i came back.

to reclaim my "roots." well, that's a lofty expression and not at all entirely true. Here's what really happened:

I was sitting on the subway, chatting with a friend about starting a new blog. Something that incorporates my day-to-day hodgepodge with pieces of my city that make me stop. open my eyes. drop my jaw. reconsider why-the-hell-i'm-here-in-the-first-place. As I write this, I fill ready to burst at the prospect of coming back to something I once gave my heart to daily. But back to my story. As I was telling the story to my friend of wanting to start something new,  something great...it dawned on me that I had something great already HERE. My something old, so to speak. I had love here already. Large amounts of it. Truth. Beauty. Happiness. Pain. Reflection. Energy. All that here, if I wanted it. And to leave it for dead...well, a waste beyond tragic. Pardon the melodrama. If you love something, you always love it. And if it serves a purpose in your life, you welcome it back into your life, in some form or another. When you're ready. I (think I) am.

I'm going to unpack now, lay out my stuff, take inventory, and start new—or start old. And I might need a fresh coat of paint. Stick with me, if you like.
x

p.s. This is the most beautiful thing i've seen all day.

i moved...

i really love everything here, but i wanted a change. it took a while (I had to pack and all), but I'm practically all moved in now. Just need a new coat of paint (maybe) and some rearrangements. And the walls are much to bare right now. Still, I hope you'll visit :-)

Oh, I almost forgot, here's my new address.

when you have the opportunity...

...to carpe diem and enjoy these first days of Spring, do it! Choose a day in the middle of the week, and call in sick (or take off in advance, if you're more responsible than I am). Don't log onto to your email (though, you can log onto your blog if you must). I insist.

And if you live in or frequently visit NYC, check out the sunbathing seals and boat rides in Central Park, take the bus down 5th Avenue (it's the cheapest tour you'll ever take), buy a good book for park-bench reading, try the Vanilla Rum gelato (skip the Guinness-flavored one. Yes, Guiness, the beer) from Il Laboratorio Gelato, and kiss someone (be sure to ask first).

Work has allowed me no time to think full, free-flowing, unscheduled thoughts about...well, whatever... so today, I had no time for work.

p.s. Il Laboratorio Gelato is opening a larger shop this summer, and this, my friends, is a very good thing.

p.p.s. RIP Alex Chilton. 59 is way too young to die :-(

Photo: keanerdotnet

blame it on daylight savings time.

"I have my own insecurities, I don't have the wherewithall to deal with yours, too" ...is what I should have said. I almost regret posting yesterday, only i don't believe in regret. Still, I say this because almost immediately after hitting "publish," I felt my insecurities being splashed across the computer screen like wet paint. Insecurities are that way...they stain us...they stain our world, and if we blog, at times, they stain that, too. If we let them.

That's really all I wanted to say.

oh! how i try hard to keep my karma clean...

...and not to routinely think terribly rude and unkind thoughts about others—not counting nyc subway riders. But today, I need to vent. Here goes:

A woman who works with me, in a senior position, came into my office for a meeting during which the conversation trailed off into a discussion about her gym and how she's not sure she'll keep her membership because the people there are muscley, crazed maniacs. Then she says, "I hate the women at my gym. They're all skinny. Just like you."

Hmmmm. I wouldn't take offense, except I hear a different version of this almost every week from a woman at work. It's not-so-much that it's offensive, but more that it makes me considerably uncomfortable when someone comments on my body—unless of course, we're good friends or sleeping together. So, what if I said something like, "I really don't like the women here. They're all pretty fat. Just like you."

It's not at all me to say something like that—I'm much much more likely to comment on a woman's shoes or hair—not their weight. But, just to prove a point, would that be wrong?

On a side note, I'm no idiot... I realize that many cultures (and fashion magazines) regard "skinny" as the ideal body type, so perhaps she meant it as a compliment. And perhaps it's the negative connotations that come to mind when I hear the word "skinny" that chip away at my self-confidence. Growing up, in a black neighborhood, with black women and black relatives drilling into my psyche that "skinny" wasn't a good thing...wasn't healthy... wasn't the ideal—I admit to having unresolved issues with the word. Yet "slim" or "thin" or "svelte"—don't hurt one bit...in fact, I prefer them. I need to think on this more, and perhaps consult with some of my slim-thin-svelte girlfriends. Or maybe even Randy Cohen.

Stay tuned. Oh, and tell me what you think!

I just ate a half-melted section of Kit Kat from my purse.

