Everything is happening

 

I was walking to work this morning. The street I walk down to get to the Metro is a bit “dodgy”, i suppose. a speckling of prostitutes just getting off work or heading to whatever place they call home, junkies at the bus stop. Kids walking to the charter school, old grannies with head coverings and prescription bottles in their bags.

It’s not dangerous. It’s broad daylight and everyone has yet to make any huge mistakes, so no one is pissed off yet. We are walking on a blank canvas, brush in hand but haven’t gotten to the palette yet.
On this particular morning, i was doing what I always do on my morning walks – reevaluating my entire life. ha! totally counter-productive, but not always. It’s full of typical questions, like:

Am I living my purpose? I don’t like my job. I should apply for a new one. But what would that be? What would make me happy? I should be a full time writer. But that wouldn’t pay my bills. I wish i was a teacher. But that’s not what I truly am. I want to live in an Italian villa and write. I am going to save up my money and move to Italy. Why should I wait, I should move to Italy RIGHT NOW.

I want to work in a surf shop in Costa Rica. 

*huge sigh, thoughts pause*
it’s tiring isn’t it?

I am walking to the street corner, to cross. The other side is the metro. As I approach there is a junkie. He is wearing all black, sweat shirt and black jeans, even though the swampy DC summer has arrived. His face displays Vitiligo, as if someone has thrown glass into his face and the shards have stuck, taking away the black pigmentation, leaving peach, tan blotches. It is painfully striking.

As i get closer to the street corner, I sigh and end my morning ritual of anxiety and self doubt. I will come back to that tomorrow. I mutter out loud to myself to close this contemplation:

“Ugh, I have no idea what is happening.”

the junkie turns around, looks up at me suddenly, fiercely, as if he had heard my mutter. I did not think i was that loud, and his back had been turned to me.

He opens his hands, spraying them out like tentacles in the air, shakes them around. He is electric. He speaks to me above a normal voice, an aggressive yell:

“EVERYTHING is happening!!!”

He immediately turns around and keeps looking at the street’s red traffic light.

I cross the street and choose to hear his words echo in my head.
Everything is happening.
Everything is happening.

Everything is happening.

It's a blur

I applied to a Barista/Gelato part time job. What if I take my buddy's offer to be a bartender in the busy part of the city? That'd be hard, but i wonder if I'd make more money.

I feel myself transitioning into a new me. I feel tougher and a bit more fucked up. Tired. A 40 something waitress in New York City. A boxer who has come out of a ring. I feel like Steve McQueen. I am both proud and scared shitless, I am in love and lonely.





I sprained my ankle very badly last night. If you asked me i would tell you it was from running. But I will tell you the truth. It was from coming down from the roof deck with MMJC and our 5th beers. I set my foot down and the step dropped much farther than I had anticipated. But of course in the state i was in i laughed, no pain. But today holy shit it hurts.

I got a text from MMJC last night. I met him at my corner bar. He has known the owner for years. The owner sat with us and told us stories. The type of stories only a bar owner can tell you.

The bartender I went on a date with was working upstairs. I must confess part of the reason I went to see MMJC was to see what little drama would unfold. One of my flaws.

Bartender came down and I waved. He told me to come visit him upstairs but I wanted to talk to MMJC and Bar owner/Bartender's boss.

He came down later and I introduced MMJC to Bartender. We ALL sat together. At one point I was rubbing both their knees under the bar and neither of them noticed. I felt powerful. That's why I do the things I do.

I left the bar. Said bye to Bartender and MMJC leaving them together at the bar. As if I was leaving two ex-husbands at my house alone. 

I took a cab to MMJC place and we had a good night. I slept over and tried to wake up and went to work questioning everything that had seemed so solid and clear last night.

I don't want a boyfriend. I want to date three men all at the same time. It's sexy and thrilling and dramatic. At times it's quite messy and lonely and wrong. But the rush is incomparable. I feel like I'm living the way I want to. And I care less and less about the status quo. I think as long as I'm happy, that's all that matters.

I am going to try to stop seeing RPJ though. He holds my heart in his teeth - like a grenade ready to explode. There is no stable ground with him. MMJC is at least honest. We both know what is taking place.

I can predict i will break the Bartender's heart. But I don't want to.

But, are we ever truly happy? Even if i was happy I think I'd have something to complain about. Things can always be better, can't they? Or can we not just enjoy each simple pleasure? That's all we may get.

As you get older, things are so much more complicated. Blurry and no longer easy to categorize. I don't know a thing and as soon as I accepted that everything got easier.

Throwing Wine in His Face

 


This weekend I went for drinks with an older man. We had one date about 2 weeks ago. He took no initiative, but still contacted me for a non-date. And I still accepted thinking, "alright, at least we can be friends."

He's an interesting person. Bilingual, lived in different countries before. Older. Writes and actually reads books. Nice looking. Things that intrigue me. But I guess my bar isn't high enough.

We had planned to meet at 7pm, somewhere. At 6pm I get a text.

