Results tagged "New York City"

And here we are. A new year.

Fresh. New. Untouched. Unaffected. And oddly — feeling almost exactly like it did last year.

But that’s not reason to worry. Feeling the same as it did less than a week ago isn’t a bad thing, right? We aren’t supposed to run around changing EVERYTHING immediately, right? I mean… I suppose there are freaks people out there that say “I’M CHANGING, DAMMIT” and then, BOOM, everything is different. There’s nothing seemingly wrong with taking our time. Deciding that we want to do something, think about it… patiently… toil over the details while moving in slow motion. Quietly making the necessary adjustments before we LEAP FORWARD into new things. And I know you were picturing a graceful gazelle just now as I said ‘LEAP FORWARD’… because we are talking about the visions in my mind — and you need to see things as I’m seeing them if we are going to embark on anything together — and in no way am I referencing a leap “year”. Because I don’t think I could handle losing one entire day in 2012. No. No empty, invisible, take-away days — because this is going to be the YEAR OF ME. And you’re coming too.

I’m thinking about making some changes, and since these are life long — they do NOT fall into the evil and ever-failing RESOLUTIONS category. And — I’m not just talking about the small stuff, like this is the last Coca Cola I will EVER drink. No. I’m talking about things that would normally fall on a “Life List”, which is something that I have mentioned in “They’re safe easy to clean and do not cause unpleasant buffeting”, (those were the days)… I’m talking about speeding up the process and, for almost the first time ever, TAKING MYSELF SERIOUSLY. Like — No more soda really means NO MORE HIGH FRUCTOSE ANYTHING…. And, while we’re at it, LEARN TO WINDSURF. But there really isn’t a rhyme or reason to any of this. AND I’m going big, at least for me. Way beyond the Ten Its. My attempts to formulate a list of things that I want to accomplish in the next 40-50 years (if I’m lucky) ranges from the absurd — Sleep through the night… to the mundane — Put Christmas away… to the balls out impossible — DO SOMETHING BIGger than before (I’m open for suggestions). So, I’m speeding it up and giving myself 365 days — although I’ve already lost 4 in the planning stage. So, starting NOW. Okay. After I finish this coke.

And I know. YEAR OF ME, sounds kind of selfish and completely unoriginal. And I totally agree. I completely ripped the idea off from The Summer of George on a Seinfeld rerun the other night. Only — as we all know, the Summer of George was a failed endeavor which saw Mr. Costanza in rehabilitation to regain his ability to walk. I know. NOT FUNNY. But it totally was. Even after watching it for the 40,000th time. His only mistake was that he attempted to do it all alone. Of which, I would never do. Because, yes. I love you too.

And so… as I need to get going on a few things. I am starting the list right now. Please note that this list will change — grow and hopefully shrink with cross-outs as I SUCCEED AT EVERYTHING I TRY. Also, please note that from the boring to the laugh your ass off NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN items all fall in no particular order. Because, that, my friends is life.

• Read all the books in my house before buying new ones
• Quit High Fructose Everything
• Breathe while eating and enjoy every bite
• Walks
• Share a picture everyday
• Teach Will to read
• Teach Jo to walk AND talk
• Not so much spending
• Learn to Windsurf
• Redesign this Blog
• Travel with the Kids
• Relearn CPR
• More NYC
• Go fishing
• Will’s Kitchen, the book
• Bronx Zoo
• Write a Screenplay
• Find the right babysitter (and hire her/him)
• Find my Medium
• Garden. For real.
• Go to the Openings
• Turn conversational Spanish into fluent
• Make edible egg free pasta
• Meet Martha
• Get Jo to sleep in her own bed
• Take more pictures
• Find the right, regular, paying gig

I remember wishing that I could feel more.

10 years seems too long ago. Living in our apartment in Portsmouth–just north of Boston, having just quit my full time job to be a freelance designer. I wish now that I hadn’t procrastinated that morning and wasn’t in my bathrobe when the 2nd plane hit. I stayed in it for most of the day. I was so far away. There was nothing I could do. I still feel helpless when I think about it. Because, just like every other American, I remember every second of that day.

My best friend had just moved to Los Angeles, and I had just flown back from seeing her. I had driven there with her, across the country and the feeling of this great land was still fresh in my mind. I returned via Logan Airport in Boston where flight 11 took off from. Could it have been the same plane? Later I learned that the pilot was from a neighboring town, Stratham, NH. I called my Mom. Panicked. My Dad was in New York City — in another trophy building, nonetheless. He had an office in the Twin Towers too. What were the chances? I called and called with the lines going nowhere — my Mom — My Dad’s office. Finally my Mom called me. He was fine.