But in my defense, it was still in the package, and there were no visible lent or dirt particles present. Is that gross?

Anyhow, speaking of defending my indiscretions ...

I truly-deeply wish life will slow down a bit...so I can post! And by "life" I mean, work. At least 90 percent of my life lately is work. The other 10 percent consists of time-spent-with-loved-ones/sex/yoga/eating/going to the bathroom...oh, and sleeping. How sad is that? If only I could blog about myself for a living.

Speaking of which, I've watched all but the last 10 minutes of Julie & Julia, and even if you don't love/admire/respect Julia Child (and I do), you should see it. I mean, if you like food, particularly, rich, gooey, drippy, buttery, meat-centric food, I suggest you click-and-add it to your Netflix queue. Of course, I can say a little more after I finish watching it. WARNING: It will make you hungry.

But again, I want to post. That's my uppermost goal this week...and I have at least 2 juicy ones in the pipeline. And by juicy, I mean love-speckled and slightly sappy. So, until then, I bring you the Oscar-winning animated short Logorama. It's truly brilliant and worth the 16-minute chunk out of your life. If you watch it and think otherwise, tell me why...because I can't imagine who could hate this film....well, except maybe Ronald McDonald.

post this on a wall...

...where you can read it and refer to it regularly. And  by "this," I mean this. I'm printing out these 40 life-isms as we speak/type/read, and highlighting numbers 5, 8, 9, 12, 13, 20, 22, 25, and 28 in pink. Which of these will you highlight?

p.s. In honor of National Pancake Day—I wolfed down 5 yummy banana silver dollars (not the ones below, unfortunately). However now I. CANNOT. MOVE. So I strongly urge you to not follow in my footsteps. Choose your own pancakes, but tread lightly. Don't eat 5 all at once and perhaps skip the butter and syrup, oh—and the side of bacon, altogether.

Photo: D'Arcy Norman

on being a teeny-tiny bit fearful to fully commit...

...hannah had this great advice for me...and while I can't post the entire email (out of respect for her/my privacy), I posted the eloquent and supportive little snippet I loved most of all...

...perhaps it's the expectation that may be getting in the way. maybe when we tell someone something about the past, we expect that "chosen" person to then be so affected that they'll be there forever, as a blanket to cover us, as love to protect and house us, so we'll belong... we're all like this... everyone's heart gets broken because that's the inevitable progress to adulthood. people break promises and sometimes they leave and disappear, but you'll always have you, and the universe, and the love in it. and sometimes that love brings people back to you as well.

p.s. This week is National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. What will you do to promote good health and acceptance of all bodies? For me, it'll be iyengar, followed by copious amounts of comfort food, a few glasses of Cab Sav, and lots of dancing (hello, cardio!)...because in my opinion, being healthy isn't always about moderation...it's about harmonizing the extremes.

downward facing dog.

I'll be doing a lot more of those from now on--along with some planks, trees, baby cobras, and savasanas. Today, I just closed my eyes, handed over my credit card, and joined an amazing yoga gym where all the women look like they don't need yoga. It's okay, if all goes well, I'll be there soon enough. But, it's about mental well-being, right? Riiiight. No really...I'll explain.

Several months ago, I "dumped" my therapist. I'd learned so much from her, like how to identify patterns--the negative, self-sabotaging kind. But there came a point when i felt the learnings slowing down, and that was my cue to move forward. At times, while I appreciated her insight and understanding, I really needed some instruction, someone to tell me not to jump off that bridge. Like many relationships, this one ran its course, and ended.

Several times since the "break up," I've given thought to what I'd do if I needed to resume therapy sessions again. Looking for a new therapist in New York is a daunting process--there are so damn many, and they've all written books on "loving YOU more," "winning at love," or "getting the love you want." Time was when it seemed all my friends here had therapists...now not so much. People don't have jobs, so they don't have health insurance, or maybe they're just finding other ways to cope with anxiety, addiction, loss, painful childhoods, and love woes.

It turns out my "other way" is yoga. Nothing new there really...I've always loved to practice, but after trying a week at this new-ish yoga/pilates/full-body-conditioning "ahhh come in, we love you here" studio in my neighborhood, I felt something different. Not sure if it's the lavender-scented mats, the huge multi-purpose rooms (lotsa props), or the super-human instructors, but I've felt this tangible sense of all-consuming happy energy after each class. I think they call it a "high." The type that you want to break in half and share with someone you know could use it. This must be how my-friend-Mer feels about her daily run, or another dear friend feels about ballet. Whatever it is, I feel good all over (channeling Stephanie Mills), and less inclined to run down aisle-hogging shoppers in Trader Joe's with my cart.

