Results tagged "Directories"

Because spelling out the word “FOR” is just exhausting.

Maybe you’re on Montauk Highway — or Noyac Road, winding your way east through the various Hamptons, eager to arrive at your destination — vacationing or not. The sun beaming through the sunroof or the salt encrusted wind blowing your hair with the top down on the convertible — Life, you think, could not be any less complicated when suddenly there — Wait, WHAT WAS THAT?

You know you want to stop — Take a closer look at the pile of stuff that has been left by the side of the road for the taking. Is it junk? Why are they getting rid of it? A pile of poolside lounge chairs; a toy kitchen set; side tables; other stuff. Maybe the garbage company wouldn’t take it — maybe the former owner didn’t want to pay the extra disposal charge, or felt guilty because, in the light of day, it really isn’t junk. WHO KNOWS. But will you stop? Will you decide to pull into the next available driveway to TURN AROUND and go see what you might be missing? No — Because you don’t need anything… I mean, not really. Especially not something left out by the side of the road. But wait. Yes, as you make a 3 point turn on a dead end street, maybe it’s something that could be salvaged… a fresh coat of paint, a quick once over with the power wash… I mean, it’s 4 FREE. 4 FREE! And who doesn’t love FREE, especially when added to the number 4?

But again, WAIT. As you slow the car, approaching and squinting to try and get a better look — What if someone SEES YOU? Not that you plan to clamor around on the side of the road, sunglasses acting as a face-mask. What if you are recognized as you grab that lamp that *could* probably, most likely not be vintage?… Or the twin sized headboard circa 1975 — who knows, maybe you WILL NEED IT SOMEDAY? When the kids get older and have kids of their own who come out to visit their Grandparents in the Hamptons for the weekend… wouldn’t it just be fun and RETRO to have the room all made up all Brady-style and campy? And yes, that might be 30+ years down the road from now, but whatever — will it ever be 4 FREE again!!?!

And as you now sit, across the street on the side of the road with your hazards on — Others passing by with the same rubber necking thoughts… “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure” crossing your mind — Remember 10 minutes ago when everything was so carefree? Now you’re late getting to your destination… And 4 Free doesn’t feel so free anymore as you once again decide to keep on going… Only to think about the possibilities now left, yet again, by the side of the road.

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This post is being repeated over at Southampton Patch… because it’s fun to share.  You can go there, or stay here… do whatcha like.

What am I doing here?

That’s right. The time has come.

I think it’s been a few months since my last online identity crisis — so this is nothing short of forthcoming. I mean really. What, exactly, do I think I’m doing? And before I get into it, I have to interject and just say that I have known people that have lost precious positions in life by inserting “exactly” into a question such as this. It really is annoying, right? I mean… what, EXACTLY, is the point of making MORE of a point in the beginning of what you are trying to say? It packs a bit of punch though… kind of like when George Clooney takes a role that he is totally unsuited for and then FORCES the hell out of the character… like THEY WILL BELIEVE ME, DAMMIT. In fact, the “Exactly” is somewhat equal to the “Dammit“…. But I can’t get into equating verbiage against verbiage… because I’m not a writer, as my conscious and psychic capabilities keep telling me. But apparently, dammit, I am a blogger…. and given that I’ve already mentioned George Clooney in this post should prove that I know something about what I’m doing.

Searchmongers…

Because blogging — in all of it’s fame and glory — can be frustrating. AND, I am quite addicted, which makes this hobby some what of a crutch… AND, I’m not alone (gasp!). There are millions upon millions of other bloggers out there. Which makes this blog one of millions and millions of other blogs — not to mention millions and millions of other websites. Daunting. It’s easy to cringe when I think about how much time I’ve invested in something that is really mostly for me…. and, in the larger scope of millions upon millions, only touched on by thousands. And why? WHY? What is the meaning of all of this? I don’t want to spew my life all over the internet for the sake of laying it all out there.. What do tell-alls have to gain aside from the possibility of some monetary success? The endless images of their kids online… their private lives… above and beyond personal thoughts and observances of reality internet… or better yet–  FAKING IT ALL TOGETHER, I mean this is the internet… who’s going to know, right… until we meet you in person… And then what’s the point, we all know… because of the BLOG.

