Results tagged "Counties"

BlogHer 2011 is in San Diego this August…

And I can feel it… the shaking heads of disapproval combined with the “What?” and the “Did she say?”… When really I’m just quoting The Legend of Ron Burgundy… “San Diego. Drink it in, it always goes down smooth.”… And no… despite what many of you may think… my fingers did not ignite into flames upon typing the word vagina… although I may have to overload my head with conditioner to relieve the rat’s nest that is slowly entwining on my head… you know, with the good conditioner. Because that’s all it takes for a movie line to be burned on my brain…. That and years of avoiding bad humor repetition. Some lines will just never go away…  “I’m sorry, I was trying to impress you. I don’t know what it means. I’ll be honest, I don’t think anyone knows what it means anymore. Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago.”

I was a fool at the BlogHer 2010 conference…. I went, I curmudgeoned it’s existence while enjoying every minute of my friends — AND I should have stayed in the city — released my inner need to hang. But the call of the 2 year old was too much and I disappeared before dark.  Now look at me. (choking with cheshire cat laughter)  So… what’s to come of this year? More fun… and a smaller show, I suspect — NYC being the hub of ALL — despite August and all of its sweaty attractions… I have never been to San Diego — and I really want to go. Time will tell, at this point… in August — I will have a babe of 4 to 5 months hanging off of me like a Koala… As if my addiction to Will wasn’t enough this past year, how am I supposed to leave and fly ACROSS THE COUNTRY, without the newborn? And whatever… I don’t even want to go to the real conference — with fake vodka drinkers and potato heads — I just want to go play with my friends… IS THAT SO WRONG? And, while planning the trip now seems nearly impossible, am I as selfish as I think I am for already thinking about going?… “Last time I looked in the dictionary, my name’s Ron Burgundy. What’s your name?”

I suppose I could bring the babe… but as I think of that scenario, I remember seeing Moms with infants at last year’s show… chilled in the air conditioner with tired looks on their faces. What were they thinking? And you just know I’d end up being the Mom with the Baby — IN A BAR. I mean really. I have to stop thinking about it before my brain packs up and leaves for more preferential accommodations… in San Diego.

So while I’m sitting here… in 7 degree weather, waiting for all things inevitable while trying to think of my own creative one-liners… I can at least start to think about San Diego, right? Because you’re going  — and you are — and someone is sponsoring that other person to go… and no one will notice if I just show up and crash the party, right? Because I only had a little taste of last year’s event… “I don’t know how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal.”

A year ago yesterday I wrote this post about not going… now all I want is to GO. You may as well plug your ears and start heading in the other direction, because I’m about to whine and stomp for the next 7-8 months… thinking of good alternatives like “BlogThis” or BlogMe”.. “JustGoBlogYourself”  — Labor Day, Southampton.. — Realists need not apply. “Go fuck yourself, San Diego.”

A few weeks ago we had guests for the 4th of July weekend.

And, YES. I know how long ago that was…over a month and SEVERAL DAYS. But I know. While you were all WHAT IS SHE DOING, I was totally holding back and not telling you… Because, sometimes I get caught up in other things — like word fluency, colors, being awesome at everything while not putting any pressure on myself, and an old little Indian man who wears a leather dress with a 3 foot mohawk, carrying a suitcase with a giant British flag on it… who rides the New Haven Line at 8:40pm only to disembark in Cos Cob, Connecticut.  Okay, so maybe not in that order, but WHATEVER – do you know what’s in Cos Cob? BOATS. BOATS and DOCKS…. and cute little neighborhoods with Bed & Breakfasts and Civil War statuses… please note that it is ‘statuses’, not ‘stati’ — which is what I really wanted to use, but I could sense several frowns approaching. Also, I’m not that awesome… ask around, they know.

So yes, time is passing rather fast, as one would hope amid drought and buggy conditions… but the summer has not been without its little quirks and giggles. It feels like only yesterday that I was crossing the street in Southampton, when a Lexus convertible filled with teenagers came flying around the corner, creating a near death experience to which I reacted by holding up my hand… I mean I could have screamed and started doing jumping-jacks… but no. I thought a simple hand would suffice… which it did… but it also created a gaggle of “DUDE, Don’t be SO UPTIGHT”, among the passengers… The hand, you know, being so STRESSED OUT.

Then there was the lady at Schmidt’s Market that filled her cart to the brim with fresh local corn, only to wheel it to the register, ask the cashier how fresh it was and then decide that picked-yesterday was way too long ago… leaving the cart in the middle of everything, for everyone else to deal with… I offered to help put it back, but the cashier was too amused by the fact that the lady was on her way to the closest, more expensive farmstand… that Schmidt’s Market stocks…with freshly yesterday-picked corn.