Another thing: During yoga, I don't think about my workday, or bills, or even what I'm going to be when I grow up. I'm in the moment...completely. And of course, trying not to focus on what the guy behind me thinks of my bum (which is also, by the way, very excited about the weeks ahead).

so, the Chinese super of my apartment building...

...doesn't speak English. And that's totally fine with me since I've hardly really needed him for anything crucial other than the two times I stupidly locked myself out of my apartment. In one case, he called the landlord, who translated, and then allowed me to climb out of his bedroom window, up the fire escape, into my bedroom window. (If anyone is reading this now and thinking it's easy to climb into my bedroom window, be warned--it's now locked.) In the second case, he wasn't home.

I run into him 3 or 4 times a week, and he always greets me with a "hello," and a nod, and I do the same. Then we share 15 to 30 seconds of awkward silence. If not for the language barrier, I'd say things like "So, how's it going?" and "Love the paint job in the hallway. The gray was a lovely choice." Or even, "What's with your love of boiled cabbage? You're a nice single guy--but the smell HAS to be just a little off-putting to the ladies." And I'm sure he'd say things like "Why do you keep locking yourself out of your apartment?" and "Why does your neighbor insist on smoking in the hallway even though there are 'no smoking' signs all over the walls?" Or maybe even, "Look, you seem like a nice, respectful girl. But would you and your lover mind toning it down at 3 in the morning? It sounds like you're gonna fall through my ceiling and I really need to get some rest."

But alas, those conversations will never happen. OR WILL THEY? Well, I have a mustard seed of hope.

On Saturday, I ran into him as I was walking up the stairs to my apartment, and he paused, as if calculating something life-altering in his head. And then, like a child with a slight--almost undetectable--speech impediment, but with remarkable eye contact--he blurts out "Hi. How are you?" I responded in my usual sweet manner, "I'm well, thank you." I didn't realize until I stuck the key in my front door that the super and I had just had a conversation. Yes, "Hi. How are you?" is a casual phrase that people pass around so frivolously that it's rather meaningless in most cases. And he could very well have had the ability to say it all along, and maybe felt that I hadn't yet--until now--earned the right to the "how are you" portion of his day-to-day greeting. I say all this to say, it was more verbal communication than I'd had with him in the whole year and change I've lived there--and a sign of respect, I suppose.

Anyway, it gave me great pleasure, so I figured I'd share. When I see him again, I'm going to stop him and say "lei ho ma?"--the Catonese version, of course. Let's hope he doesn't speak Mandarin...or get offended...or think i'm trying to flirt with him. Uh oh, I think, I mean...I hope, I mean I'm almost certain I locked my bedroom window...

a little reggae music...

makes for a lovely end to a steamy July weekend. this post is meant to honor reggae and dub legend Lee "Scratch" Perry. I prefer to avoid the overused phrase "the one and only" yet in Lee's case, the shoe fits. Anyway, this was my first time seeing him live (what a show!), and likely the only time in either of our lifetimes. He's 73...still horny (he has a song that uses the "P" word about 35 times *blushes*) and shamelessly eccentric--think bedazzled baseball cap, layers and layers of gold chains and rings, and a fuschia beard. Love it.

a lil bit o' good news.

I'm not Irish...but today I'm lucky. My company just voted to NOT do lay-offs. Just as I'd figured out how to make the most of being dirt poor in NYC while struggling to pay rent on an overpriced, tiny (err--cozy) apartment--I can now resolve to continue making the most of living as usual--and perhaps saving for what may come down the road.

In honor of no lay-offs, I'm grabbing a couple of my dearest girlfriends for an all-night dance-(and flirt)-a-thon.

Have a lovely weekend all!

p.s. And Nichole...if you're listening "CONGRATS" to you.

last night i dreamed...