I called Bill — my now husband, at work. I called my friend in California. I called my Mom again. I couldn’t stop calling people — eyes glued to the television. Why? Tears pouring down my face. No. Not happening. I threw up. The day went on and I thought of everyone I knew that might have been killed. Hurt. Annie, my sister, called me from Australia where she was studying abroad. She was so displaced and didn’t understand — I told her that I didn’t either. They said it was terrorism. Everything was going to change and everyone everywhere was effected.

Later that night I drank too much wine. The news media had become too much. Someone mentioned a possible threat on the Empire State Building and I lost my mind. My Dad was still in the city — only blocks away. My head started spinning and I called my Mom again. She insisted that I not let them–the media, get to me. I breathed through it, standing against the wall in our kitchen, crying. Our neighbors upstairs were playing guitars out on the deck and I started to think that I had no business in taking the attacks personally. Some of the parents of my sister Kate’s classmates (then in high school) were among the missing… Simply not returning on the train home from work. I thought about the car accident that I was in several years before — one that left me with slight PTSD and the loss of feeling in most of my right hand. The ambulance ride. The paramedics. The smell of I-95 encrusted on my clothing. It should have been a fatal accident but we were spared by the Guardian Angels sitting on our laps. I tried my hardest to imagine what it must have been like to be in New York City, the Pentagon or on one of the planes but I couldn’t come close, and as I stare at the scar the car accident left on my hand, I still can’t. Bill and I couldn’t sleep, despite the alcohol. We agreed to not watch the television except for one or two hours from that point forward, a plan that lasted for about ten minutes.

A woman I knew through work was on the plane from Boston. We had only met once during a meeting a few months before at my old job. I had heard that she quit her job as well and was going back to California, where she was from. I barely knew her, and yet suddenly she became a fixture in my mind. She was simply trying to go home.

I didn’t want to be in New York, but I didn’t want to be where I was in New Hampshire either. I was blessed with not losing loved ones. But I couldn’t help thinking that if I could just feel what it is like to be witnessing all of this terror firsthand, then I might be able to understand. Then I might be able to find some kind of juxtaposition in fate and how things happen to other people while the rest of us just watch. There’s just a little something pathetic feeling about having to remember that day and how removed I was while so many were suffering. How the varying degrees of how each individual was effected found me way out in the spectrum of barely touched. Because that’s most of what I remember — the feeling, and how I didn’t think that I was feeling enough for the enormity of the situation, which may never end.

It’s been a week and one day since we were told to go.

And, although we returned this past Tuesday, the whole “get your family off of the island” train of thought has yet to find a comfortable place in my heart. You know, that nice cozy corner where I keep other random things like Philly Cheese Steaks, V.C. Andrews novels, Chris Botti and pedicures with extra long leg & foot massages. Because if you’re going to get the massage, why not go for the extra? V.C. Andrews, by the way, was brilliant when it came to simplifying incest. Like those kids HAD NO CHOICE, right? Step Mothers were evil, Mother in Laws were absurd… even the REAL Mothers wouldn’t flinch at poisoning their own, I mean EVERYTHING was wrong about those novels… which I still think about fondly whenever faced with being marooned during a natural disaster. Because there’s nothing like adolescent light reading for the virgin imagination, especially when paired with meat, cheese, and eclectic clarinets. I tried to add the pedicure back into that scenario, but I don’t think that the nail salon has their power back on yet.

But there wasn’t anything imaginary about this ORDER OF EVACUATION, which actually saw us vacating our home last Thursday in an effort to get ahead of the mass exodus off Long Island. And it was a quick decision too, seeing as how we had nothing to do for the weekend, really…. Aside from waiting for something–So why not wait somewhere else? And so we went. Annoyed. While I rolled my eyes all over the East End of Long Island — damning the media onslaught of what could maybe possibly happen. I jammed bags full of toys and clothes for all weather scenarios. Calmly of course, while the three year old attempted to understand the reasoning behind our immediate departure.. One minute playing outside — the next scrambling in a FOR THE LOVE OF GOD– ESCAPE!!! I packed up our cooler. I convinced the dog to get into the car. Then the kids. Chumps Are Us, I thought as I watched the Mayor of New York suggest that he might not screw up this time by shutting down New York City…. and then I turned off our TV and headed North, in-land. Fools, damn you.