What, exactly, is wrong with that?

I’m not going to share my every second with you, internet. I’m not. If you’ve read me at all, I think you’ve realized this. AND, dammit, blogging is a time struggle for me. I don’t always get to read all the blogs that I want. I don’t get to have the time to respond to all the emails (all 5 or 6) and comment posts that come through publicly… but I want to, does that count? I also want to keep going… learn to write, AND someday write something that means something. Because while my heart is in this public diary of sorts, I don’t want to whore it all out for the sake of earning more readers– bleeding it all out over Facebook and Twitter… Bloggy blog group sites for Moms and other bloggers that only blog to attract other bloggers to read their blogs. Not that there’s anything, exactly, wrong with any of this.. Perhaps WHORE was the wrong word. (please keep reading my blog). In other words, I want it to work — but defining what “it” is has me a little perplexed…. while thinking too much can only lead to way too many home improvement projects at once. ((breath))

So while writing this post has, in fact, done nothing to quell the insecurity that creeps in every few months making me want to yank the plug on everything and go harass the Amish into letting me join their orthodox polygamist temples where I could be in charge of making paper out of berries for the sake of the monthly catholic news, I do think that I have convinced myself to stay put a little bit longer. Because what, exactly, is wrong with polygamy?

Is there anything to gain from being fake?

I mean, I get it. You are a brand. You believe in the gimmick. You really do wear tutus all the time. You didn’t dye your hair neon pink for any other reason than to be noticed…  And, although we know you couldn’t help yourself, you decided to stand up and announce that you’re not a blogger… at a blogging conference. Do it. It’s fine. There is a fine line between absurd and obnoxious… but what the hell, we might be boobs, but we’re also adults — GO WITH IT. Because… although no one at BlogHer 2010 was really there to pay any attention to you… you made them do it anyway. I mean WHO do we think we are? Just a bunch of Hoo Haas hoping to glean a little knowledge from others that may or may not know what they are talking about? And, I mean, the schtick might be funny… but say it one more time, and I might just take your tagline and smother you with it. Because if blogging wasn’t the topic of choice at BlogHer 2010 — being fake was a definite runner up… a bunch of bloggers (among some great bloggers, mind you) trying to get other bloggers to read their blogs… let alone the general public (hi there public, I love you!) And, while I am considering how to handle this delicate egg of a situation, its occurring to me that one teeny tiny incident needs to be addressed.

I met some amazing people at BlogHer, there is absolutely no question about that… people that I have been connecting with for months… Like minded thinkers, life partners, accomplices… That… Okay granted, I just met on Friday… But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? — Right? And when I was all juiced up and giddy about having met these awesome people, that really turned out to be people… Another person that knows me through the internet… who happens to be internet-loved by many and someone that I’ve collaborated with recently, someone that I’ve…And boom. Crash. “I think I know you”, taking my card as I explained who I am and how she knows me, not looking me in the eye, grasping the ever distracting cell phone, backing away… Knowing exactly who I was and, although I might be a deranged lunatic with my tongue hanging out of my nose, I was snubbed. Shot Down. Ignored. WHAT JUST HAPPENED? Did the conference room just sprout lockers and a gym teacher named Rose? Because if I’m not mistaken, 10th grade just started ALL OVER AGAIN… And as she walked to the table at the front of the room with the other panel speakers, I thought… Huh, she just did that. She did that knowingly and on purpose. And immediately, she was exposed. I then sucked my tongue back into my mouth and cartwheeled out of the room.

