Good Day Sunshine, I need to laugh...

Maybe I'm too sensitive, or too considerate. But there are certain things that should not be overlooked. I'm talking about things in the lives of the people that you love.

A friend that has lost a parent or both parents; a friend that has lost a baby, or had to make a choice not to have a baby; a friend that is ill, or has a family member that is seriously ill; a friend that has just had her heart broken...

Friends reach out to each other to cry, to talk, to complain, to vent, even to sob, about all of the obstacles that crop up in life. It is trust. Releasing that emotion onto another person requires trust in that person. And sometimes I hear this event being recalled by the person it has been confided in, in a careless manner. Violating the unspoken tie of trust. So be careful.

Think twice. Be considerate.

Cold Feet

Me: "How come your feet aren't cold?"

Beau: "Because I'm a man."

It's funny that metaphorically, this is quite the opposite. Metaphorically, men have cold feet. Irony.

1 bedroom for rent?

I have been presented with the opportunity to move into the city that I so adore, to abandon the outskirts that I have been haunting these past months to start over again (this would be "official" move number three, "unofficially" five) in a new, familiar place. My hesitation is rooted in finances…

For the first time in my life, I am unable to casually mention that I need money (very small sums of money that is) and then have it magically presented to me by my mother. This fact was not startling, as I had never depended entirely upon my parents for money, but I had always thought that if my immaturity grew to foolishness, that I would be able to call them and request money. The fact that this is a just-realized impossibility for me is startling.

My current job, a fellowship, pays next to nothing, so I rely on Mr. Stafford and Ms. Sallie Mae to live. However, the summer is steadfastly approaching, and these two go on vacation to Bora Bora for the entire summer. Last year my dad sponsored me, this summer I will not be so lucky, as he's currently unemployed.

So I’ve entered crisis mode as I struggle now in January, to figure out how I am going to support myself this summer. If I keep my fellowship for next semester, I will have to work for free again this summer. If I get a job come June, then I have to pay for my tuition in the fall…it is a carousel of trade-offs.

Guess I’ll have to start hustling and sport a Baby Bjorn way before my mommy-time.

Barack-free rant about how birth control made me crazy.

I refuse to post about Barack. I just plain refuse.

I have my first classes next week and I'm amp'd as usual. I get so excited about the first day of classes and the reading/writing/learning that accompanies it. This excitement, get-up-and-go attitude dwindles by the end of the first month of school, and I'm left attempting to flee the impending workload. I try to escape. Which is pretty much the story of my life.

I bash everyone around me in the head as I try to escape from them. As I get older, I do this less and less. I realize escape is futile...and very unnecessary (especially in my current situation). But what is driving the motivation to escape? To run away? To hide from my friends? and to try to hide from my family? It's not that I don't enjoy the company. In fact, I'm happier when I'm around people. Yet, I crave the solitude and loneliness. It's like a perpetual need to feel some form of depression. Working it out...growing pains.

I started taking the dreaded BC... those mind-altering-anti-baby-making-pills to deal with the ovary situation. (Yes, that's how desperately debilitating the pain and bloating was. My ovaries release crazy amounts of eggs but they never make it into my abnormally heart-shaped uterus). For anyone who doesn't know, I hate anti-baby-making-pills. They made me a crazy psycho emotional rollercoaster of a lunatic... yea, you know that girl. That girl that's crying one minute, and then screaming and throwing shit the next...Well that was me circa July 2005 until December 2007.

I thought I was naturally crazy, until I discovered that I wasn't a saggy sack of tears and fiery rage sans little pink pills.

Well now I'm back on 'em. First month almost complete. It looks like this different brand does make a difference....

0 windshields broken
0 scandals
0 drunk phone calls
0 nights of crying
0 arrests
1 happy Beau

Smooth sailing.

NYC

New York City is great...

because you can watch something on the food network about a cookie bakery, and then decide to throw on a pair of flip-flops to walk to that particular bakery and sample the largest, thickest chocolate chip cookies you've ever had in your life.

I'll admit it, I miss the summer. But only because of the weather. Not because of the people.

Ouch.

How do you know?

I am often filled with enormous self-doubt. Enormous, giant mountains of doubt.

And I have to work extra, extra hard...And I keep such strange hours - waking, sleeping, eating - at various times with total disregard for the sun and the moon, smoking, drinking tall glasses of water, and at intervals, licking each individual salt and vinegar chip before consuming...And most of all, thinking - racing and sorting in my mind - reconciling these enormous, giant moutains of doubt.

Converting the glistening mountains that loom in front of me into garbage piles.
Convincing myself that the mountains are nothing more than garbage.
Completing this with one single, solitary thought...

Like having my secret desire to have dimples adorn my cheeks fulfilled...

He thinks I have dimples.

And that single, solitary thought is enough to totally turn my enormous, giant looming threatening mountains of doubt into garbage.

I hope your Monday is spectacular.

Ringing in the New Year

Happy New Year. I celebrated in Little Italy in a fabulously large apartment with a few people I know, and many that I had just met. I wore my gold heels and a purple dress that the boys told me resembled that of a 1920's flapper.

