Archive for September, 2008

Life’s a Jungle, So Why Not Move IN?

Posted on September 29, 2008

I quite like the idea of making my home on the inside of a Banyan tree. They are solid and peaceful and isn’t that what we seek in a home?

Plus, it could be like a majick castle and you could scare little kids as they walked by. Not like, in the traumatizing way, but more in the “tee-hee… she ran fast!” kinda way. Oh the Spouse of the Water and I would have such fun living in a tree!

The decor could be modern rustic yet chill. I’d have to learn to relax a bit regarding the dirt on the floors. For trees are just meant to be a smidge sooty, I suppose.

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Getting Maid

Posted on September 28, 2008

Scarlett O' Whera ARE MY DRUGS ?

Scarlett O' Whera ARE MY DRUGS ?

It’s wedding season! I suppose technically it’s almost past wedding season, and due to the non-committal nature of the bulk of our friends, my husband and I have been largely unaffected. I’ve not donned a single bridesmaid gown, danced one Conga line (though I generally flat out refuse those anyway, wedding or not) nor eaten one piece of rubber-y chicken. Yes, wedding season seems to be here and gone and the Water people are A-ok.

Until Friday. On Friday, my possibly-soon-to-be-ex-Sister-in Law called me to tell me that she had left my hopefully-never-to-be-ex-Brother-in-Law. I stand there in the rain, with an armload of groceries, with Spouse of the Water waving wildly, begging to know why I am repeating inarticulate sputterings like “Oh my God” and “Oh, Wow…no way!”, over and over again. Sigh.

I wish I were surprised. I’m not. She was 19 when they got married (just over a year ago, by the by). He is a Doctoral student with a tendency towards stress and she simply does not possess the life experience which might help her deal with the day-to-day life situations that make marriage such an amazing but occasionally trying adventure.

That’s the logical side of why I knew there would eventually be trouble (though maybe not quite so soon). My gut instinct actually kicked in way sooner. Like, April of 07 when I opened the e-mail from my then soon-to-be Sister-in-Law which contained a link to the “dress” I was being forced to wear for their wedding that June.

“Scarlett O’Hara on Shrooms” was how I described it to the then-soon-to-be Spouse of the Water. 2 months and 250 dollars later, I stand in a row of six girls, all posing as maids of the child bride, all looking varying degrees of heinous in a putrid green satin ball gown style skirt, complete with pick-ups and rhinestone beading.  I am in a backyard in Colorado wishing there were some shrooms SOMEWHERE in the vicinity, to take the edge off of this completely in-organic situation.

The only solace I have is that I know that I will see 90 percent of these people in three months at my own ultra-glam NYC wedding affair, and I will not, I repeat NOT be wearing rhinestones OR pick-ups. But in this moment, I am a maid of a bride and I can’t help but feel completely out of my element.

I left that gown on the floor of the Comfort Inn in Alamosa, Colorado… exactly where I’d crawled out of it on that most awkward of Saturday nights.

Anyway, that was Friday. Super wierd.

On Saturday, my dear friend, who happens to have served as my Maid of Honor, announced that she was to be wed. Apparently, it all happened a week ago, while the Spouse and I celebrated life and love Hawaii-style. I cried when she told me. I think mostly because I KNEW that our closeness was no longer at the point that dictated that I was her obvious choice to reciprocate the role of Most Honorable Maid. I didn’t even know if my name had been in the running.

We four had dinner this evening, at the restaurant where they are considering having their reception. There was no speak of any special honor, though my maid status was verbally confirmed.

WHY does this bother me so? I’m not even sure I desire the committment required to be a great Maid of Honor. Maybe it’s because I fear this is my last chance. I don’t speak with my friends from High School who spent afternoons planning exactly how we would switch off so that everyone had a chance to be the Maid with the Most-est. I had to leave my “Hippie” friends in LA, my NYC “coke” friends at the bars from whenst they came, thus darling little sister and Kerri were the lone hold-outs from  my past, chillin’ in my friendhip circle. It’s kinda like a friendship triangle these days. Anyway, Kelly has girlfriends who may win out and Kerri has people who hang with her more often for sure. Sigh. At least Kerri has phenominal taste and my dress is going to be beyond cute. Still, sometimes I do wish I could be someones most important somebody.

I am most definitley my husbands most important somebody, so two points for me there, but sometimes I miss legit girl friendships.

So though it appears I MAY get Maid once or twice more. I’ve not yet decided if that makes me happy or sad and more importantly why I can’t just feel something. Even if that something is hard to qualify.