On the phone with a friend as I was driving out of town I felt embarrassed. Where had my coastal mentality gone? Why was I not out stocking the house with booze for day-long hurricane parties and WHY was I driving so fast?

But in the end, it didn’t really matter. I mean — things happened here, trees down, limbs dangling, flooding, docks washed away, but the only real loss was in our gardens, which were crushed by the elements. Damages that are certainly recoverable over time. We only decided to return to find the lovely notice above when our power returned on Monday night. And we never really did escape, as the fury of all things Irene simply said “Oh – they went that way”, and followed not so lightly to, in many circumstances, worse situations.

And we were safe. And dry. And not being blown around in gale force winds that look ridiculous as they hit the news reporters on the beach. We may have acted a little typical, as we ran for cover… And the storm may have been completely blown out of proportion… But never before have I taken my cynicism by the throat and decided to go the route to safety. Kids, I tell ya.

So, these past few months I’ve been on a reading binge. Mostly due to the fact that in a few short weeks (or days, who knows!) I’ll have two kids demanding every second they can squeeze out of my body. Combine that with a need to cram as much useless knowledge into my brain before it becomes fried for the same reason, and you have me reading everything I can get my hands on… Because I love being a Mom. I never said I didn’t.

But I’ve been reading… and reading… sometimes more than one book at a time. Sometimes, I’ve started reading something that I wouldn’t ordinarily have an interest in — but once I get into it I can’t stop… But isn’t that how useless knowledge is generated? Not to mention the inconvenience of the timing of — well, everything… I’ve been hesitant to take on any design projects because I know that I will be unavailable once the baby arrives, so I’ve been declining and handing things off — it pains me to do so, but the thought of leaving something unfinished bothers me even more… And wouldn’t you know it, but after months and months of silence, the projects have been calling…. as I wring my hands in a warped, jealous internal conflict filled with creative rage and ego… If I wasn’t pregnant… BUT I WANT TO BE…Oh yeah, right. But, I just WANT IT ALL, IS THAT SO WRONG?

So whatever, I just bury my head in a book and move on. With life that is… This post, I’m afraid, is quite hopeless. But the fact of the matter is that I’m not one to quit. I’ve quit before — softball in Jr. High School; Smoking; Dating intellectual snobs that over-utilize the word ‘Awesome’ …. AND NONE OF IT FELT GOOD… so I’ll just keep going…

I love tugboats. (There. I finally said it.)

I love tugboats for probably the same reason that I obsess about not working for a while — they just never seem to stop going, and someone — usually much bigger and more intimidating is always depending on them despite their small and unique design. I haven’t always loved them… No. It really started when I live in Portsmouth and walked by Tugboat Alley on an almost daily basis. They really are quite spectacular… either docked or in action as they race out into the big open waters to latch onto tankers the size of city blocks. I haven’t had the pleasure of riding on a tugboat yet… but after reading My River Chronicles, by Jessica DuLong — I have a new-found goal.

(the book does not come with the toy tugboat — sorry folks, you’re gonna haveta go buy your own)

Jessica, as I have elected to call her now that I’ve read her tugboat tell-all, is a former New Englander slaving away as a dot-commer, pre- 9-11, when she becomes so consumed by a fireboat and tugboat obsession that she breaks all the rules of the typical male-driven occupation and becomes a TUGBOAT CAPTAIN. But it wasn’t easy, you know… because she is a WOMAN… A woman of higher education that falls in love with the nuts and bolts of the history and mechanics involved with operating these timeless boats… Not to mention the appreciation she finds for the Hudson River… which, if you haven’t paid homage to yet — is a NOT MISS when it comes to the rivers of the Northeast…. even if you’re looking at it from New Jersey.

“Gliding back to the surface in what seems like slow motion, I feel the diesel heat drain away, drawn from my body by the coolness of the river. Air bubbles tickle my skin on their way up to the sky. When my face breaks through to the air, I wipe my eyes and mouth. Wow. The water is fresh here. We’re far enough north that the runoff from the mountains has dominion over the salt from the sea. I won’t say I’m not worried about whether the water is clean enough for swimming, but now that I’m in it, the river is delicious, irresistible. ” pg. 50

Jessica, my new BFF, also takes the opportunity to bring up other topics that I love… things like over-consumption and the world vs. technology  — laying blame to this very computer for taking the intelligence factor out of the everyday… “Seems like the more technology we have, the more we lose our grip on common sense… It’s almost like those muscles that used to get flexed all the time start to atrophy from our lack of use. Everything’s gotten so virtual that we’re losing our ability to deal with the physical world around us. Now all of life seems to happen through a screen.”… Sentiments that I hypocritically agree with 96% of the time. The other 4% is all for viral ruling the universe.

