fortune cookie.

I hope this "cake" is chocolate, lowfat, with lots and lots of layers.

marilyn.

No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they're pretty, even if they aren't.

text message.

"I love you and ur sandwich makin ass"

and this is from the book...

...on which that little movie from yesterday's entry is based. I haven't read it (yet), but this painful excerpt makes me sad. The author seems to romanticize Ray's fucked-up relationship "etiquette," making us ache for him. But authors do that. Writers do that. People who have lived through any type of hurt do that.

*********************

Although he does not know it, Ray Porter fucks Mirabelle so he can be close to someone. He finds it difficult to hold her hand; he cannot stop in the street and spontaneously hug her, but his intercourse with her puts him in proximity to her. It presses his flesh against hers and his body mistakes her flesh for mind. Mirabelle, on the other hand, is laying down her life for him. Every time she jack-knifes her legs open, every time she rolls on her side and pulls her knees up so he can enter her, she sacrifices a bit of herself, she gives him a little more of her that he cannot return. Ray, not understanding that what he is taking from her is torn from her, believes that the arrangement is fair. He treats her beautifully. He has begun to buy her small gifts. He is always thoughtful toward her, and never presses her if she isn't in the mood. He mistakes his actions for kindness. Mirabelle is not sophisticated enough to understand what is happening to her, and Ray Porter is not sophisticated enough to know what he is doing to her. She is falling in love, and she fully expects her love to be returned once Mr. Porter comes to his senses. But right now, he is using the hours with her as a portal to his own need for propinquity.

"...the couch shot gave a feeling of isolation."

I watched this little movie last night. I watched 85 percent of it about a year ago, but Netflixxed it a couple of weeks ago to see what happened in the remaining 15. I'm no movie critic, and this is not a critique anyway, so just bear with me.

My boyfriend came in during the last eighth of the movie, and plunked down on the couch to watch it with me. It ended in that classic cinematic way (yes, I'm giving it away): Right Guy gets Right Girl, and Wrong Guy that hurt Right Girl wishes her well, but feels a loss. And somehow they all manage to move on and live. Well, throughout the movie, Mirabelle is romantic-friend-with-benefits to much-older, emotionally detached and unavailable Ray. You’d think, at his age (he had to be at least 50), he’d be more than ready to settle down. Alas, I’m a woman, and I just think that way. But Ray wasn’t ready. Mirabelle asks, "Ray, why don’t you love me?" He hesitates a bit, but then blatantly cops out with something like, "Well, I thought I’d made this all clear from the beginning." I've heard that one before. The cold "I’m this way, take me this way or leave me this way. I’m not gonna change to that way for you." Leaving us with no choice but to either tag along and perhaps wait decades for a change of heart, or get out now with ours slightly bruised, but still in tact.

Well, Mirabelle chose the latter, rationalizing that she could "hurt now or hurt later." Smart girl. Too smart. Further letting me know, it's just a movie.

Anyways, enter Jeremy: A sweet, younger-than-Ray, socially clumsy, "aimless", and lovable all-at-once guy Mirabelle once dated but found hopeless in the art of romance. But Jeremy, knowing he had failed miserably the first time, tries again. He is miles from "the perfect guy," but he opens himself to Mirabelle, and through that, she sees that Jeremy could be "the perfect guy"--FOR HER.

And so at the end of the movie, my boyfriend (who btw, cared more for the French-like couch shot in the movie--because it "gave a feeling of isolation"--than he did the actual story) asks, "So who won, Ray or Jeremy?" I say, "Jeremy" of course, and he says, "Ray. Because she wanted Ray more." I say, "No, she thought she wanted Ray more, until Jeremy showed her what she wanted was what she needed. Ray withheld his heart, and made her second-guess herself, and she felt like getting love from him was this unattainable thing. But with Jeremy, she never had to work to be loved by him, he just did. Because she was worth it without ever having to try to prove her worth. He saw her and accepted her for her...no questions, no hurdles, no hoops."

I’m wordy, I know. But you get it.

On a separate note: Get well Emily!

the spectator

I have always enjoyed the circus--even though it smells like shit.

wear black.

Support the Jena 6.

and then there are...

...certain things we can say only to our girlfriends, and we know it will make perfect/illogical/sense to them.

"Btw, I think i'm gonna stop by **** tomorrow or this
weekend...they have a 15%-off sale on denim. While 15%
is practically just tax..it's still something...I NEED
jeans. I also need groceries too, but hey, jeans will
make me happier right now."

In search of a new body...

...cream.

(random "thank you" note)

Until last night, I thought my body cream smelled like the ocean. But then you told me it smelled like glue. I sniffed and sniffed, putting away my thoughts of what the ocean should smell like, and it turns out, you were right. I reek of glue. But come to think of it, smelling like the ocean would have been pretty stank anyways.

what a purty sunday!

