and just like that...

...a tiny peak of sunshine outside my window. The kind that hesistantly creeps out from behind a heavy mass of cloud, but then runs away like a child peering out from behind his mother. He appears just long enough for you to bask in his winsome smile.

i think i was around nineteen or twenty...

...and i remember what it was like to not know how it felt to be in love, and wanting to feel that feeling so badly. All I knew was what I saw between two people in soaps and in movies and it seemed wonderful. "How awesome to have someone standing beside you and holding you and kissing you all the time," I'd thought." But had I known how easy I had it, and how miserable being in love could make you, I would have never wished it on myself.

i want to blog, but i'm not in the mood.

I actually thought this morning, even before our conversation, that by the end of today, all I'd have left are 500 emails.

p.s. life is really difficult right now. i'll be back soon.

i have 3,000 tiny red bumps on my arms.

Yep, hives. This morning, when I noticed them, I worried that I might need to contact my doctor immediately because "hives" falls under the "call your doctor immediately" side effects of Allegra. But, then I stopped short and had a "ugh duh" moment. Hives actually form on parts of my body when the pollen count is high, and today's count qualifies as HIGH. So yes, this is another post about my allergies. Sorry, but they're dominating my life these days. So much so, I may--during my laundry-doing tonight--pound out a Dideon-like account of all the turmoil the onset of Spring wreaks on me. And rest assured, it'll be gross, graphic, and full of expletives.

I have more to say on another unfortunate topic--grocery stores in Harlem (or lack thereof)--but I'll post later.

thou shall not be returning to DC...

...until the pollen count is consistently below a level 3 (allegedly it's around a 2.4 today). I nearly died this weekend. Okay, I'm being a bit dramatic. Let's just say, my eyes were in a boxing match with the DC pollen and my eyes lost. Screw you oak, maple, and birch--oh evil east coast trees!!! Times like these make me ever-so thankful that there are no trees in Harlem.

I am now home, sick :-( -- and icing my face so as to hopefully resemble my old, non-puffed, clear-eyed self by tomorrow.

is it pronounced "PAPE-el" or "PAP-el"?

The pope is in NY and i'm fleeing to DC. City officials are advising New Yorkers not to drive. Mr. Pope or your Majesty, your Papelness, or whatever handle you use, please let my bus out of the city. And PLEASE, no gridlock. I'll say 5 Hail Mary's if you do this for me! Okay, actually, I won't, and that's blasphemy and I'm going to hell in a handbasket.

Anyway...here's something to watch, though you've probably seen it a dozen times or more. I like it--it's a cool video--the colors, the people, the message of course. And that little zoe kravitz is quite a pretty girl...or wait, I meant, pretty "young woman"..she's all grown up. Looks like her momma--and she sings--like her pop.

tonight, i had to use my pocket knife.

no, not to shank anyone (I like saying "shank"), but to pick a lock. Really not exciting, although maybe I'd have more to share had I succeeded in the lock-picking. Sorry I can't say more..it's so boring it's embarassing that i even bothered to post. But I just wanted to let you know that I carry an antique pocket knife (almost identical to the 4th one down here), and that I love it, and i carry it around waiting for a reason to pull it out...cuz it's that cool. And while it takes a couple inconvenient seconds to pull each of the teensy blades out, I have this delusional notion that it will protect me. Or maybe I'm just delusional in general right now cuz it's ten til midnight.

I live in "the city," but I work in Westchester.

It feels like the sticks. Hell, it IS the sticks. Lemme just say--I'm a city girl (more to come on that). So a quick trip to the drug store for an Excedrin should not mean trekking a fourth of a mile down "round the bend"--but it kinda does. My friends always give me the head-tilted, confused-faced "Oh wow, you work ALLL the way up there!?!?!" And I rationalize it all by giving them the rundown of how much I love my job (and I do), and how "we have a stellar cafeteria and an awesome gym and, for a publisher, the pay and benefits are a cut above the rest and yadda yadda more more blah blah blah."

I've worked in the heart of NYC twice before--Midtown and Wall Street--and yes, it was exhilarating to be have the free will to hop to a designer sample sale (or any sale, for that matter) during lunch, or listen to a band in Bryant Park after work, or even walk down the block to a happy hour or an afternoon coffee break if the mood struck. Oh the sights! And oh the people I met! Or rather, the people I'd always see...the celebs, the fashion folk, the models, those kids from those reality shows who decided to hang on and stay here even after the show ended.

But now that i'm in Westchester, I frequently miss those lunch-time city walks and again, it's just thrilling to have the option--even if I don't take advantage of it--to run out on a Manhattan street, buy a trash magazine from a vendor, sit on a bench, and clear my head of all things work-centered.

But, then there are tiny joys of working in the sticks...i.e. today I saw two striking, ash-brown deer eating clover in the brush outside my office window. (Yes, I actually have brush and clover outside my window!!! lol). They were peaceful and unafraid, and I thought "too bad I'm not a deer, it'd be lovely to join them for lunch." Silly. But how sweet! And something to appreciate after I return to "my city" and the noise that surrounds it on all sides.

bad food. bad play. bad band. subway chaos...

...I'm never catching the subway on the weekend again (I'm lying). Meticulous planning is not always a good thing. But hey, I'm so silly-happy that you came up. Our long talk over crab legs (yum) really got me thinking. Next time though, we'll take longer naps.

the BF is coming today. yay!!!

I rarely get so excited over an event that my brain cannot focus on anything but. Wait...I'm lying...I get quite excited over many many things and easily lose focus--concerts, shoe sales, sunny days, puppies, hair dye, and ooh, let's not forget the joy I felt when I finally learned to pluck my own eyebrows. So, nevermind--scratch that thought. But anyway, the BF is driving up tonight, and I can't wait to kiss him! For laughs--we're going to see JUMP (i'll give you a review later. maybe).