At any rate, as the story goes, Jess finds herself completely removed from the world she was in at the beginning of the book. And for a young woman, starting out in New York City — leaving behind the life of endless hours of desk time for the waters, oil and sweat that comes with operating a “tug”, she takes an enormous leap that most would never even begin to fathom. Admittedly, there were times when she became a little too technical and I would find myself reading while thinking about the next episode of America’s Next Top Model, but it wasn’t long before she drew me right back in with terms like “thwarted by power struggles” or, my personal favorite, “Your body is not meant to sit in a damn chair”… Inspiring, I know.

And so, in an effort to finally bring this to an end, while I’m not throwing it all in, climbing to the HULL of the nearest TUG shouting I AM WOMAN, YOU ARE NOT, despite my desperate urges to do just that… I have instead moved on to other books that either will or will not inspire the way that this one has, we’ll just have to wait and see… In the meantime, if you’re looking for a little ‘you can do it’ in your day to day, I highly recommend you pick this one up… My River Chronicles, Rediscovering America on the Hudson, by Jessica DuLong. You can thank me later as you quit your job or day-to-day to launch your own personal claim to One small step for WOMAN…

One would think that taking a little trip North would be easy enough by now… a simple road trip… no flights to worry about — we don’t even bother with the Cross Island Ferry. Instead, we act as die-hards, driving like maniacs along the border of New York City and Westchester County, braving the possible delays due to traffic build ups and congestion of competitive road ragers. You’d think that after NINE years of traveling throughout New England we would have learned our lesson. But no. We haven’t. Not to mention that within the nine years we have always traveled with the Bluedog who refuses to be kenneled; We added a child in carseat — AND are currently in the last three months before we have to add YET ANOTHER carseat for the pending babe. Next thing you know, we’ll be traveling with one of those HUGE clam shells on the top of our already oversized SUV — like a meteor sized status symbol that not only exacerbates that we ARE the spitting image of the yuppies that we made fun of until this very point in out lives, but also, downsizing is not an option for years to come….

AND SO, with flying by the seat of our proverbial pants NOT being as WOOHOO ROADTRIP as we’d like it to be or as it once was — coming home and settling back in takes about a week or two…. But this trip was special, so aside from the regular getting back into IT, there was the euphoria of reliving our lives before nine years ago… of finding things changed, but still the same. You know, SPECIAL. Almost, but not really as special as this hideously hot aired introduction… Because nine years is a really long time.

Portsmouth, New Hampshire is too cool for us. Really. I mean — there’s a good chance that it ALWAYS WAS, but when we were living there — participating in daily life, who’s to say. AND, I do have to mention that this was our 2nd trip back in the past nine years — the first return in 2005 was clouded by my career that was in the middle of slowly melting my brain… so I can’t remember very much other than copious amounts of vodka and stress…. Things are better now.

The weather was perfect -  – you know, not your usual 30° below zero for a weekend in February…Tugga tugga tugboat…

The whale wall by Wyland — the famous muralist… we think it’s time for a retouch, but it was kind of comforting to see that the scrubbing of graffiti is only resulting in exposed brick… When we were residents– walking by the wall several times a day, someone was obsessed with spray painting a giant penis on the mother whale… Not that I’m against graffiti art or anything, but there are TONS of unpainted walls to take advantage of — let alone a lesson in anatomy wouldn’t hurt. Let’s keep it real, people.

The city is as eclectic as it is historical… A lot of new construction has taken place — but it was much needed AND it is all very appropriately keeping in character with the rest of the town… Character which is oozing from ever crack in the pavement… every building — old and new. And dirty. Portsmouth is a scrappy place — grunge is comfortable here… vagabonds, seriously hard core — if its too cold for you then GOOD, get out. Smoking was banned in bars and restaurants since we’ve moved, but the live music and art scenes are still as strong as ever…

And we were such tourists! If only for a night — less than 24 hours in time where we ran around with our camera exposed. Soaking it all in as much as we could, knowing that it would only be a matter of time until we were back to New York — Long Island… where the ultimate cool is only for pretend. I took pictures of our favorite restaurants, bars, shops — But only as we were walking out the door… the sound of the locals grunting and rolling their eyes following us like a red flag through the cobble stoned streets.