...the wars ended
and strangers danced in the street
waving flags from trees

I made a feast to celebrate
but you never showed.

even in the best of times,
i have learned, though slowly
you are not there
and i do things i typically would not
like make a feast

now i have learned, to not do the things
i typically would not--to begin with

waiting is hell.

when you're waiting for the lay-off list to land under your office door, you begin to consider how great life would be without the obligation and stress of a nine-to-five, and how dismal life would be without that stuff that makes the world go 'round. and how temporary everything is...jobs, income, layoffs, office doors, stuff (maybe even stress--if i so choose).

p.s. i whole has passed. yes, i'm a bad blogger. i know. i don't deserve the title "blogger." don't hate me (if you're at all even reading this).

i wrote this on march 30.

and i found it in my "drafts" today.

i miss the bf sometimes. everyday. he's completely moved forward and let go, and right there in 2nd place, i've tried to do the same. but i miss the old us. the happy us...and isn't that what they all say...they "miss the good times"? but wouldn't it be a blessing to have someone to get through the bad times with as well?

I've still got his shower scrubby under my sink, and he might have my bath scrubby still in a bag in his hall closet. who knows. when we broke up, he gathered all my stuff, dropped it into a plastic bag, and put it in his closet. It seemed very cold. Though, I thought to myself, "why not just throw it away?" i still have all of his emails...over 200 of them. i don't know whether to delete them or not...seems cruel to keep them, and cruel to delete them. months ago when i asked him if he'd kept the emails, he said "yes"...and that he'd keep them, though he probably would not read them. I wonder...

6 am

dawn's light jumpstarts the day,
kicking the night frost from his branches
"go away darkness. go away cold"

the deafening silence becomes
the song of robins
the stillness--
the dance of winds
the flutter and the tempest

yes, you are ready, my love

as the first elm bloom undresses
the laying grass shakes itself to life
the air has a virgin's odor
new. warm. lucky.

for 100 days ahead
we are Spring.

Image: sudhamshu

calgon, take me away.

that phrase never gets old. There are days I really wish I could say "take this job and shove it," another cliched, but never-gets-old phrase. Today is one of those days. I love my job, and I'm lucky to have a gig that I like, pays me decently, gives me health benefits, and even sometimes fulfills me creatively (I know, I know). But more and more lately, and partly due to the economic crisis, I've considered whether I'm cut out for many more years of nine-to-fiving-it.

Freelancers always seem so relaxed, don't they. And they work from far-off places--like the hammock in their back yard--or some warm, sunny vacation spot. I'm not saying that's the road I'm taking anytime soon--because lord knows the market is too unpredictable right now. I guess, I'm just sayin'. Just venting.

And on top of the stacks of paper on my desk, and the to-do list that covers pages of my notebook and hardly has any cross-outs, there's the looming sadness that my writing is having to take a back seat. And it hurts. a lot. I wrote short prose-y things (I think you call them poems) last weekend. It fulfilled me more than several months of working my ass off and bringing home a decent paycheck. go figure.

it's been a month...

...and I can no longer get by with the "my computer's dead" excuse. I'll just say, "Life has taken over" and there's been a lot of it. So much to say, so little time. Work has taken over as well--and it's kicking my butt.

Okay, enough rambling. This post was just to say "hello" "I've missed you," and I'll be back really soon, and more consistently, with peeps and winks from my life. Ooh, and there's love stuff, too! Hope I still remember how to blog...xo!

okay, baby is dead.

i cannot post enough sad faces here to describe my utter distress over the news that my lovely laptop has a dead hard drive. All the pictures. All the music. All the porn (he hee hee). All my writings and scribblings (thank god I write everything in notebooks). And no, I did not 'back up.' I feel like Carrie in that episode where her computer flashes a sad face and shuts down and everyone keeps asking "did you back your files up?" Except instead of a sad face, I got the Question Mark of Death.

p.s. Enjoy the weekend! Since I won't be trapped inside typing away on my laptop, I think I'll spend the weekend outdoors. Allegra--check! Patenol--check! Neti Pot--check!

"40 plus and single?"

this was the subject line of an email that sneakily squirmed it's way past my spam filter today (gotta get that thing fixed). c'mon! times are not that hard that i have to be tagged "single" and 9 years older, are they? wait--i'll answer that. NO, THEY ARE NOT.

or perhaps the gods of dating are suggesting that i'm meant to take a lover in his or her 40s. how clairvoyant of them! but wait, i guess if they're gods--they'd have no use for psychic powers. anyway, don't know where i'm going with this, so I'll end here by saying, i have neither the need or want for the matchmaker emails. In fact, I made a match all by myself just half an hour ago with a chubby little black pug, with one good eye and a hankering for my ham sammich in a charming little hair salon on Broome--where jacqueline gave me a lover-ly bang trim (see below). He crawled onto my lap, enduringly planted himself there--and I fell madly in love with him. Oh, and then he fell asleep.