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My Five Step Plan Towards the Eradication of Brain Atrophy

Posted on September 23, 2008

Mushiness of the brain is an issue that millions suffer from and few care enough to fight. It’s not our fault anymore. I mean it WAS our fault back in the summer of 2000 when we were a nation obsessed with Survivor: Borneo. And in 2002, when Justin v. Kelly in the finale of American Idol Season One was as big an issue as McCain v. Obama, today. You see, back then we had a choice. And it was YOU, my fellow Americans, who chose to indulge the shameless exploitation of your human counterparts, and make it ok for television networks to force feed us live tarantulas (literally) and models who can’t walk, but can say the word “bitch”  nine times per episode.

At first I railed against this embarrassment of mankind, and turned off my television. I was also living in Los Angeles, so I was able to indulge my celeb curiosity at the local Coffee Bean without supporting the evil Reality TV empire.
Alas, things are different today. You see, we have no choices now. Even the more “reputable” networks: ABC, NBC, and CBS place moral abominations Extreme Makeover, The Apprentice, and Big Brother squarely in the middle of the their scripted show schedule, so as to make complete avoidance a nearly impossible feat.

Still, in spite of all of my hesitations and feelings that I was wasting chunks of time that I would never see again, night after night, Spouse of the Water and I would hunker down, my computer on my lap and distractedly half-focus on almost married women acting beastly and overweight people exercising wildly and eating Jennie-O Lean Ground Turkey Breast. I voiced my frustration with the repetitive nature of this cycle, but we found it impossible to completely unplug.

Then, through a series of events which were not necessarily intentional, we found ourselves in a new home with no cable. Not one, single station. Odder still, we are over the moon happy. We relate. We laugh. Lots. We discuss, we cry, we plan, and we know that our lives are rad . Eff you Big Brother! I’ll read the book! The REAL Book. For you see, when I am not obligated to enroll in YOUR life, I can live mine. Fer reals.
Addendum for LOST: I will be having DVD’s Tivo’d for me OR I’ll watch on ITunes. I can deal, but it does get sticky.
Loving mind freedom~

Girl of the Water

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This is a pain in my thumb…

Posted on September 22, 2008

Noy ACTUALLY my thumb, but mine looks all bent and disjointed like this one...

Not ACTUALLY my thumb, but mine looks all bent and disjointed like this one...

I’m not being cute. I’m not using a quirky play on words. The Girl can’t type. The Girl can’t write. The Girl can’t do much of anything that involves her dominant hand. The Girl has a gnarly case of Trigger Thumb (www.wikipedia.org/triggerthumb) and it is affecting my world. Ironically, this is a water injury. Or rather a “carrying a boogie/ surf board down the beach in Hawaii injury” which has gotten progressively worse since actually leaving Hawaii. Maybe the Girl just needs to grab the Spouse and head for the hills (or mountians) of Hawaii and it’ll heal. On a positive note, the Girl and the Spouse are celebrating one year of marital bliss today and the Girl cannot help but feel uber-grateful to have a man who cooks amazing fish for dinner and pumpkin/ banana pie for desert whilst strictly but lovingly reminding her “not to use that hand!!!!”

In pain and love (often the same),

Girl of the Water

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Daniel Farraday was DEAD ON….

Posted on September 19, 2008

“The light… it’s strange out here, isn’t it? It’s kind of like, it doesn’t, it doesn’t scatter quite right…” - Daniel Farraday

How right you are Daniel…how right you are. I have ADD…seriously cannot sit still, mind plowing though questions, issues, scenarios, what-if’s at a trillion miles per nano-second. That kind of ADD. UNTIL, I took my ADD on a steller vacay and transported it to the land beyond time, Beyond worry. Beyond anything except “Aloha, See ya in the water, and Mahalo” Oh, and “where is that tremendous flowery smell coming from!!!!????”

Suffice it to say that Maui is the place the Girl and Spouse of the Water must be. The breaths we breathed and the moments we allowed ourselves to become….THAT my friends, is LIFE! And while I will always love well made clothes and silky cutains ith the perfect accent chair or um, hat, I find myself wondering just how important it all really is. I was sick of everything before….mostly sick of myself. Going against myself. Against what I desired to do or say. Against, the knowledge that I had and let go of and needed so desperately to find. I found it there. In that simplest most complex place. I missed you blog. I missed the out pourings nightly (and daily too). But I’m back, Hopefully different, but here nonetheless. I love NY (ESPECIALLY) in the Fall crispness. The smell intoxicates my being. But so does a Maui sunset. Sigh.

Peace Becomes Her

Peace Becomes Her

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What Do You Know That I Need To Know?

Posted on September 13, 2008

Aloha!