(I love this window)

And then we stayed at the Wentworth which was rebuilt and taken over by Marriott — but still just as haunted as can be, I suspect — without a straight line to be found… the building was fabulously broken down and near extinction while we lived in town… I can’t decide what’s more suitable, but the stay was lovely…

Needless to say, Portsmouth remains our haven… A place where we lived for years among friends and irreplaceable memories. I can only highly recommend — and while summer is still considered the season for all of coastal New England — a visit this time of year is almost more appropriate for those of us that like to really live in our surroundings…

We are heading North.

via http://www.portsmouthnh.com/

And I know. Today was finally nice outside… meaning that 20 layers of goose downed garb was not necessary for walking outside.. So why would we go and leave this 50-something degree heatwave and go to a land where ice loves you so much that it sticks to your face? Well… I’ll TELL YOU.

I think I’ve mentioned before that Mr. Sal and I lived in Portsmouth New Hampshire for YEARS AND YEARS before moving to the bitter death end of Long Island. And yes. It isn’t quite true that Southampton is the edge of the universe — it is the Hamptons, after-all (snickering). But…. ye not be unequally yoked, SAY I! It might be all shiny and glossy on the outside… but on the inside, we are still AT THE END OF AN ISLAND. An island that is equal to that of an enormously overdeveloped sandbar… One with famous people that enjoy pretending not to be famous — but don’t you dare treat them as such… As well as the overgrown populous of Trustifarians (thanks to the two Anastasias for the terminology) … Otherwise known as self-proclaimed hippies that drive Land Rovers, only eat organic and live “status” free green lifestyles thanks to that of well endowed trust funds… Also known to cluster in popular ski resort areas, University towns, The Berkshires, and of course Portlandia. It would be remiss to say that they can’t be found in Portsmouth either… It’s just that you’re too busy scraping the ice off your eyelashes to notice most of the time — Plus, any town that reeks of Patchouli as a CLEANING PRODUCT kind of passes the not-a-poser test right away.

BECAUSE… like I was saying before completely losing track of myself, we are going back to Portsmouth later on this week. We haven’t been up for a visit in a few years and I think that if we stay here — despite the hints of spring, at the end of this void where you turn one way and see the same thing you saw two seconds ago, we might just start locking our jaws and talking like Lovely and Thurston from Gilligan’s Island… I mean — IT WOULD MAKE SENSE.

And so, whilst we are away — clamoring the ice and dirty snow mounds of the city where we once lived… in complete and total SIN… please have a nice week. Enjoy the spring-like rouse before Mother Nature notices, takes a big swig of her martini and then blasts us with another 40 feet of winter before being tempted away by the Easter Bunny… I’ll catch you cats on the otha-ahh side.

To preface this post, I receive quite a few ‘Dear Ry M. Sal’ emails with questions varying from serious life changing situations to what color to wear in accordance with one’s house color… All important issues, all with merit and concerns that I appreciate and can almost always find alliance with. Usually, when I receive these emails, I read… give them careful consideration and on occasion, have been known to answer — but only via email, which is apparently a form of biometric information, so why keep it confidential?

For the most part, I tend to immediately discount myself as being an authority on anything…laughing at the possibility that I could gleam (not glean, mind you) any sort of knowledge in pretty much any given situation… because assuming that I know the answer would immediately insinuate that I know what I am talking about… which would be completely hypocritical… and therefore completely and totally in line with this blog and everything that I do and don’t mean, right?

I have, in turn, decided to scrap my practice of only responding to the ‘Dear Ry M. Sal’ messages in private. In doing so, I really don’t have any guidelines other than keeping the subject matter and tones of topics in line with the level of discrepancy used in most of the almost daily observations found on this blog… in  other words, completely and totally irreverent with anything having to do with anything.

This first email is from a regular reader and commenter that has known me for MY ENTIRE LIFE (echo echo echo). I know — snarfing your drink through your nose never feels good, especially when its some crazy holiday extravaganza/pumpkin concoction made up by the marketing geniuses at Dunkin’ Donuts… the brains on them. Let’s try not get intimidated… MY ENTIRE LIFE (echo echo echo) is only a line in the proverbial sand, right?

