. Can you imagine the dry cleaning bill if I had to send away everything I own--I'm not just talking about washing everything, I'm talking about that AND dry cleaning every nice dress, suit, etc. that now hangs silently and patiently in my closet. This Antonio character had just saved me upwards of $400 (vacuum and laundering expenses). Not only that, he directed me away from the $80 bed bug covers ($160 for the two I would need) and indicated that the $12 covers in combination with other measures (steamers, natural oils) would serve me just fine. Antonio made me a very happy girl.

I left with a bounce in my step. 

I was quickly weighed down by the five bags in my arms. Don't let appearance, wealth, or status deceive you. At heart, every New Yorker is a bag person. Think about it--we don't have cars in which to dump all of our stuff as we go out and about for the day. The necessities for a day's errands are housed in the hundred little bags we carry on our arms (or the one bag that is the equivalent of a Ford Expedition SUV). 

So it began with the five bags, coupled with my inability to find my monthlong metro-card. Add in the sweat-yielding humidity and my blue plastic rain coat, as well as the MTA's inability to take anything other than cash (which of course, I never have). These things on top of a restless night of sleep the night before (for fear of the bed bugs) and I started to cry. 

I threw my hand up in the air, hailed a cab, and decided I'd take it all the way home. This would have been one expensive cab ride, but based on all the savings Antonio had provided me with, I didn't care. That is until two dollars and 90 cents into the ride (keep in mind it costs 2 dollars and 50 cents just to get in), I found my metro card in my book of David Sedaris essays. I did not find this funny. I asked to get out, and tipped him 2 dollars for his troubles. This is how I managed to pay $5 for a cab ride around one city block. 

And so it was with my five bags, my sweat-drenched back, and a somewhat-tear-stained-face that I took the long subway ride home and decided it was time to cut my hair. Of course, bed bugs and frustration? A haircut was the obvious remedy! How could it have taken me so long to figure out?  Not a huge cut. Not a huge change. I won't be getting the bob. Just a few inches. Time to cut the dead-ends out of my life. Lighten things up a bit. I need some bounce in my hair--maybe then I'll get taht bounce back in my step. 

reason #567 how you know you're living in nyc and still figuring your life out

dearest mother and father,

my birthday is coming soon. remember how i asked for that beautiful purse? forget it.

please send the most durable bed-bug protector covers you can find along with a high quality vacuum.

and don't be surprised if i ask for new bedding come Christmas time. 

this morning, in between the snooze button pushes, i dreamt of the bugs. and then i woke to find one on my bed. 

right now i would very much like to be rescued. 

love, 

your daughter

enjoy this weekend mon cheris

it takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure to embrace the new. but there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. there is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life and in change there is power.

alan cohen

photo via sabino

little letters. as inspired by taza.

dear naomi,

i like when you write little letters and take pretty polaroids. so i'm stealing from both. okay?

p.s....i'll never be vegan either. 

dear 190th street subway station,

you are my favorite, in all of new york. you are old and beautiful and deposit me into a world of green and daydreams where the air is significantly cooler and fresher than all of midtown.

to my dad,

when i was little you'd always bring home flowers for my birthday. they made me feel old and important and loved. i have a beautiful new vase. it is empty and waiting should you choose to send me some this year. 

p.s...i really love hydrangeas. 

dear bed bugs,

we are not friends. we will never be friends. please, do not think it is okay to enter my bedroom. i have alcohol and vasoline at the ready and i will show no mercy. yes, of that i am sure, no mercy will be shown.

to the makers of  dyson dc18 slim all floors:

i cannot afford your vacuum but think it might be of tremendous help in my quest to vanquish the bed bugs. if you were so inclined to send one my way...well, i might just scratch your back too, okay?

and side note to future husband: i will not pull an annie banks-mackenzie and almost call off the wedding if you buy me a blender. but i'd prefer the vacuum, actually.

dear honey (the food item), 

our relationship is quickly becoming the most important in my life. and it is because of this that we must take a break. i'm sorry. i love you.

dear husband to be,

sometimes i get on my hands and knees and pray you never find the letters i've written to you, until long after we've fallen in love. because, well, they might just scare about anyone away.

i just think you should know.

that if you were to stand too close. i'd be okay with that.