I am in Heaven. But real Heaven…Not places that I have compared to Heaven in the past, such as Whole Foods, or like, you know, Pottery Barn, but God’s Heaven. Maui is majickal. I have pictures to end all pictures and experiences which make me wonder what in the heck I did in a past life to deserve these blessings.

Sadly, we left our USB cable at home, so my mock-up  picture will have to do for now, but I had an epiphany today whilst talking to the lady in our hotel giftshop that I needed to put into writing….

She knew stuff. Lots of stuff. She was wise beyond the credit we might typically attribute to a resort gift shop lady and I KNEW that she knew things that I needed to know. Whatever that means….

Did she know where to find the best local restaurants or shopping haunts? Did she know the key to happiness? The meaning of life? That I needed to go right instead of left? The fact is, we ALL know something that I (proverbial “I”) need to know.

So, I decided to ask. Everyone. Much to the chagrin of my husband who is traditionally WAY more shy than I am…

I am curious as to what people might say. Will they ask me to elaborate as to what exactly I mean ( I won’t )?

Will they give me facts? Thoughts? Desires? Will they project what they seek into the advice they spew?

We’ll see. I shall ask everyone. I started with Hector Hernandez who works in a jewelry shoppe in Wailea. Spouse of the Water was purchasing the perfect Mother of Pearl necklace for me (Happy Birthday to me!) and I asked Hector (who has lived on Maui for 13 years, but is originally from Chicago and (like me) prefers thick crust pizza) “what he knew that I need to know.”  I do believe, Hector Hernandez momentarily thought I was nuts. Then he smiled. Calmly, Warmly…. and he told me “It’s all relaxed… know everything is relaxed.”

Though Hector Hernandez has clearly never tried to get to an office building in NYC on an August Day by 10am, and obviously does not know the perils therein, I respect this advice and plan to use it and apply it to my newly renourished Water life.

So, I humbly request that you tell me what you know that I NEED to know….

Please… I need to know. I really do.

I shall eventually divulge what I know. All in good time.

With revitalized love and respect…

A tan and year older Girl of the Water.

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My Transitional Lamp

Posted on September 5, 2008

The bedroom in our new apartment gets minimal light, and in spite of the 8-foot window, has a distinctly cave-like feel. So, I had to buy a lamp. I hemmed and hawed and researched within an inch of my life and ended up deciding to go with one of the first I’d seen. The Hampton Bay Cherry Wood Shelf Floor Lamp. Functional yet Zen. I dug the style and appreciated it’s utilitarian flare.

As I wait for the Ferry bus, I glimpse the package again praying that it’s packed properly and that the twine handle tied on by the helpful Home Depot man which is now ripping the box, hasn’t affected the wood inside, when I notice the writing on the box… “Hampton Bay~ The Transitional Collection”. Hmph. Transitional? Really? What does this mean and why would Home Depot judge me?

I’m not transitional… I’m an adult, dammit! It doesn’t make sense…you don’t even KNOW me, Home Depot. Then it hits me. They’re right. I am totally transitional. This lamp was made for me. Shit. They have a whole collection made for me and those just like me. Case in point…. this is the very first apartment I’ve ever had which does not contain ONE thing from Ikea. Nary a “Malm Dresser” and no sign of an “Ivar Wall Unit”. YET, I do not have even one piece from ABC Home and Carpet (home of the 4,000 dollar plastic chandelier). See… I AM transitional. Sigh.

So, I transport my transitionally appropriate lamp home and get into a transitional fight with my hopefully not-transitional spouse over it’s assembly and then took a walk through Weehawken questing for Diet Pepsi, and realized what the term “transitional neighborhood” means.

Meanwhile, my lamp remains in transition as the shade was never completely put together by the time my husband decided that the only way to end our disagreement was to transition into another day, by going to bed early.

Sometimes Even Beautiful Things are Troublesome...

Sometimes Even Beautiful Things are Troublesome...

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Just Sayin’

Posted on September 4, 2008

I dig John McCain and all, but his did his awkward wave during Sarah Palin’s acceptance speech seem scarily Papal to anyone else?

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Obsessions and Concessions

Posted on September 3, 2008

The Art of Moving with a Partner

The night is April 1, 2006. I am lounging on the floor of my Gramercy Park apartment, which I am scheduled to vacate (as in move out of, not like, go to dinner) in 45 minutes, which is perfect because this episode of South Park is the BEST (the one where the Mormons basically discredit their entire being because they can’t read those silly tablets exactly the same as they did yesterday. Dum Dum Dum Dum Dum.) I can watch this ep and still have 15 minutes left over to throw my belongings into some bags before my boyfriend of 3 months and the three Rastafarian movers he has hired, arrive. So, I sprawl on the floor sipping some coffee. I trust, I chill, I giggle.