Dear Ry M. Sal,
This is not a comment on this actual blog, but rather a request for advice. Two things happened today. We received an invitation to a wedding in NYC; and, we received in the mail an Urban Outfitters catalog (intended for a younger, former resident.) Of course, we do not live in NYC. My question is: Should we shop for clothes for our visit to NYC in this catalog?

I have one other question. What do you think of the phrase “cool-guy-beer-commercial beards.” I saw this phrase in a popular NYC magazine this week. As an aside, the phrase reminds me of my favorite aphorism from a beer commercial: “They don’t take anything seriously, except the things they take seriously.” Do these people live in NY along with the Urban Outfitted?
–Dave Sage

First of all, congratulations on the NYC invitation, I do hear that it is going to be THE event of 2011… who knows, maybe it will last for 364 days. My advice on all NYC dress-code related topics are all about PERSONAL STYLE — of which, Urban Outfitters has none. Yes, that is right — NONE. Case in point — you can either look like a member of the Beastie Boys when they were worth looking like, OR you can fly under the radar with a “who is that guy” understatement — always sure to draw a crowd, AND you won’t look clueless doing so. For the ladies, I feel confident in saying that no one wants to look like a cave-dweller… ugly shoes are optional. Any NYC’er will be happy to tell you that they have not been Urban Outfitted… choice of language and body usage, to boot, will be creatively entertaining. In other words… It seems that only the Urban Outfitted take themselves seriously, and you can see where THAT is getting them.

One suggestion, if you are looking for some serious advice, is to consider this hat for the evening:

The Helmut, via Etsy

Not only will The Helmut keep your head warm (considering your current tropical location) but it comes in a variety of colors that will blend nicely with the black & white theme of the evening….

As for the term ‘cool-guy-beer-commercial beards’, I am at a loss. I’d like to say that I ‘think’ I know what it means, but as I do a little research, I am coming up rebuffed. Perhaps I’m taking it all a little too seriously.

All in all, I don’t think that you should worry too much about the fashion details surrounding the wedding. You will find the crowd to be open minded and accepting of just about anything… that is with the exception of velvet (someone is rather particular). In short, and to finally end this before it gets ahead of itself, we look forward to seeing you very soon!

And in postscript of this post, if you have a question, please do not hesitate to ask -  ry@rysalcreative.com.

That’s right friends, summer is over.

Yes, I know… where have I been? Summer has been over for weeks. WEEKS — but in those weeks we still had a few extra hours of daylight… we still had a few flowers in bloom–sneaking by, and I know that I, at least, still had the ability to sit, wind-blocked –of course, with my face to the sun — eyes closed, just soaking in the rays… pretending that the last week of June is only days away. But no. Not anymore. Now we have winter on the brink…. hovering down, taunting in an effort to make us all become pessimistic and angry that soon the weather will be so cold that it could actually hurt. Because, what could be an easier choice? Either join the ranks of haters that spit on the ground whenever the temp approaches 30° OR shall we go all loopy and pal up with holiday inspired nut-bags that run amuck with seasonal cheer? Tough choice… I know. So tough, in fact that I’ve decided to ignore the thought all together and instead focus on something that will totally take my mind off of weather and seasons for a while… That’s right. I’ve decided that Mondays are now completely and totally about ME.

ALL ABOUT ME. Because, that’s what this blog is all about anyway, right – right… RIGHT?!?! And on Monday, what’s worse than thinking about Monday? Not much… really — especially when you are coming off of a fun filled weekend that never even once suggested that it was ever planning to end. Right? So right. Once again, ME + Monday = Talking about MY WEEKEND. And, I know… Nothing better. I must be a marketing genius to have come up with this one.