or look at me slightly longer than is comfortable, i'd be okay with that too.

lets talk about food for a second. (and why i think the nyc calorie count law is not a good idea)

disclaimer: this information is not perfect.

it is rather, in my own words, as i understand it.

for more information on my battle against an eating

disorder, check my sidebar under

NED.

when i first met with dr. bob about, oh, a year-and-a-half ago, he said: no food is bad. no calorie is bad. calories keep us going. and if you're starving the calories in a twinkie are just as capable as saving your life as the calories in an avocado.

and then he went on to say, calories do not carry equal weight (no pun intended. well, kind of intended). 

what he meant was this: if you are eating normally (not starving yourself) it is perfectly reasonable to sit down and have a dinner consisting of 3,000 calories. the body, because it is fed enough each day, recognizes the unnecessary influx of calories and disposes of them quickly (essentially, the body doesn't need the calories, so it doesn't use them). meaning, after that luxurious and indulgent dinner, you might wake up in the middle of the night sweating (one of the ways in which the body rids itself of the calories quickly and painlessly). this is not to say that a 3,000+ calorie dinner should be consumed on a daily or even (relatively) regular basis. 

i'm not sure i can list all of the many steps i've undertaken in order to come to terms with and overcome (still working on this) my eating disorder. i do know  i have had a different focus (or priority) for each week. one week i made going to the gym a top priority. the next i tried to eat my food slowly. another, i drank copious amounts of water. 

however, from the very start i armed myself with knowledge and we all know they say knowledge is power and the thing is, they're right. 

so nyc passed a health provision requiring restaurants with 15+ outlets nationwide to post the caloric information on the menu in the same font and size as the item itself. so they're arming us with information. good, right? well, the thing is, they're arming us with the information they want us to have. calories are not the only (or even most important) factor, but counting calories feeds (pun definitely intended) into the billion dollar diet industry quite nicely. 

so, this is what i know. and this is why i believe calorie counting to be detrimental. eating less than 1,800 calories a day (over any consistent and extended period of time) is a way of starving your body. and it literally changes the way the body responds to food--the pleasure center shifts. suddenly sweets become much more appealing (because they have more calorie per square inch and since the body knows you want give it as much food as it needs, it tries to get the most bang for its buck). this is not to say a person who eats normally doesn't have about 1,200 calories some days. but the next they might have 2,200. the body balances it out. the body figures it out. the body is always maneuvering this tight-rope act and the body does not like when we get in it's way. because, guess what? the body is smarter than we are. 

i did weight watchers and ate about 1,000 calories a day. that's what they told me to do. i lost a lot of weight. and my poor body went into shock. i have spent four years trying to recover from those two months. 

i lost my period immediately. i told many a doctor about this. each told me not to worry. not one of them thought to look at my diet. 

i tried the cookie diet. i ate about 800 calories a day.

these are diets recommended by doctors. monitored by doctors. what's wrong with this picture?

in the end i don't even know how many fads and diets and tricks and torments i put my body through. these are the things i don't really talk about. these are the things that bring me shame.

when i did the cookie diet (for all of about a week--and to this day i can't even stomach the smell of balsamic vinegar, which i put on a bed of greens each night) i had to have several tests to ensure my body was up for it. the cost of the tests showed up on my insurance. that year when i retuned home for summer vacation, my mother pulled out the sheet and asked me what had happened (the cost, but not the details had been disclosed). honestly, i think she feared i'd aborted a pregnancy. that was a low point. 

so the government wants to deal with the issue of obesity? thank god, they need to deal with it. unfortunately they might just be going about it in the wrong way.

want to lose weight? honestly, do you want to count calories everyday for the rest of your life? if you can't honestly say yes, then it's never going to work. instead, eat real food. unprocessed food. fruits and vegetables and meat. foods that when you see the list of ingredients you can pronounce each one. wanna know why you should avoid mcdonalds? let me give you a hint...its not the 540 calories in a thing of fries, it's all the chemicals you can't pronounce. you want to know why the government isn't pushing this? because it would obliterate the food industry as we know it. 

dr. bob constantly gives this advice when interviewed for magazines and newspapers. his articles are published about 1/3 of the time. why so infrequently? because what he says stands in direct opposition to the advertisements that keep these publications afloat--you know, diet ads and potato chip ads and the like?