And then there are the other things… like bathing suits on people that, ugh, just shouldn’t… tasting everything before you order, pushing, shoving, bossing, ignoring… And my favorite, hitting the horn as soon as the light turns green… no matter how many people are in front of you. I mean, come on. WHERE ARE YOU GOING? There is a beach at the end of EVERY ROAD. You can’t be in that much of a hurry unless you are on your way out of town… In which case, let me get out of your way.

But a few weeks back it was still the 4th of July, Annie and Rob were visiting, and none of these other aforementioned had happened yet. So our brains were fresh and new. We were enjoying our weekend when suddenly our Dad, who was in another state, seemed to be trying to reach us via cell phones, that had no service on the beach… Upon returning home, the caller ID on the house phone told us the same… Back and forth we kept missing each other when FINALLY. He had initially thought that one of us may have been arrested due to a missed call to his blackberry from the Southampton County Court… He immediately tried to reach us. But it wasn’t until a message actually dropped into his voicemail that the story began, but never really ended. We, obviously, weren’t in jail… and the message was definitely not intended for our Dad, but for someone else…who apparently had access to unlimited funds…

We’re still waiting on those 20Gs. And regardless of this message being mistakenly placed in our Dad’s inbox as a joke intended for someone else, OR the real damn thing, Southampton ROCKS…. And summer isn’t over just yet. Not to mention the AWE SHUCKS in NEVER KNOWING… So, please talk amongst yourselves… Who do you think it was, and how did it end?

Meanwhile… I’ll be here, husking corn, planning for a few more late summer guests and thinking about the little Indian man, with 4″ platform boots and piercings all over his body… getting off the train in Cos Cob for a little B&B, R&R… because it is August, and that’s how it should be done.

Can we talk about stuff? The kind of stuff that accumulates over time. The kind of stuff that you think you need or might need someday? The stuff that you think you’re being really really organized about and then you forget about it until you decide to tackle the situation and you can’t even remember why you kept the stuff to begin with? Like a pile of rolodex cards for the rolodex that you threw away with the invention of the computer. Or gobs and gobs of receipts–from 2002. Or how about art projects that you thought killed in college–now, not so much save for the hours of tedious yellow marker.

Because I’m still in the process of moving out of my space in Bridgehampton and back into my home office… which is requiring a massive reorganization before bringing more stuff in… which means that I have to go through it all to make sure that the colored pencils that are over a decade old are still worth a damn. Or the design trade publications from 1998 that I moved from one state and then another and yet another and still haven’t read. Do you think the theories will still apply? Ordinarily I would walk away from this situation in an attempt to avoid the hives that are slowly forming up my neck — but I don’t have any choice in the matter. I used to just tiptoe around the stuff… quietly, not wanting to disturb, occasionally opening the closets or drawers whispering.. hello in there – just let me sit at my computer… but now the other stuff is coming and therefore this stuff needs to go.

And it is with this task that I stand before you, OH DESK. Help me. Giant universe filled with lots of other stuff– as my pitch pierces my own ears… And, does anyone have a blindfold? Because I’m getting all teary-eyed having just found an awesome pen and I can’t watch. How do you throw it away? Do you want it? Maybe I’ll place an ad – “Stuff, in need of a good home. Will work with other stuff.” Or maybe I’ll just put it all back and pile more stuff on top… or maybe, just maybe…

In other news today… and before I drown myself in projects circa 1995, Aiming Low is repeating this post today. You can either read it here – or you can go there.. Heck, you can read it in both places if you’d like… because the season for repeats is looming upon and, although I have brown hair and she has the same glasses as me, I am not Tina Fey (shocker) and therefore don’t get paid residuals. Just put the hate down. 

Every few weeks or so we receive phone calls from the local Suffolk County Police Associations and/or Fire Department Organizations attempting to raise funds via telethon. I know this due to the glory of caller ID, and I keep continuing to answer because these are really good causes to support.. I would support, I really want to — Just TAKE MY MONEY–HERE, JUST TAKE IT!! When you support they send you a fun sticker that says “DO NOT PULL ME OVER”… it’s priceless. The only problem is that I can’t get four words into the conversation without having the MAN  – and it is always a man (never once has a woman called) on the other end of the line, discontinue the pitch. The conversation goes like this:

RING RING
Me: “Hello”
MAN: “Yeah, uh Hi, Ryan there?”
Me: “Yes”
MAN: “Is he available?”
Me: “I’m Ryan”

