Monthly Archives: January 2009

Random Sample

Inspired by this, I decided to take a look at my own notebook.

Like most writers/artists/people with lots of ideas, I have a notebook.  Not a sketchbook, for that is far too limiting.  Not a writer’s notebook, specifically, as that implies that no sketching is allowed.  It’s not a journal (too many rules), it doesn’t have a designated theme or purpose.  There is only one rule: I can use it for whatever I want.

And so, for those of you who don’t have a notebook and think you might be missing out, I give you a random sampling of what is in my notebook.  And then I leave you to judge whether or not you actually need one of these, or if it’s just for crazy people.

– “Laughter is the shortest distance between two people” – Victor Borge.  Makes me think of Matt.

– An pencil drawing of a box of marshmallow peeps.

– This American Life story ideas (this page is blank)

– Bershert = the yiddish word for destiny.  Good to know.

– My friend Ashley’s address in The Gambia

– A page entitled “Mustache Ideas”

– A post-it note that says “Science Team”

– “There is so much beauty in an adventuresome spirit.” – The Mister

– “He was the man who cried Match.  How was I supposed to know he wasn’t faking it?”

– A page entitled Good First Sentences.   This page is also blank.

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Confession Session, Part Three: Passion and Spice are Very Nice

I have become rather addicted to C Jane.  Like a lot of people, I would imagine.  She is completely honest, and even if you don’t agree with her 100 percent of the time, there is great courage in total honesty, and I respect that.

I also respect people who can admit when things have gone astray.  I have recently been through my own bout of astray, and this post is making me do some serious thinking about my life, my passions, and my spice.

I am passionate about people.  I love people.  I love talking to them, listening to them, hearing about what’s going on in their lives.  This is what drew me to journalism in the first place – the fact that my job requirements gave me carte blanche to ask questions and be nosy was, like, the greatest thing ever.

But what’s even greater than the greatest thing ever is writing about people and making up crap if you feel like it.  They frown upon that in the land of truth, and because I think what I make up is, like, ten times more interesting than plain ol’ boring truth, I said ta-ta to journalism and took a fancy job making lots of money so that I could have a cushion and one day be a writer in the manner of my choosing.

But let’s get back to the root of this tangent: I love me some people.  I am an introvert in that I draw energy from alone time and I need a lot of it, but if I didn’t have people around to talk to and play with, I’d die.

I love bringing people together – generally over food because I also love feeding people – and I love when I can bring together lots of fabulous people who’ve never met before.  And I especially love when my fabulous friends become friends with each other.  That is the best.

I love telling stories – 100 percent true stories, exaggerated stories, and most importantly of all – stories you make up and pull out of your butt when you have an eager audience.  In written form this is known as “novel writing.”  Let’s try it.

I am passionate about the visual.  And I mean a lot of things when I say visuals.  I make up crap in my head (see above, and above, and above) and I always think it would be cool to see my made up crap trotted out upon a screen for all to see.  In real life this is called “making a movie” and I like doing that, too.

But I am also passionate about the way things look.  Whether it’s my home, a design project at work, or even my chosen ensemble of the day, I think things should generally look as awesome as possible.  And I am frustrated by people who don’t care about aesthetics, because I don’t care what the doctor says, good design is more than just good business – good design is good for your soul.

I love to write.  A lot.  I think I could write all the live long day.  And I have.

I love to travel.  LOVE IT.  I will go anywhere once, and if I love it enough I will long to go back all the days of my life (Slovenia, I’m talking to YOU!)

But right now my life doesn’t involve very many of those passions.  I miss living in community.  I miss having a place of my own to sink into at the end of the day.  I miss throwing bomb dinner parties on a Wednesday night just because.  I miss having an audience.

And those passions, those loves, are the things that make me spicy.  And somehow, I need to get them back.

 

Any ideas?  What makes you spicy?

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Filed under My World, Thinking

Last Night I…

Made a new recipe:  Sweet curry pasta salad with fresh snowpeas, tossed together with a lemon/red onion/dijon dressing.  Served on a bed of fresh spinach, pita chips on the side. 
Ate homemade chocolate chippers for dessert. 
 
Watched inaguration coverage until my eyes glazed over.
Finally finished “World Without End” – the 1,024 page behemoth sequal to “Pillars of the Earth” that threatened to defeat me because it got so boring in the end.
 
Slept on brand new pillows and freshly washed sheets. 
 
Discovered that organic citrus fabric softener has elevated my sleeping status from “pretty darn swell” to “sleeping is like riding my unicorn through a field of lemondrops and cupcakes.” 
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It was a good night.

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Big Day

american-flag-2a

Today is PRESIDENT Obama’s first official day in office. 

Good luck!

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Confession Session, Part Two: On Filet Mignon and Being a Hypocrite

This is something that has been weighing on me for awhile.  And I feel like, well, if you can’t tell the Internet…who can you tell?

 I have been eating meat.

I know, I know.  It’s awful.  And I feel so awful about it – like, I literally feel awful.  But after being totally veg for two years, I ate a steak on New Year’s Eve (and I have no idea what possessed me, other than the garlic mashed potatoes that beckoned to me from the steak menu…yeah, okay it was totally the mashed potatoes) and now I have unleashed the flood gates.  The gates of the sad factory farm that keep the cows in, to be more specific.  And more graphic.