do you see now, it's a political issue. with the government fighting the lobbyists and no real change in sight. 

so it's up to you. arm yourself with information. figure out what works best for you and your family. if you have a meal that by itself is over the daily recommended intake, don't sweat it, because (guess what) if your eating normally you're body will sweat it out for you. no harm done.

i am thankful...

for monday morning tea parties. 

for witty friends. funny friends. imaginative friends. beautiful friends. grounding friends. friends with roots. new friends. 

for laughter, laughter, and always more laughter. 

for a morning out and about exploring the city we've loved for so long. 

oh yeah and...

• for the nesting itch which results in such things as fresh dresser knobs and a beautiful vase from housing works
• for any and all musicals pertaining to history (ragtime, assassins). i told you, history turns me on...i'm not sure why, it just does. 
• for beautiful undergarments that can make a girl feel lovely.
• for the twenty-five minutes i was able to jog on the treadmill last night (especially, especially for this. the pool is closed for the month of september {getting a really good clean following summer season} and so i've been forced back to the gym. i never ever thought i'd jog for a continuous fifteen minutes (i hate running). but i did. last night, i did. and then i jogged for ten more. and so i just might not. hate it, that is).
• for the feeling that something really good is happening right now. that my life is moving forward. i don't know how or what or where or why. i just know that i am right where i need to be.
• that i am happy. 

bike as a means of (spiritual) movement.

i've been in a funky mood.

i haven't been sleeping. 

i'm always hungry, but have no appetite.

must be mercury in retrograde.

so tonight, after spending hours doing nothing but cleaning tables (which often feels more like an exercise in how many times i can allow my bottom to be put in a compromising position {all the crouching, bending over, and stretching} yes, again, the parent's are so proud), i reminded myself again and again and again that "all great deeds and all great thoughts have ridiculous beginnings".

and then, in an attempt to cheer myself, i took to folding and unfolding my bike over and over and over again.

gotta practice for tomorrow's inaugural ride. 

us southern gals.

my parents and i have two rules regarding my blog. 

or rather, i have two rules for them.

1. they are in no way to suggest or dictate blog content

and 

2. sometimes what i write about so openly here, i am not yet ready to speak about over the phone (something about the violence of articulation). and so the phrase, but you blogged about it, why can't we talk about it, is never to be employed

i should tell you these rules are rarely adhered to. 

and it drives me a bit batty.

however, tonight after sifting through the contents of a package that winged its way from home, i found an article from southern journal with a post-it attached, that read: thought you would enjoy this. blog material? 

and well, mom, on this night, i bow down to you and say yes, yes, a million times yes. you have handed me blogging gold (or at least something to think about). 

i'm on my sixth year of new york city living. and sometimes home seems worlds away.

my parents, both native new yorkers (my dad from the bronx and my mom from upstate), moved to houston just two months before i was born. and they raised me in a house that often viewed the ways of the south with a weary eye. however, after twenty-four years, they have completely assimilated (well, almost--my father still cannot pronounce an "h" to save his life, ask him to say houston and it comes out u-ston).

now texas isn't really the south--it's something altogether alien--but there are roots there that spread from our dry soil into georgia and virginia and tennesse--there are commonalities that bind us. i used to say growing up in texas taught me a lot about the kind of person i did not want to be (staunch republican, no thanks. big hair, unh-uh). but living in new york has provided a distance that proved enlightening. i am a product of my youth. and my youth was played out in a northern household planted firmly on the flat, arid texas land.  i am grateful to be a texan--or some version of one.

today at work one of my co-workers turned her head to me and said, that guy over there is so cute, and i knew exactly what she meant. i had noticed him immediately because he was donning the popular southern hairstyle that i will call the kennedy comb-over (and you know how i feel about the kennedys, so this is in no way a bad thing). confused? don't be. i've provided the following pictures to illustrate my point.

exhibit a:

exhibit b:

exhibit c:

exhibit a: pretty self-explanatory

exhibit b and c: i uploaded these two photos taken during my brother's graduation from the university of virginia. (he might kill me for doing this, or he might be tickled to no end. let's hope for the latter). in exhibit b my brother's lovely friend in the red shirt is wearing the style extremely well. and in exhibit c the boy in the yellow polo (back row, far left) as well as the boy in the green polo (back row, center) are two perfect examples). 

my enjoyment of the kennedy comb-over (rarely seen north of the mason-dixon line) is just one of the ways i know i am rooted in the south. it is derived from years in high school worshipping the upper-classmen who wore the hairstyle day-in and day-out, melting the hearts of many a fifteen-year-old. 

im getting off track. on to the article my mother sent me (with my own commentary interjected, apologies the original author, Amy):

15 Ways to Charm Her

Want to impress a Southern girl? Just think "What would my grandfather have done?"