Later on that day my friends and I huddled together discussing the situation while a woman behind us twisted her neck in the most unusual ways in an attempt to eavesdrop. Aside from the subject not knowing much about public speaking… did she know what she had just done? Maybe it was nerves, because yes. I am THAT INTIMIDATING. Perhaps not. Maybe. Yes. No. It’s possible.. But before over-analyzing, and since we were finished braiding each others hair… we moved on to more important experiments… like holding a sex toy close to me to see what would happen… because don’t all writing conferences hand out free sex toys? We then went back to snarling and growling about other topics like lactation rooms, while I beamed with pride over the honesty being displayed.

And what happens to someone that goes from being one individual on the internet to another person in real life? From being the man behind the curtain to the lady that really likes to write her website address all over her own cleavage? Do they actually believe themselves? And if so, how long do they think that we will continue to buy it? I’m holding it out there for you to answer… because while I was hoping for a group hug of Bloggers of the World Unite, I now have to wonder how genuine the typing is until I meet you face to face…

Amanda, or Mandy — as I like to call her, and I went to college together.
We went to a women’s college on the Main Line of Philadelphia where we sat on pedestals while hummingbirds bouffanted our hair and talented monkeys ironed our tops… Men were slaves and there was a constant rainbow overhead… And we basked in the never ending sunshine…

When Ry wrote me asking if I’d be interested in guest blogging on For the Birds this week I became totally and completely overzealous and did jumpy claps of excitement. Would I be interested in guest blogging?  Would I?  Would I EVER!  

You see, I am a newbie to all this blogging business.  Before I began my blog in May I used to skulk silently around the interwebs reading other blogs, For the Birds was and is one of my favorites due to Ryan’s ability to tell it like it is and make a seemingly everyday observation interesting, thought provoking, and often hilarious.  I would check in via facebook whenever I saw she had a new post up.  I’d read For the Birds and blogs written by other friends and acquaintances of mine and think to myself, “How do they do it?  How do they find inspiration?  Day after day they come up with something engaging to write about.  I could never do that.  Could I?”.  I still ask myself that question on an almost daily basis.  Does anyone really care what I have to say or am I just shouting my ideas, musings, and thoughts into the echoy cavernous abyss of cyberspace?  For instance how can Ryan make a recap of a Southampton town meeting such a good read?   For me the fact that she had been writing a blog for so many years, and was still managing to keep me, and numerous others,  coming back for more was awe inspiring.  I mean MARTHA reads her blog for crying out loud!  So Ry is sorta my blog hero, she’s kind of a big deal.  So yes, I accepted the invite whole heartedly!

Then  I panicked.  For two reasons, the first being that people actually READ her blog.  My blog is mostly frequented by my Mom and my sisters.  If they don’t comment I harangue and verbally abuse them at family functions.  And I have 5 sisters so that helps hike up my traffic quite a bit.  Sidnote, sister number one, why are you STILL not following me? I am not buying the whole “Your blog won’t let me follow you” bit.  Save it. Just DO IT!  But I digress…Oh, yes, so I was a little unnerved to realize people would actually be reading what I wrote and even more unsettled when I pictured them mumbling to themselves, “Who the hell is this hack and what has she done with Ry?”  And secondly, in the the last week I have hit the proverbial wall.  After 2 mere months of blogging I felt like I had nothing to say.  So I did what anyone would do, I made excuses.  ”I have no time….this week has been insanely busy…I am working non-stop…I’ll get back to it Monday”.  In my defense, my sister was in London on business so I was taking care of my little Terr-bear round the clock.  (Big ups to all the Mothers out there who manage to both parent and blog, I don’t know how you do it).  Add in a freelance wedding makeup gig on Saturday and a birthday party on Sunday and stick a fork in me I was DONE.  As the weekend wore on I started to look towards Monday with apprehension and anxiety.  I HAD to come up with something to write after a weeks silence!  It’s only been two freakin’ months!  Pull it together woman!  Must…find…inspiration.  Write something! Anything!  There were no more excuses, and as Monday loomed closer my angst grew worse.  What will I write?!!  