1. Annie is still getting married. (thank goodness) and Saturday I, along with my Mom and other sister Kate, had the pleasure of hosting her bridal shower at the cutest little restaurant you ever did see… Elizabeth, on (you guessed it) Elizabeth Street, SoHo, NYC. And yes — I almost needed an automatic arm pinch machine (those exist, right) to wake me up after realizing that I’m 35 – and haven’t been south of Houston Street in… oh… about TWELVE YEARS. But it was lovely, and I think that Annie and her crew had fun…. Not to mention that she made off with a DYSON, which is enough to make anyone’s head explode.
2. The shower was a nice reprieve to my morning drive in — screaming west down the LIE, listening to Gorillaz — Fire Coming out of a Monkey’s Head… and remembering that time that I attempted to go topless whilst on the Isle of Elba… that is until I looked over at another American who was attempting the same thing… She then agreed with me that it was weird as we both quickly covered ourselves up and went our separate ways… Driving alone can make one quite MAD you know.
3. I realized that I’m not a blond. I had many comments regarding my hair… and even though I tried — it’s time to go back to brown… I’m just going to enjoy the Courtney Love-Cobain roots a few weeks longer… if only to celebrate her new found hyphenation.
4. I could qualify for NASCAR — as I weaved my monster of a vehicle out of NYC and back east down the LIE… not thinking about much of anything other than passing everyone in front of me. All of this in an attempt to get back home where our son was in complete and total LA LA Land with his other set of Grandparents and Dad catering to his every whim…  I think he looked up when I walked in the door…
5. I need a new camera (toot sweet)… This is the only picture that I was able to take at the shower, which is beyond depressing, because it was fabulous, and all this image says is BORE.
6. I spent Sunday attempting to get back to Will’s Kitchen… 2 new recipes!
7. I also spent Sunday reevaluating my time management skills… which I am experimenting with AS I TYPE. So, in keeping with being a complete control freak and way too hard on myself about the stuff that no one should EVER even consider sweating about… I’m happy to say that I have help (again) and therefore a little more time on my hands to create even MORE things to manage. (Big Sigh) All is right with the world…

So this is it. A big ol’ Monday of me… I know… JUST what you needed! Tune in next week when I once again attempt to dazzle, shock and (but of course) inspiiirree.…

I started off today with the long list of complaints. It was so long that I even heard myself saying “How long is it?” as I tried to find the end. One after another, after another after another… blah, blah, blah. On and on. Blathering until I decided that it was pretty safe to say that I was in the middle of some sort of meltdown… Either that or I was on a direct path to annoy myself to death.

Yeah, that’s right. DEATH.
And it really didn’t take very much to lead me to this place of disregard. Complete and total ignorance of how happy I actually am… It took so little for me to land there, in fact, that I am questioning my tolerance. There was a time that I was able to work with and exist around complete and total idiots — sexist, deranged, airheaded… you name it — I tolerated, and things were constantly going wrong… leading to weekly fits of anxiety — you know, basic internalization of all things bad for you. I even once had to be put under anesthesia to have the world’s smallest camera sent down my esophagus to measure the amount of stress I was hiding within bodily confines… Only to wake up shouting about deadlines and totally scoffing at the idea that I was stressed out. Is it possible that so much time has passed in not having to deal with certain character types or tough situations that now I am not able to handle the smallest obstacles? Have I become weak when faced with… anything? But where and how did this actually “happen”.

There really wasn’t anyway to predict this — things were going along quite nicely, actually… And just when I began to let myself think that… ‘hmmm — maybe NOW is a good time to relax,’ thus letting life and what have you simply happen, it did. But not the kind of LIFE that I was predicting– you know, a carefree existence paralleling with shameless gluttony and overindulgence… Because in the scope of things, everything that I’m about complain about is quite meaningless… that is given the larger picture of — you know, LIFE.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have things rather good…. LIFE is awesome, for lack of a better word and if only to appease my still bleached out split ends. I have no reason to complain. But then things started breaking down. Last week it was the dishwasher — which is no real BIGS because with flowing water and soap, we can pretty much clear up that situation… but the convenience was lost for days. I scheduled an appointment last Wednesday that we waited for all afternoon with a 1-5 window of time… only to find out at 4:45pm that the appointment had been rescheduled in error for Friday, 1-5. The next day, I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for 1:45 — when I arrived they said I was an hour early for my 2:45 appointment. In both scenarios the operator and receptionist told me that the mistakes were my fault. Which they weren’t, but I took each pill graciously — deciding to fight the larger battle should it rear its ugly head… And then the babysitter quit. Then the car needed maintenance. Then my computer started coughing up hair balls. Then my 2 year old started acting like a 3 year old. Then all of the babysitters answering my classified ad couldn’t speak English. Then there was laundry. Then I didn’t have time to read anything. Then I didn’t have time to write very much… or design… or think… or clean. Then it rained. Then my computer’s server exhausted it’s last breath. Then I demanded. Then I was rude. Then I was reminded of how I used to handle situations. I felt overwhelmingly icky and out of control.