By Amy Bickers

Number one: We still expect you to give up your seat for a lady. On a bus, at a bar, on a train . . . we don't care where you are. Unless you are at a restaurant and the only lady in sight is the one taking your order, stand up. Now.

On a recent Friday night at a bustling restaurant bar, two friends and I waited for our table to be called. The barstools were occupied so we stood patiently, sipping wine and chatting about the workweek. When a couple nearby stood up, another woman - who had been there less time than we had - swooped in, reaching across us to put her purse on the stool. This isn't the worst part. It's what happened next: her male companion then slid onto the other barstool.

Hang on while I do a geography check. Are we not in the South? If ladies are waiting for a seat and you have a Y chromosome, do you sit down? No, sir. No, you do not.

We know modern life is confusing. The roles of men and women have evolved over the years. As Pink once sang, "Shorty got a job, Shorty got a car, Shorty can pay her own rent."

But come on, let's keep some things old-school. My late grandfather - he of the East Texas upbringing, U.S. Navy captain status, and Cary Grant good looks - would never have allowed a woman to stand while he sat. And if you want a Southern woman to love you, neither will you. So, men, here's a short list of things Southern girls still expect from you.

We still expect you to . . .

[ONE] Stand up for a lady. Actually, this doesn't just involve chairs.

[TWO] Know that the SEC has the best football teams in the nation. Big 12 fan? Hmm, perhaps you should keep walking. {honest to goodness, even i don't know what this means. i loathe football (and in this way i am not texan at all).}

[THREE] Kill bugs. Delta Burke as Southern belle Suzanne Sugarbaker on Designing Women said, "Ya know . . . when men use Women's Liberation as an excuse not to kill bugs for you? Oh, I just hate that! I don't care what anybody says, I think the man should have to kill the bug!" {living in new york has taught me to kill many a bug (maggots included), but i'll never be that far from my three-year-old-self who saw a cockroach and could not be consoled by the babysitter (the poor girl had to call her mother to come over). so yes, the bug-killing skill is a major boon.}

[FOUR] Hold doors open. {i did once date a guy who told me i expected this simply because i'm from the south, but i just figured it was common courtesy. i like to think wherever i was raised i should expect this--we all should.}

[FIVE] Fix things or build stuff. I once watched in awe as my stepfather built a front porch on the house he shares with my mother. He knew just what to do, cutting every notch, hammering every nail. The project was complete by sunset.

[SIX] Wear boots occasionally. Not the fancy, I-paid-$1000-for-these kind. We're talking about slightly mud-crusted, I-could-have-just-come-in-from-the-field boots. {so true, there's an unexplainable appeal. swoon.}

[SEVEN] Take your hat off inside. {don't get me started on this one. again, something all men should do regardless of geographical roots.}

[EIGHT] Grill stuff.

[NINE] Call us. If you want to ask us out, don't text and don't email. Pick up the phone and use your voice.

[TEN] Stand when we come back to the dinner table. "Just a little half-stand is enough to make me melt," my friend Stephanie says.

[ELEVEN] Pull out our chairs. Wait, that's not all. Scoot them back in before we hit the floor.

[TWELVE] Pay the tab on the first few dates. "If you ask me out, you pay," Stephanie says. "If I ask you out, you should still pay." Listen, guys, it's just simpler this way. {i've now dated two men who never offered to pay for anything. ever (even after i paid for a few things) and yes, i know they were struggling for many, but so was i. and it wasn't really so much about the money as the offer. what, he couldn't spare two dollars for my hot dog? before the start of summer i went out with a guy who paid for the meal as well as after-dinner-drinks and it made all the difference in the world.}

[THIRTEEN] Don't show up in a wrinkled, untucked shirt.Care about your appearance, but not too much. Don't smell better than we do. Don't use mousse or gel. You shouldn't look like you spend more time in front of the mirror than we do.