(This is the 2nd time today I've posted this, but it's worth it.)

I saw Uma Thurman coming out of Whole Foods in Union Square yesterday as I was going in. She's mammoth...about 6'2", really natural and gorgeous, and dressed cas'. And of course she had that really good I-just-had-micro-dermabrasion celebrity skin. It was a Gawker Stalker moment! (looks like there was a sighting of her on Friday too.)

I have nothing else to say. Enjoy this weather, and let's hope it lasts!

it's gonna rain today.

And we need it.

I'm ending this long week with a big, somewhat exhausted smile--and hopes for a friend taking her next step toward happiness. And, since I'm too lazy today for a segue, here are more syrupy bits of an email.

"I love you *****. I don't say it enough. You
are amazing--like this sneaky little blessing I
wasn't expecting. And there you are. I love you.
If you hurt me, I'll kill you."

reapin' and sowin'.

Karma is a funny thing, isn't it? Not funny like "ha ha," but kooky and whimsical and satisfying all at once. It reminds me to be good to people. And to bend down and pick up my candy wrappers, even when no one sees me drop them.

Realize that everything connects to everything else.
Leonardo DaVinci

Men may not get all they pay for in this world; but they must certainly pay for all they get.
Frederick Douglas

They who live have all things; they who withhold have nothing.
Hindu proverb

The consequences of our actions take hold of us quite indifferent to our claim that meanwhile we have "improved".
Nietzsche

And one that I overuse:

There's a reason behind this.
Unknown

the unwelcome shoulds.

(I’m gonna make this one sorta quick, because I need my coffee.)

I had lunch with a new friend over the weekend. Nice girl, like her a lot, and it helps that we have a common “issue." This friend had patiently been on the receiving end of (some of) her girlfriends questioning her every move regarding her rather new relationship. Their frequent and nosy lectures usually opened with a “You should be doing this” or a “Girl, you shouldn’t be doing that.” My thoughts on this? If she’s happy and the relationship is a healthy one, then the people who are dishing out the shoulds--SHOULD shush it up. Oooh, I’m sassy today, huh? This topic really strikes a nerve in me.

Some people will find a flaw in everything you do, because they’re bored, jealous, judgemental, or simply a product of having someone always find fault with them. I've made myself promise to try my best not to do this to my daughter(s). These "friends" might even mean well, but a true friend knows when to dish advice on your love life, and when keep mum until you ask for advice--or really need it. Besides, it is SO the case, that if you are overly concerned with what’s going on in someone’s else life, then you probably have nothing going on in yours. (Gosh, this is another entry topic altogether, since I'm both guilty and unashamed of scanning Perez Hilton's blog about 10x/day.)

As far as the “issue” goes, talking about it with her really helped. That and the passage of time, which has proved to disprove all the shoulds that were handed out to me several months ago. It's good to finally be in the clear.

Finally, life and love is not about shoulds, it’s about drowning out all the background noise, and doing what feels right for YOU.

there are things you can't keep to yourself.

Like these four small (but enormous) sentences of an email that came my way:

"but you make me worry. and for some reason
i go with it. you give me a feeling of worry
that i hate. but you give me a feeling of joy
that i can't get any where else."

(I mentioned in an earlier post that I'd touch upon the love thing often.) Happy "it's almost over" Monday!

i almost didn't leave the house today...

...because of the America's Next Top Model marathon. This show is such good candy. Go Caridee!

(next year's gonna be the year I stop watching MTV. seriously)

the day you bought toys for adrienne.

There are certain perfect moments i’d like to bottle and give away. (how unselfish of me!)

In MUD café, we listened to “Mary” while the
waitress kneeled in close to take our order.
We ate grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches
with cappuccinos, giggling like school girls
and musing like old biddies.

I guess you can tell that I'm really going to miss you when you leave again. But at the same time, I'm anxious for you to go.

tiny kid steps.

Sometimes I email something or ramble to a friend, and I then want to post it here. Kinda like eavesdropping on myself. Often not caring, like now, that it will probably make very little sense to anyone but me.

"speaking of mang mangs...this morning, I saw the
sweaty mang mang who delivers the Examiner to
everyone's house. Damn him. But, before I could give
him a dirty look, he graciously, honestly, said to me
"You know, you really are beautiful." It was sincere
and non-threatening, so I forgot the newspaper, and
just said "thank you," and went on my way. and then
while on my way, I saw the little girl with the white
mom (the one who has the black dad. duh). And I got
really sad. I even got a bit teary. For a split
second, it reminded me of my mom and me. Mom taking
big mommy steps, and kid taking tiny, quick, double
kid steps just to keep up with mom. I got really sad.
And I'm trying to just get past the memory and put it
out of my head. I hate how these thoughts can mess me
up for a whole day or sometimes longer. I gotta get
out of DC."

something I'll probably touch upon often.

I don’t know what love is.