Now, the role of “MAN”, at this point, can take on different breeds of MAN depending on who the man actually is on the other line — The “I HATE YOU SO MUCH I’M GOING TO FIND YOU AND TELL YOU SOMEDAY – Man” hangs up on me, and I imagine him taking a huge drag from a Marlboro Red, blowing it out and swearing my existence up and down the curse-word dictionary. He then leans around to the guy in the next cubicle and goes on and on about me and what is wrong with women? Why can’t we just, at the very least, be civil to the telemarketers that are only trying to support the local PBA and Fire Departments. He then says “F-This”, gets up and goes to the vending machine. The other breed of MAN – The “I HATE YOU AND I AM GOING TO TELL YOU NOW ABOUT HOW MUCH I HATE YOU – Man” is the one that makes me look at the receiver in unbridled disbelief — making my ears burn for a second or two, mind you. He’s the one that talks back to me like I am actually messing with him — vs. telling the truth. “Oh Yeah–Ha Ha, FUNNY LADY!” click. Or in really aggressive tones–“I SAID IS HE AVAILABLE” or “PUT HIM ON THE PHONE”.

I know who I am–just who do they think they are? Now, clearly I am the one hanging up, cursing– Damning the MAN. Perhaps this is how I taught my son to say “Uh-Oh” every time the phone rings.

A delicate dance, I know.

But I have built up an immunity to these situations — on an almost daily basis someone nice and pleasant usually questions the name. A great deal of people have tried to convince me that I’m spelling it wrong — it should be Rhyann or Rhian — or at least something other than “Ryan”  — which inherently insinuates MALE!! WHAT AM I CRAZY? Damn you daytime soaps of the 80s. Then — some are just dolts, like the pizza guy (of course not you Budhi–the other guy–I love you Budhi, PS. bring me more Saki) that said it was “weird”… but how can I care about the correctors and idiots when I’m spending all my free time trying to get through to the Police and Firefighter funds?

Not really.

So – yes, my name is Ryan. It has been my entire life – and, aside from a very strange phase in grade school where I wanted to change it to Robyn (yes, with the “y”), Ryan will continue to be my name for the rest of MAN-kind and I quite like it actually. It has a memorable quality to it — while it isn’t completely out of the ordinary. I have met other fem-Ryans… went to school with them–I actually ran into another lady-Ryan while shopping at outlets IN MAINE (Ehhm, for another time). It is an elite club. It adds another piece to the puzzle, if you will – another layer on the non-allergenic but still fluffy cake. Another THING that I have to test the next caller with. And if you like this, tune in next week where I talk all about how my ATM card had my middle name “Louise” spelled LOUSIE on it for at least 5 years before I realized it. Always a good time.  

Yesterday I drove to the Breakwater Design Studio in Bridgehampton.. (I know, what was I thinking?) I put Will in his car seat and hopped on CR39 to 27 East–crept past the Southampton Jitney stop and onto the back roads. Somehow, I made it –I breezed right past the angry traffic demons that haunt the Hamptons and into “Bridge” in under 20 minutes. What?–Even then, slinking over Main Street and behind the Candy Kitchen to our back parking lot… a space awaited. A huge parking space in our building’s private lot that is used by… well everyone in town. I was stunned… I was amazed. Our stay was short, as was our stroll around town–packed with shopping lunchers, and then we were back at it — this time heading west. I drove our tank of a Toyota with the aggression of a graceful charging mother elephant… only to find ourselves home again in under 20. Angels singing. The heavens have finally acknowledged the number of lifetime hours that I have spent driving a car, sitting still in traffic. I am a Golden God. 

I know, this is a very tedious description of a rather lame afternoon — but while nearing the confines of the main drag, I spied traffic sitters on 27 — going east with their boats in tow — bikes, over packed cars… all frustrated to the nines. All too familiar to me and all in the name of the beach…

A few weeks ago, I drove — with loving passengers — to Rehoboth, Delaware. We left around 9am on a Saturday… spent about 4 hours, which should have been 2 on the NJ Turnpike and another 3 on some god-forsaken route in Delaware.. which should have taken under an hour. Stop, go, stop, go, stop… torture.  I was not involved with the suicidal timing of this quest, but I don’t think it had too much to do with it. Had it been Tuesday at 5:30am, we still would have found ourselves at a standstill. Be it The Hamptons, Cape Cod, The Jersey Shore, Rye Beach New
Hampshire, Ogunquit Maine, Ocean City Maryland, Todd’s Point… The
long-awaited shoreline of choice does not come without a few hours, if
not days, of self-inflicted sacrifice. Just focus, pack mean snacks, keep one hand on the wheel…your foot hovering over the break and breathe–September is only  a few weeks away.