[FOURTEEN] Never get in bar fights. Patrick Swazye {rest his soul}might look cool in Road House, but in reality, bar fights are stupid and embarrassing. You don't look tough. You look like an idiot.

[FIFTEEN] Know how to mix our favorite cocktail just the way we like it. Fix your favorite too. Sit down on the porch (it's okay if you didn't build it), tell us how your day went, and we'll tell you about ours.

We'll leave the long list to the girl who falls in love with you.

{and i will add a [SIXTEEN] (this is near and dear to me) make sure you ask for my father for my hand in marriage before asking me. it may be antiquated and stem the tides of feminism, but it's tradition and i believe in tradition.}

okay, now that i've gotten all that off my chest. time for bed.

just because.

All great deeds and all great thoughts have a ridiculous beginning. Great works are often born on a street corner or in a restaurant's revolving door. 

Albert Camus

Ah, mon cher, for anyone who is alone, without God and without a master, the weight of days is dreadful.

Albert Camus

One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving. 

Paulo Coelho

Pitiful is the person who is afraid of taking risks. Perhaps this person will never be disappointed or disillusioned; perhaps she won't suffer the way people do when they have a dream to follow. But when the person looks back--she will hear her heart.

Paulo Coelho

The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.

Anais Nin

My ideas usually come not at my desk but in the midst of living.

Anais Nin

The moment of that kiss contained every happy moment I had ever lived.

Paulo Coelho

It is a common enough case, that of a man being suddenly captivated by a woman nearly the opposite of his ideal.

George Eliot

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. 

George Eliot

I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same kind. But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of light and speech, and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear. 

George Eliot

all photos

via the magnificent

tumbler, sabino.

and this idea of quotes

and pictures, but i find this blog

does it better than most.

oh and the lovely natalie post

the most perfect quote of all time

on her blog this morning.

because i'm feeling generous.

a word to the boy (not-quite-yet-a-man) at the gym with hair resembling that of patrick dempsey:

sometimes it's not so much what you look like as how you look at the girl.

ned be gone. and a bad southern accent.

not sure who ned is?

ned is the name for my nasty little

eating disorder, which was never

so little, unfortunately).

check my sidebar for

posts with explanations.

today at work i was standing by the bar, waiting to transfer a bar-tab (yes, yes, my parents are very proud) when one of the regulars asked me if i was losing weight.

this threw me off.

1. i did not know he was that regular

and 

2. this suggests i've been working there too long

i looked at him, surprised, and said, why do you ask?

why do you ask? i'm quite sure that's neither a usual or appropriate response to the question. in fact why do you ask, doesn't really make any sense in the context. but without thinking that's what came out.

he, perphaps more surprised than me, countered with, well, you are, aren't you? and then quickly added, it's never a bad thing to say to a woman is it?

i, realizing my mistake, said, no, no, of course not, thank you. 

having an eating disorder is like drowning. being thrust into cold, choppy waters and not knowing which way leads to the surface. 

and so in the past, these comments gave me a sense of direction--were anchors by which to grab hold. 

today, this comment was kind, but unimportant. now, the only useful and important feedback comes from myself and my beautiful body. 

holy smokes, did i just call my body beautiful?

why fancy that miss susan, i believe i did.  (this last line has to be said in a truly bad gone-with-the-wind-southern accent coupled with a little head bobble to make any sense, and even then it falls short, but...oh, well.)

ps: this was after a guest asked how i got my hair to look like that (i had it it in french-braided-pig tails that came together) and i told her it was quite easy because my hair was unbelievably dirty. euf. pretty sure you're not supposed to say that when you're working in a restaurant. the powers that be would not be pleased. 