Or at least I’ve never been able to define it. I’ve tried though. Like back in college, when I thought I knew everything about everything, I thought I’d crafted my own interpretation of love and no one could tell me any different. Silly me. I had no idea. I hadn’t even fully experienced it yet. Just bits and pieces. Or sometimes, I was totally wrong about it. If only I'd known back then that it wasn't that he didn't love me, it was just me misreading him, then maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much.

I have a dear friend who once told me that he wasn’t sure that he knew what love was and how to put it into words, but he knew the feeling. A distinct, sometimes overwhelming and all-at-once troubling feeling that you’ve gotten into something that’s out of your hands, and you NEED to be with that person. It’s not like just missing them when they’re away…but it’s an urgency to see them. He didn’t use these exact words of course. I’m embellishing, but that's pretty much the crux.

Maybe that’s just one phase of love, or one layer. But again, what do I know? I’m not here, writing this out, to define it. For all I know, I may never know the true meaning. But I keep my eyes open for bits and pieces of what it means TO ME, and today I got just that. So, just for today, my meaning is this:

When the farewell doesn’t end at the “goodbye” kiss. It continues as the lovers’ eyes follow each other up the escalator and through the door, until one or the other disappears. Then, there’s that knowing smile that they will think of you all day, the same way that you are thinking off them all day, wanting the hours to rush by so that you can see them again.

I hate it when I get sappy, and I have no cynicism to counter it. But I’ve been wanting to get that out all day.

i make the best fried chicken on the planet.

hands down! And that's all i'm gonna say about that.

tiny bits of hope.

Yay...it's confirmed! Halle Berry is 41 and preggers! Who cares that you can't act...you've given us all hope that love, babies, and gorgeousness are possible in our 40s. Congrats Halle...you're the answer to the most depressing blog entry ever.

most depressing blog entry ever.

No, it’s not about global warming, or gas prices, or inflation, although, yes, I fully recognize the serious nature of these topics, and I don’t want to take anything away from that. But, since this is my blog, I can be as me-centered as I want, and so onto my depressing pressing issue: My empty uterus.

I’m dating a 25 year old, and I want a baby.

Not because I’m ready to wake up in the middle of the night to change diapers and warm bottles, but because everyone else is doing it, or so it seems, even women years younger than me. And just like when I was a 13-year-old Catholic school girl and my chest was flat and everyone else had boobies, I’m the perpetual late bloomer. Meet the new, adult-sized, pink-tinted peer pressure. Everywhere I look, everybody’s preggers...i mean EVERYONE, from Nicole Richie to the giant pandas--and I’m selfishly sick of it. How incredibly pathetic is it to be jealous of a panda?

I went to a baby shower last week. Nice people, but the mommy-to-be was only 26. I’m 29 and years away from being sperminated. Ask my boyfriend, he’ll tell you the same. The shower, I know it wasn’t about me. It was all about her and her entry into mommyhood, something I want, but don’t really want yet, and am quite afraid of, but really really--I still want. Confusing, right? Life is so unfair! This was my 2nd baby shower of the summer, and I’m certain--there will be more. Soon I’ll be overtaken by them…and I’ll go broke (and crazy) supplying cute little neatly wrapped onesies, bibs, and Baby Einstein toys. And what do I get? What does this all mean for me and my empty uterus, six months away from 30? Am I a failure? Who knows…and I doubt writing this little entry is gonna clear it up for me.

I don't know if you can relate, but my withering uterus sometimes talks to me…and it doesn’t whisper, it YELLS, "When are you gonna get knocked up, it’s cold in here!” and it taunts me when I pass a pregnant woman on the street “Awww, look at her…isn’t she cute with her perfect little healthy round belly? I bet she's not a loser like you.” Mean uterus! Maybe I’m schizophrenic, but at certain times this “voice” is louder and more obnoxious than I can deal with, and I end up in tears.

So anyways, I’ve heard the women-are-having-babies-much-later-nowadays schpiel. I’ve read the many articles, blogs and seen the studies and news bits dedicated to this reassuring message. But then there are also the counter-arguments. According to CNN doc (and hottie) Sanjay Gupta, experts say the best time for a woman to get pregnant is when she’s in her mid-20s. (Well, there goes nothing.) Then he mumbles something else about the increasing risk of infertility and birth defects. Ouch. Thanks Sanjay.

None of this biology makes me feel better about my unoccupied uterus, but I guess I can at least take comfort in knowing that I have a little time left. But also, it's helpful that I’m not alone…that millions and millions of other women are, like me, listening to their ticking clocks while panicking and driving their hubbies and boyfriends crazy about it. And, you know what else helps: Whenever I see an exhausted couple, each with a baby carrier haphazardly strapped to their chests, and a screaming toddler on a kid leash. At that chaotic moment, I feel the sudden urge to get down on my knees and thank the fate gods for condoms. And I humbly vow to wait my turn.