Dear BF,
I hope Tony Kornheiser keeps you company on the 4-hour drive, and lets cross our fingers **fingers crossed** it doesn't rain.
xoxo,
Me

the super-adult women. and me.

Today, it occurred to me (and not for the first time in the past year), that I am lagging behind. I've missed the proverbial boat. Depending on how you look at it--I'm either refusing to grow up, or every woman around me is insisting on being "super-adult."

So, I'm sitting there at lunch with women old enough to be maybe my slightly older sisters, and they start chatting away about their recipes, kayaking, grilling with their husbands, and it dawns on me--I feel light years behind these women in dosmestic, culinary, and well, kayaking aptitude. I truly couldn't hang--not with the conversation, and not with the talk about the versatility of Omaha Steaks. So I quickly gobbled my eggplant parmesan, excused myself, and went to my room....well, my office.

But for a moment, before I escaped from the table, I wondered why I'd been so bored with these women--and why I had not yet embraced all the wonderful grown-up things that these women found so fascinating and essential to their womanhood. Yet, I shutter at the thought that I'm somehow less of a woman because I don't care much about the best way to keep a house clean and a husband happy....but maybe...hmmm...i dunno.

All around me, women are growing up. My friends are having babies and getting married, and of course, I'm doing neither. It's not even penciled in my 2008/2009 calendar. I could say my moving to a "new" city is my own little way of growing up, but most of these adult women would think "When is she gonna just settle down and be comfortable?" I've already gotten the "Wow, you move a lot!" from a couple of my co-workers. (These uber-adult women are quite vocal.) I wonder why they're concerned...yet I admit to myself that moving isn't so much grown up as it is uncertain...unsure...unsettled...and still figuring life out. And well, yes, I'm all those things. I'm not saying I don't want the opposite, but I can't help that my pace is different. I got a late start, and then lost my map, and had a couple setbacks, and then figured out, that I was enjoying the journey anyway, so why rush it.

The only thing, I guess I can do, from this point on, is to find a new lunch table. I mean, I'd rather lag, than sit tight-lipped at the adult-woman table hiding my real self.

p.s. Today, I really missed my cool DC girlfriends--and how we indulge unapologetically in hours of crap-talking over coffees on the best hair juices and berries, that thing so-in-so did that made you laugh your ass off, who has the best happy hour drinks in town, and why on earth super-adult boys are so damned nuts.

ocasionally, I go off on a tangent.

Me. Me. Me. It's always about me on here it seems. But not today. Today is different. Today is about giving due credit to the uber silly, uber hate-larious blog of the BF (and his worthy cohorts), featured here on Gawker (wow, of all places!)! This moment deserves the quintessential awkward high school movie hand-clapping (you know the kind that starts with a hesistant few, then builds to a raucous standing O from the entire student body).

either we're the femme United Nations...

or a perfect Benetton ad. Either way...these beautiful (inside and out) girls make my life so much grander! Betcha can't tell which one is me... p.s. we were at Jaleo in DC--and it was my first time there. Some of the best tapas I've had in a long time--kudos to the chef for wrapping bacon around a date and frying it! Yum!! But then again, you can wrap bacon around a beetle, and I'm sure I'd eat it.

"so today, something grabbed my heart."

"first your text was sweet to wake up to. u
romantic u!

and then, I was walking down the stairs this
morning--to the subway platform. And this puerto
rican guy in front of me had three little boys...
one was around 7, one around 5, and the teeny one
was maybe almost 3. The teeny one was struggling
to walk in all his 'big boy' clothes, and he hit
his little leg on the hard metal step. He started
to cry...really hard...like the kinda of cry that
has no sound at first. But I could tell, even
though I was behind them, that the little one was
crying, because his shoulders were hunched high.
He was so small, I wanted to pick him up and tell
him 'it'll be ok' because his dad just seemed to
ignore him, and said 'c'mon, hurry up.'

Finally, I walk past them, but look back--trying
to get the dad's attention, so that he can sort of
acknowledge his youngest son. I know it's none of
my business to interfere...but still, I don't know
why i wanted to fix the little boy. So, the dad
looks up, and kinda gives me a knowing smile, like
the type that says 'Okay, I know I'm fucking up,'
and he seems like a good guy. So finally, he checks
on the little boy--and he cries even harder--as if
he craves the attention, and knows that if he stops
crying, the attention might go away. Then, I say
'awww Sweetie, don't cry.' and everything stops.
The little boy freezes in place, and looks at me
with the biggest, tear-filled eyes ever...his eyes
were too big for his 2-foot body. But he listens,
he stops crying. And I tell him he's 'a very brave
boy.' And he follows me with his eyes, even as
they pass me...he looks back at me.

He grabbed my heart.

Anyway, how are you today?"

and once again...

...I'm Sartorialist worthy. This is the 2nd time in the past two months that I've spied my now famous gray canvas pumps on his chez fabulous blog. The first time was back in February. Too bad her 80s origami "biker pants" aren't a worthy complement...but the granpa sweater ain't so bad. Have I mentioned I really really love XL granpa sweaters? Ahh, looks like I have.

I've had this nightmare 2x in 2 weeks...

...that you are holding me down, and I'm desperatly digging and clawing to get out of your house. Everything in there constricts my air. There's fire for me to dodge, tall walls for me to scale, and barbed fences for me to climb over. But I keep falling down. And the farther I run, the closer you are behind me. You catch me, and I curl into a heavy, broken ball...stifled under your weight. All I want is to be let go--to speak and dance and run and live--like other girls.

I smell your house--squeeze my eyes closed--and then, I wake up. And just as I did back then, I peek under the bed to make sure there is no monster.

Painting by D. Lane Taylor