 

this thing.

anytime i develop the slightest inkling of...mmm...let's call it infatuation, i experience the complete breakdown of the english language--or rather my grasp of it.

my native tongue becomes a foreign anomaly. foreign anomaly? can i say that? or is it repetitive and therefore grammatically incorrect and unnecessary? see what i mean, this thing is throwing everything off.

words do not come.

except when they do (see above rambling for example).

which is no better. because, as if collected in too small a space during their forced hiatus, they catapult out. slamming, careening and ricocheting, abutting one.in.to.the.other.

this is not the worst of it.

my hearing goes as well.

he speaks. i listen.

and do you know what i hear?

words interspersed with blips. great, universe-descending blips. holes in sound. and i am left to look questioningly and ask him to repeat himself. once.again. at which point, if i still hear more blip than word, i simply smile and nod, hoping it wasn't a question.

he must think the elevator doesn't quite reach the top floor.

but its just so hard when i so like the way his eyelashes curl.

image via daydream lily

When I started to read Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close I didn't know it was about September 11th. 

If I had known, I probably would never have begun.

Thank God, I did. It's the best book--the best piece of art--I've ever come across. 

"In the days and weeks that followed, I read the lists of the dead in the paper: mother of three, college sophomore, Yankees fan, lawyer, brother, bond trader, weekend magician, practical joker, sister, philanthropist, middle son, dog lover, janitor, only child, entrepreneur, waitress, grandfather of fourteen, registered nurse, accountant, intern, jazz saxophonist, doting uncle, army reservist, late-night poet, sister, window washer, Scrabble player, volunteer fireman, father, father, elevator repairman, wine aficionado, office manager, secretary, cook, financier, executive vice president, bird watcher, father, dishwasher, Vietnam veteran, new mother, avid reader, only child, competitive chess player, soccer coach, brother, analyst, maitre d', black belt, CEO, bridge partner, architect, plumber, public relations executive, father, artist in residence, urban planner, newlywed, investment banker, chef, electrical engineer, new father who had a cold that morning and though about calling in sick..."

page 273

I forget all the time. That it was someone's mother and another's daughter, and another's love-of-his-life. 

I hate that people use the phrase 9/11. It's so small. And is so easy to say. Why did we have to condense the term? To make it easier to live with? I don't think it should be easy. Or pedestrian. 

We have to remember. Not the timeline, not the ticker-tape of events, but the details. Because it's in the details that we find the humanity--of others as well as our own. 

So for today, try.

oh boy oh boy.

i was first drawn to blogging because i liked the optimistic slant of everything. 

i promised myself this would not be a place to air dirty laundry.

oh, but mmmmmmmm.

i am in a crabby mood.

and i am so over some stuff right now.

like the dirty dishes that pile up in the sink.  

over it.

and friends who make plans and then fail to follow through. 

over it.

and feeling like everyone at work hates me because i'm just trying to ensure we all do our job well. 

over it.

and yes i know i need to be a better listener. and yes i know sometimes i too bail. and yes i know i'm imperfect. 

so very imperfect.

so i'm working on it, okay?

but i need you to try to work on it too.

okay?

because i sure as hell hate feeling like i'm over everything. 

or blemishing the face of my blog-spot-lover with rants. i really hate that.

a c-jane inspired POST-EDIT (you know because she's taken to doing post-edits and i love that):

the dishes in the sink were cleaned (not by me) mere minutes after writing this, so perhaps i spoke too soon. then i got myself a thing of ice cream from the grocery store, set my laptop on the floor where it played 30 Rock (season one) via insta-netflix, and set about organizing all my under-the-bed-storage (cleaning and organizing are favorite activities of mine).  so the night turned out just fine and again life is la-la-laaaaaaokay.

oh and there might have been some beading go on too. and that's always good. 

image via sabino.

yesterday.

yesterday i went to the park. the hudson in front of me. the cloisters on my right.

and i beaded. 

yes, i'm that girl.

and for dinner my friends showed me the light. mexican food as it's intended. where you order in espanol and if you look at the guy at the bar just long enough you get a free round of coronas. 

yesterday was good. 

miracle of miracles.

disclaimer: if you don't know who ned is, 

chances are you'll want to find out 

before you begin to read this.

look here.

or check my sidebar

for more reading suggestions.

 

the most amazing thing happened today.

i went to my absolute favorite frozen-yogurt place in all of new york city, forty carrots (at bloomingdale's) and ordered up a small coffee-flavored delight.

there are a few things you should know about forty-carrot frozen-yogurt.