(One hour later) They are so high…clearly these are legit Rasta men, not just East Williamsburg posers. It’s cool though…funny actually. I am not concerned. It takes us 12 hours to move. Literally. And at 5:45 am on April 2, 2006, my boyfriend and I stand outside of our new Washington Heights dwelling and watch the sky turn pink with the promise of a new day, a new phase, a new adventure.

My boyfriend has turned into my husband and our moves have gotten markedly more complex since that Spring evening two and a half years ago.

Life evolves, situations and people grow. Particularly when it comes to acceptable moving styles. For instance, I now lean towards boxes and movers with insurance. I’ve learned to find the Zen in throwing things away. I really enjoy it. Perhaps too much. Throughout the past month, my husband has, on several occasions, inquired as to the whereabouts of the girl who thought that 15 minutes of pre-move prep time was sufficient. I replied that she didn’t own a couch. Or a coffee mug. Or guest towels.

I think he secretly misses her and her existentialism. Frankly, I do too (a little).

This is where the art of balancing ones obsessions with a modest amount of concessions comes in. For instance, at 11pm last evening, I wanted to start switching the outlet plates from the yellowing, cruddy 1989 throwbacks to the shiny, clean, chocolate brown plates that I had purchased. My husband looked displeased. I conceded. That can be done later. See? Compromise. I am a master of marriage. Sadly, I don’t think he sees it that way. I think he may be wondering if my sense may have accidentally been thrown in the trash chute along with the 4,000 business cards which bore my maiden name and the journals from 2001 which were too sad to bare. I am not entirely sure he is wrong.

Additionally, moving is not dissimilar to taking a vacation to some exotic locale. Like, say, Siberia.
I have no friends. I am the social equivalent of the hunchback, Ephialtes in the movie “300″, and I forget what a conversation that doesn’t include the words “tired”, “stressed” or “what do we owe you?” sounds like. Normalcy is relative and not as overrated as I once thought.

As an aside, I’ve never been more satisfied. My home is magnificent (truly everything I visioned as a child), my husband is hot, and I leave for Maui on Tuesday. Sorry if the rest of this entry gave a different impression. Take from it what you will.

This makes it all worthwhile. One of the two awesome things I come home to...

This makes it all worthwhile. One of the two awesome things I come home to...

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Conversations From the Lunch Table

Posted on September 2, 2008

It is the first day back at work from a long and lazy holiday weekend. The normally hectic pace round the Ad Agency which houses my office, seems just a smidge sluggish and reflective of the general reluctance to hop back into normalcy cold turkey. The lunch table in the kitchen area is far more crowded than is typical on a Tuesday and it’s six or so inhabitants seem to linger despite their empty take-out boxes. The conversation is lively and covers a variety of topics from boozy weekend escapades to the Gossip Girl premier. Then it turns to politics. And even from my desk, I sense a palpable change in the air. With no thought that there could POSSIBLY be any among them with differing opinions, the initiators of the dialogue openly chide McCain and his Vice Presidential pick. Bolstered by the news that very-Pro Life Sarah Palin’s daughter has apparently gotten pregnant and dropped out of high school, the Conservative detractors are overjoyed and reveling in the misfortune (how un-Liberal!)
The part that struck me was not the anti-Republican sentiment (I live in NYC, for crying out loud) but the seeming complete lack of awareness that there might be Others lurking. Others with a slightly more moderate take on the situation. And moreover that we Others are so locked in the political closet because of our industry, geographic location, age group and other social factors that not one of us (and I have it on solid authority that there were at LEAST four of us present) said a word. No one piped up, no one played devil’s advocate, no one dared incite debate. Too risky. We mustn’t create waves. We will not be tolerated. We will be ejected from the premises immediately, and asked not to return.
This seems extreme but it’s actually not far from the truth. In this day and age of Political Correct-ness, when did shunning an entire faction of the populous, become socially and morally acceptable?

In the very accurate words of The View’s Elisabeth Hasselbeck: “It seems to be that you can only have one opinion in this country right now.”

On a separate but related note, I do think it’s rad that Barack Obama chose John McCain (read- comforting old, white dude) as his running mate and John McCain chose Hilary Clinton (read- polarizing young, white woman) as his.

I do hereby invite John McCain, Sarah Palin, Ms. Palin's daughter and her unborn child to lunch. We will speak freely and scoot over should anyone else choose to join... even if they have differing viewpoints.

I do hereby invite John McCain, Sarah Palin, Ms. Palin's daughter and her unborn child to lunch. We will speak freely and scoot over should anyone else choose to join... even if they have differing viewpoints.

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