I have a pretty good recollection of the night's events. Yes, I was drunk by the end of the night after too many vodka and cranberry's, and some tears were shed - those of the missing variety (I miss my girl...), but it was mainly smiles and dancing and antics of the drunk kind.

The day's events were hectic. I left Beau's apartment in the early hours of the afternoon - dashing home in the BITTER COLD with a side order of snowflakes (it was ridiculously fucking cold in New York) with some of the worst cramps of 2008 (read: I almost moaned out loud on the E Train). After laying in bed with a heating pad for several hours, taking an Aleve, then switching to something stronger (Percocet) I got up and took a shower. My time was limited. I decided that my hair would tease better if I didn't wash it and jumped in and out of the shower. I cut my dress appropriately short, strapped on my best push-up bra, applied my fake lashes, teased my hair, threw on the rest of my make-up, packed my overnight bag, and slipped into my red rainboots to combat the mini-blizzard that had occurred earlier in the day.

I made sure to grab the bottle of champagne that was given to me on my birthday for just this occasion... New Year's.

I got off the 6 train, marched up the five flights, only to discover that the boy was NOT EVEN REMOTELY CLOSE TO READY. Some debate went on over confusion over the meeting time agreement, but whatev...I had places to go.

"Should I tak the bottle of champagne to my friends party or should we bring it to your friends party?" I inquired.
"Um, bring it to your friends party," he responded.
"Ok, see you later."

So I left my stuff there and headed back out into the bitter cold with bottle of champagne in hand, and oh it was so bitter.

Jumped in a cab and headed uptown to J's. Passing by all of the stores and shops and restaurants...so many memories. I couldn't help but reminisce about 2008 and what a turbulent, wonderful year it was. How many people floated in and out of my life, boys and girls.

I was suddenly flustered back to reality with the cabbie hurriedly pushing me out with his speech. I felt rushed. I quickly fumbled with my money and struggled to close my purse. I was clutching my clutch purse (purple sequins by the way), and had the bottle of champagne in the crook of my right arm. I boarded the sidewalk and !!SMASH!! Broken, green fragments in a river of bubbly. I had dropped my champagne. I recall thinking, 'Fuck... oh well.' And as my eyes traveled closer to my feet I noticed a stream of blood on my right foot. Then my eyes traveled upwards, about a foot, to see a large gash on my right shin - the origin of the bloodbath. I clearly remember thinking, 'Oh well, this sucks. But I'll clean off the blood and put a Band-Aid on it. It'll be alright.'

I marched on in my heels, across 88th Street, and into J's building. Her doorman was a little shaken by my bloody appearance, and kindly pointed out that I was bleeding. "Yes, I know, I'm bleeding. Ring 5A please." I jumped in the elevator. I was in no pain.

Five seconds later, I was upstairs in J's apartment, staring at my trail of blood. The guests at her party were intrigued by the status of my health, and oohed and aahed in horror over my champagne gash. One of her friends, whose medical advice seemed reliable, noted that I was going to need stitches. Fuck. "I'll call the ambulance."

"Do you want pants?" said M, motioning to my very short dress that upon sitting, suddenly seemed much shorter than anticipated. (Yes, I was wearing some form of panty).
"Nah," I replied. "It's whatever. How come I'm not in any pain? I'm so sorry that you guys are cleaning up my blood and..."
My eyes brimmed with tears.
"It's ok, buster," said J, stroking my hair.
"I would cry but...I don't want my fake eyelashes to fall off."
M then decided this was an event to document and began asking me to pose for pictures. She even put a New Year's hat on me.

After discovering 9-1-1 does NOT have to stay on the phone with you, M put J's little, itty bitty flip-flops on me, and the EMT's busted in and put me on a mini-chair with wheels, and wheeled me outta there. The EMT was in-training, and was unable to find my pulse, or take my accurate blood pressure, or do anything medically right. I remarked that I must be "dead" and as he noted that I was bleeding, I responded with, "How do you know I'm not a vampire?"

Fifteen joking minutes later, I arrived at the hospital which was surprisingly empty. More jokes were made about my accident, stupid banter exchanged until finally I was carted off to a bed, and placed in a corner, where I was questioned over and over about the timestamp of my last tetanus shot.

Beau arrived just in time, all suited up. He held my hand during the two huge needles given to numb my leg, and shielded me from the bloody gore of volcano blood that shot out of my leg as the Staten Island doctor administered my first ever stitches. He commented that my gash looked like a vagina, and him and the Staten Island doctor traded vagina jokes the entire time. He kissed my head and told me a story about the time that he had gotten stitches in the same spot when he was a little boy...

Then the nurse came in and gave me a tetanus shot. I'm set for the next five years. We were in and out in about an hour. Cheers to Lenox Hill.

The night continued on, and we went to his friends party downtown, where I decided that flip-flops are an unacceptable footwear choice for New Year's Eve, and opted to put my very high heels back on, despite the risk of busting a stitch.

And that's pretty much how 2008 was. Always making a choice, a daring choice, where I'll almost definitely get hurt, I'll almost definitely cry, but I'll also definitely laugh ridiculously loud, and I'll definitely smile incredibly wide, and I'll definitely be able to recall fantastic memories just by passing by a corner, or a restaurant, or hearing an address... Always running the risk of busting a stitch. So worth it.