12 oz. filet on New Year’s Eve?  Fine.

Ham on New Year’s Day?  Whatev.

Beef jerky while I work from home in my PJs?  Just gettin’ it out of my system.

Orange chicken stir-fry on a random Tuesday night? Out of control.

I’m not really sure what’s going on here.  After all, I completely disagree with the way most meat is raised and farmed.  It’s so incredibly bad for you, and my cattle ranching great-uncles and their incredibly weak hearts are living testaments as to why I should lay off the sauce RIGHT NOW.  And I don’t really even like meat all that much.  I think most sandwiches taste fine without it, I’ve always liked side dishes more anyway, and it’s not something I’ve ever craved ever in my whole entire life.

Until now. 

Why is that?

My heart hurts already.  Both from the meat bingeing and the heart-hurting hypocrisy of it all.

And upon further reflection, I’ve realized that it’s not just meat that shows me how I’m a hypocrite.  I am this way in so many other areas.

For example, with men.  I want to be single and fancy free, but when I’m in a relationship, the man in question become the most important man in the history of the world.  I go from not wanting to date, to becoming obsessed in a matter of weeks.  

Why is that?

At work, I whine about how awful my corporate job is and how I should find a new job.  Yet nothing prevents me from using my vacay days and my kinda-hard earned corporate money to go skipping off to Mexico, instead of saving up to move away and do something else.

Why is that?

Are you a hypocrite about anything?  What? 

 

 

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Confession Session, Part One: On Men and Searching For The Up

 

Dear Internet,

Here’s the thing – I have neglected you.  I do this, periodically, because I am either a) having a super amazing time in my life and am too busy living said life to blog about it, or b) the more frequent reason, having a less than super amazing time and am too sad to blog about it.

This time it happens to be the latter.  (Latter = b, if you’ve never read P&P and are not acquainted with phrases such as former and latter, hither and yon, etc and etc.)

And so it is time to confess: The Mister and I broke up.  Ergo, I have not been writing.  Because whenever anything goes awry, I get all grumpy and uppity and pushy about the Internet and Facebook and blogging and since when is it okay for everyone in the world to be up in my biz and entitled to knowing all about my life?  So I walk away for awhile.  No blog.  No FB.  No contact with the outside world as pertaining to the Internet.

And it’s probably been for the best because, quite frankly, the breakup was ugly, kids.  First I cried.  Then he cried.  Then I stopped crying because I did not know it was possible for a 29 year old man to cry quite that hard.  Then I got over my shock and awe and cried some more.  Then we went to a Christmas party and were happy and pretendy for a few hours.  Then some people drank too much wine and fell asleep in their party dress (ahem.)

We slept without touching, and then, the next morning, we woke up and cried some more.

 

You’re starting to see how this goes.

 

This talking/crying routine dragged on for approximately two and one half weeks.  And then, on Christmas Eve Eve (aka, the day before Christmas Eve) I picked up the presents I had loving purchased and wrapped weeks before, folded up the note I had tearfully written only days before, drove it to his house, gave it to him, and left.

Ten minutes later, The Mister called.  And he was crying.

 

The thing about break-ups is that there’s not a whole lot of up about them.  It’s mostly the breaking part that gets all the attention.  Because broken hearts aside, break-ups break other stuff as well: routines get broken – no more afternoon trysts to the ‘bucks to steal kisses under the pretense of having coffee, no more good morning e-mails, no more sweet notes at my desk.  Friendships get broken as people take sides.  And in the midst of break-ups, people are broken as well.  This time, just two.

However, in the spirit of confessing, I have been looking for the up in break-up.  And in the last month I am proud to say that I have indeed found some up: 

  1. I have been loved, most ferociously.  And despite the outcome, I am better for having experienced some good, big love.  It built me up.
  2. I know more about what it is I want in a relationship, what I need in a relationship, what matters a whole bunch, and what doesn’t matter at all.  This is excellent knowledge to have as I live to date another day and not become a Cat Lady.
  3. My faith in men has been restored.  This is not a normal thing to say, post-break-up, I know.  I’m supposed to hate men for all eternity and want to cash in and become a Cat Lady.  But no.  The Mister is still, all told, a really fabulous man.  He’s just not the fabulous man for me right now.  Maybe he will be in the future, or maybe never.  But The Mister has proven what I long thought was a myth: fabulous men exist.  And sometimes they even want to date me.  He showed me that, and I am grateful.
  4. No more obsessive waxing.  At least not until I go to Mexico in exactly one month.
  5. The ability to go to Mexico in mixed company without one single care in the world.  All I really want to do is drink margs in my lounge chair and stare out into the sea, but I suppose it’s nice to know that I can salsa with whomever…?
  6. Being able to type this list at all.  This is a big up, there right here.

 

So there you have it: we are broken up.  I am broken. That’s all there is to it. 

Now you know. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Facebook.

 HOWEVER.  I’d also like you to know that every day I get a little less broken and a little more whole.

 And things are looking good for today.  After all, it’s almost midnight, and I can’t speak for The Mister, but I haven’t even cried.

Big ups to me.

 

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Filed under Gentlemen Friends, My World, Woe To Me