Then Sunday night I logged onto the computer and there was this little beacon of light, a message from Ry asking me to be a guest bird.  But whatever shall I write I thought?  This week, of all the weeks, when I seem to have lost my mojo, NOW she wants me to guest blog?  So, screw it I thought to myself, I’ll write about the fact that I am freaking out over not having, uhm, anything to actually write about.

Well, will you look at that!  I actually just wrote something. It may not be amazing, but hell at least after six days of nothing I got SOMETHING.  Thanks Ry for the opportunity, for being a pioneer, and for nudging me out of my dry spell.

If you’d like to check out my blog about spending my days with an amazing little man while I figure out what to do with my life please stop by here: http://thebutterflyandthebear.typepad.com

It might be the world’s largest work in progress…

So don’t hold your breath for too long.

(side note – if you missed part one go here.)

I realized on this second round of renovations that this project is rather spiritual.. and not just because of Miss Native American Dorian Grey either… The last time we paid it a visit was in January.. We decided on a whim to get started, drove really fast up to the Berkshires and attacked… And then left for just over 2 months — Thus giving the house a chance to get comfortable with itself before the next attack. I mean, it really isn’t unlike America’s Next Top Model when Tyra takes the almost-too-young beauty with long flowing blonde locks and chops and shaves her head into a mohawk… not holding back with the jet black hair dye. Only to have her confidence shattered until she realizes how much better she looks and blows the competition off the catwalk… so to speak. Because, yes. I am that deep. 

AND – you heard it here first people. These things take time. Paying attention to detail, stripping, sanding, spackeling, sanding again, wallpapering, priming, and eventually painting. So – while we move on with the rest of our daily lives, we anticipate that several more reDefines are in store… and we just wonder what we’ll find….

And what of Miss Grey? Well – we’ve decided to pull out the tiny brushes for a little restoration party because even though we are just as scared of her as she is of us… she should stay. If not because of the fear in her eyes that we will paint over her… but just for safety’s sake… we don’t want any bad blood with a possible good ol’ fashioned haunting now do we? Hmmm?

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. 

I freaked a few people out yesterday — check out Dufmanno’s comment:

“Okay, that looks like the Native American Dorian Grey. Did this trip
involve a visit from the guys from Paranormal State, a cleansing ritual
and a mess of people apologizing for the colonization of the Americas?
I am worried for you and the family.”

The answer is no, she’s just a Native American that someone painted on the wall… you know, that urge to paint women randomly on bedroom walls… right? Although I did ask out loud about how many ghosts we were waking up… I was immediately told to stop acting weird.

A few years ago my husband and I came upon the rare opportunity to purchase a house that has been in his family since 1913. And when I say “been in his family” that’s what I mean because no one outside of the family has ever lived in it. Built by the Great Grandfather himself, and cared for by family and neighbors just STEEPED in tradition and history. So much so that I almost needed a spiritual reckoning before stepping foot over the town lines. These were and are amazing people filled with such goodness that you wonder just what is in the water… then they compliment you and do something else nice and you realize that it must be the soil… Then the snow melts and the flowers pop and smile… Even the rain is happy. It took me a long time to realize that these were really genuinely nice people — they didn’t want anything from me… They weren’t out to get me. In fact, if you can believe this, it was actually ME that was the weirdo with that sarcasm and pocket full of kryptonite… who knew?

So anyway. A few years ago my husband and I came upon this opportunity and we took it. We bought Pop’s house after he passed away. We bought it with the intentions of fixing it up and renting it out and then of course using it over holidays–AND we did this despite the fact that we live 4 hours away from it… And then it sat. We thought about it a few times over the years… paid it a few visits… even rented it out to those that didn’t mind it’s condition. It sat there waiting for us… settling into being the house that SOMETHING was eventually going to happen to. Life took over… until last Monday (one week ago) we decided to do something about it…This is just the beginning… we have tons of work to do.