1. it's the best.

and

2. a small serving is about the size of a small child's head. 

i took my yogurt to go and, forgoing the cross town subway, walked through the park to columbus circle. 

i diligently finished all of my frozen delight around 59th and 5th. at which point i began to notice an unpleasant after-taste in my mouth.

i walked the rest of the way to the A train while pondering the strange taste.

and this is what i concluded:

the introduction of real food into my life is changing my ability to deal with processed food. 

in other words, all that fruit is screwing with my taste buds.

this is a good thing. i know, i know, it's just hard to take in the moment. it's probably for the best, forty carrots recently stopped offering crushed skors bars as a topping and so my coffee delight was never going to be the same anyway. 

but still. euf. 

there were a few days while in australia where ned took strong hold.

when ned is at his worst it as though i am every so slowly suffocating. or as if i am a tire with a small air leak, but in reverse. 

big events can be hard. a trip to australia. a landmark. by which time you think you'll be at a certain point. that you'll be okay taking a million photos. and then you're not. and this brief-glittering compass that guided your life for the last month dissolves in your hands and you're left with sticky residue of your own disappointment. 

there was one day where stephen's request to photograph me in front of the sydney sky-line resulted in a near-nervous-breakdown. 

and yet for every day on vacation where ned had me fighting for my life there were days where i couldn't believe how absent he was. and the flip-flopping between the two extremes resulted in a wee of a miracle.

i gained perspective.

oh, perspective!

there are certain things i want for my life. things that being thin will be enormously helpful with. and that's a fact. like it or not.

and it's not personal. just...pragmatic. 

does that make sense? 

i haven't seen dr. bob in a little over a month (august was the time to vacation!). but i think when i tell him of this he'll be pleased. he'll tell me this is good because i'm now using a different part of my brain to deal with the situation.  

getting better is a process. the pace of which puts a snail to shame. 

and there are different stages.

stage #450,201: put end to binges:

allowing myself to eat whatever i wanted so as to not trigger any kind of deprivation mechanism. this included many a starbuck's rainbow cookie. which is fine. except that i was eating starbuck's rainbow cookies at the expense of a good wholesome meal. 

so now begins stage #450,246: the quest for 6+ fruits and vegetables a day. and swimming:

it's about health, mental and body. and the knowledge that this will most likely change my body. but it's not about just changing the body. 

with the accumulation of stages and thus ned's continued recession comes the awareness of just how much i have yet to improve upon--things you'd never guess were connected in any way to food. 

i have to listen better. 

and learn to speak eloquently (and unemotionally) in difficult situations. 

and by golly, i need to practice flirting!

but i'm so proud of myself. 

i flew across the world. 

by myself. 

and arranged for the travel visa. 

by myself. 

i repainted my entire apartment when it would have been much easier to fall apart. 

i got the bed bug covers on my mattress by myself (and that, i must say is quite difficult to do). 

i stood-up for myself.

and admitted when i was wrong.

i've taken initiative at work. 

i put on a bathing suit four days last week and walked from the locker room to the pool sans t-shirt, towel, or any form of cover-up. 

there are a hundred other things that i can't even remember. little things. things other people do without giving it a second though. 

in some ways it all boils down to this:

i'm learning to navigate this life without ned there to make all my decisions for me. and that my friends is a miracle of no small size. 

in fact, i'm quite sure it's of gargantuan proportions. 

of course i said that.

my place of employment was abuzz last night.

1. dara torres came in. 

she made a big splash at the olympics last year. remember? five-time olympian. 

i took dara's visit as a most sacred and important sign from the swimming gods on high that i am on the right path and should in fact continue in my pool endeavor. 

2. and then andy murray came.

you see there's this little thing going on in ny right now. it's called the us open. 

he came right up to the desk with his friend, but quickly became engrossed by the television screen across the room. his friend and i both looked at him, chuckled and said, well he's gone. and i then said, i guess he kinda likes tennis. and his friend looked at me and said, uh, yeah, something like that. 

you see i didn't realize it was andy murray. andy murray is the number two tennis play in the world right now. yes, that's right. i said that about the number two tennis player in the world as he stood right in front of me. 

the shame that has now been brought down on my tennis loving family. 

why couldn't it have been federer, or nadal, roddick even? i would have recognized them. 

well, so i'm off to swim now. and pay my penance.