And then, as I sat down to vent it all out to the internet… completely sick and tired of listening to myself sigh (loudly) and blame it ALL on anyone that crossed my path — that is with the exception of the Bluedog who totally looked at me all “Dude, CHILL OUT.” — Everything evened out. The former babysitter showed up, returning the book that I was obsessing over even though I haven’t looked at it in 10 years… apologizing and explaining her abrupt departure… crying almost at how she had left things but more likely because she had reached forty million and couldn’t count the rest of the hairs standing straight on my head. A few good candidates for her replacement called — AND the computer that was laying on it’s deathbed awaiting a logic board transplant (a couple $1,000 to replace) was downgraded to a video card replacement (about $200).

And so, while I’m typing this as a reminder to stop annoying myself to DEATH and just wait things out until signs of improvement begin to appear… I think I’m also, in some round about way, apologizing to the universe for acting so selfish about LIFE and everything that it dishes out…. How easy it is to put on the blinders and act selfish and full of complete and total irreverence.

THIS JUST IN! Sharks are SCARY!

And no, this is not a picture of a shark. I know that, THANKS. This is a much smaller fish that turned a wee bit camera shy after some serious tank flirtations… I was all, hey fish what’s up and he was like — “Have you seen the new Bright Young Things Spring 2011 Collection… Fabulous.” I admitted that I had but that the ‘convertible wardrobe’ kind of made me feel like 80s vinyl in a Classic 50s… To which he flung his yellow spotted multifunctional Pashmina to the sand, looking me up and down… just bubbling with frustration as I continued to faux pas myself all over the aquarium floor…

Brody: That’s not funny. That’s not funny at all.

I continue to be impressed by Long Island. I mean really. I grew up looking at Long Island from the shores of Connecticut wondering about how such a small sliver of land out there — a sand bar if you will, was able to hold all of those mechanics, buttafuocos and pizza parlors… Not to mention the supply of hair spray — how could anyone breathe over there? It was always a curiosity for me… although not too intense.. you know, between etiquette classes, horseback riding and parlor teas… with my pinky finger held sky high. Right? Because THAT is how I grew up. NOT….okay, well maybe horseback riding – but I worked in the stable too, SO THERE.  But I wasn’t quite accurate, as I danced around to Billy’s Uptown Girl, thinking  — you just KNOW Cristie Brinkley loves Long Island. And here we are years (upon years and years, but who — WHO is really counting?) later that I find myself not only living on Long Island, but only a mere 5-10 miles from Ms. Brinkley herself… Who, damned if you don’t believe it, looks like she just walked out of a Cover Girl ad AT ALL TIMES, without trying. I can remember my (now) husband telling me that we were moving to Long Island, oh so many 9 years ago… I was excited, but seriously — also saw myself in a world among greasemonkeys (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and the lovely women from Goodfellas…“A lot of pantsuits and double knits…”

Come to pass and shall never a weary eye go without sleep (nice huh?) I came to my senses and live in an area of Long Island that is quite the opposite of what I expected. And, although, we do have our share of sketchball criminals that try to pull the wool over your eyes when given the chance… you have to appreciate that they are taking care in using the best, most expensive wool on the market… bought and paid for with the money stolen right out of your pocket… But that isn’t what this is about. In fact, I haven’t even begun to talk about what this is about, aside from constantly being surprised by Long Island — and the area in which we live and all the clean air and vineyards and organic farms… children’s museums, beaches… orchards, history… art… and yes… AQUARIUMS.

But I should be getting on now. This post has grown long, without purpose… and I’ve already lied. There is really only one Aquarium on Long Island– in Riverhead. And until today, I have avoided going to visit it with every fiber of my being…. for no good reason. But not today. Today we went. We went and enjoyed fish after glorious fish, walking down the incline as the water grew murkier and darker… into the realms of the deep water species that look somewhat disturbing and ominous… as my son’s grip on my hand grew tighter and tighter, we kept moving… until we reached the mouth of a cave with the theme song to Jaws BLARING from the darkness… Will was scared…(duhnuh duhnuh duhnuh) I was mildly curious as I insisted that we turn the corner… only catching a glimpse of the Great White in the tank as Will screamed, breaking away…. RUNNING while Yelling “WE HAVE TO LEAVE”… as we made our departure I thought, huh, well that was intense. Did I mention how impressed I am with Long Island?