"I'm at [wine bar downtown]. How long will it take for you to get here?"
That's presumptuous. Yes, let me just drop all the shit I'm doing.
I drop it.

"I don't know. I guess 20 minutes if the metro behaves?"
"See you soon."
Ten minutes later,
"What's your ETA?"
My older, emotionally unavailable Ex used to use this phrase. A second glimpse of why I should NOT associate with this person.

"I dunno. 10 minutes I think."
Ten minutes pass. I'm still not on the metro. A minute later I walk through the sliding doors. A minute or two later I get off the metro car, headed to the escalator. I look down at my buzzing phone.

"Come on woman! Get here."
"That's rather demanding, and rude!" I thought. This is the point at which I should have turned around and went home. But I did not listen to my intuition and that's why the shit inevitably would soon hit the fan.

We met at a wine bar, blaring pseudo European electronic dance music. Misogynistic Old Asshole is sitting across from the bar side I'm on. He smiles and waves. I guess he forgot how hot I was. How much younger I was. 
"Took you long enough to get here."
"Ya. Weren't we meeting at 7pm? Not 6."
"I dunno I was here. So I texted you. Get some wine." He only speaks in commands. Another sign.

We start out talking about a mutual friend, possibly calling her to come hang out. We should do karaoke I suggest. He gives me a Cheshire cat smile, "how silly," yet he's so excited to think he could do karaoke later tonight.

Then we move on to talking about the DC dating scene. I explain my stance. No men. Not interested in men. I'm no longer interested. Looking for a relationship, not a one night stand. Looking for someone who is interested in me, don't want to get burned again. 

I explain how in my earlier 20s I did not want commitment. But when that phase was done I realized I wanted more. "Hooking up" didn't feel good. I also mentioned how I thought when you're a young woman you naively equate sex and love as the same thing and you think that if you put out, men will love you more, men will want to be with you for more than sex. At least, this was my experience.

"Equating love and sex? That's insanely naive. I can't even respond to that. Women can be so delusional."

"Delusional?"

"Yes. That's such a naive way to think. How delusional."

"Well I think that's why a lot of young girls have sex in high school. I think a lot of them want to express their love, or think if they give a boy what they want, they will fall in love with them. I think that's why a lot of women regret their first time experiences. Giving it away in a way that didn't work out as they hoped."  

"You mentioned you don't want to jump into anything, you 'got burned'? But the men you're talking about were just flings weren't they?"

"Well I guess they started out that way, but in my naivete I thought I could 'convince' them otherwise."

Angry Misogynistic Old Asshole voice: "Do you realized how victimized you sound? You're portraying yourself like a victim. When you weren't. Those guys just didn't love you and didn't even know that's what you wanted. Communication's important."

Defensive voice: "I don't think I sound like a victim. I think I'm just describing the female experience. At least my experience and what I've seen."

"You're not listening to me.  You're not special, [my name said in his Misogynistic Old Asshole voice]. You're not special. Being burned happens to everyone."

"I'm not special." I repeat back to him. He nodded with a shitty smirk on his face.

Now, I realize he meant my experience, not myself, but still the way he said this felt very dismissive, demeaning. I agree, these things happen to everyone, but when someone shares a story or experience with you, do you respond by dismissing it? I don't. I appreciate openness and honesty.

I felt the stem of my wine glass between my fingers. For a split second I considered splashing it in this Misogynistic Old Asshole's stupid grinning face. Instead, I sipped down the rest of my Rioja.





"I think I'm gonna go."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not having fun anymore." I ask for my check.

"There's no need to leave. I just thought we were having a lively debate. You're taking it so personally."

"I guess I don't share this shit with everyone so to be called a victim and delusional and not special just isn't .... fun."

"But you don't have to leave. It doesn't mean the rest of the night can't be fun. I think we've had a misunderstanding." back pedal back pedal back pedal.

I cash out, get off my bar stool,

"Bye," i say with an awkward smile on my face.

On the metro back home I received three texts. "I'm sorry I upset you. I guess I'm used to having spirited debates with friends who don't take things personally. It's not good to runaway when you don't agree with someone. You didn't have to ruin the whole night over some stupid disagreement."

I went home, pretty pissed off. But instead of crying or letting it ruin my Saturday night i called a friend and went to a corner bar and laughed and drank.

Life is too short to spend with Misogynistic Old Assholes. Even though I totally ignored my instincts and chose to be blind to the warning signs, at least each time it happens I'm getting better at recognizing. Like you know, not actually making out or sleeping with these sorts. That's an improvement.

Of Montreal

Last weekend I went to Montreal. My friend was still sleeping and I was ready to burst out on a Sunday morning. I was sick of looking at my Instagram and Facebook newsfeed in the French couple’s divinely comfortable bed I was lying in. I turned over and put the iPhone down. I looked out the window. Outside their window is a huge tree that silhouettes the rest of the backyard. I look out the window at the virile green leaves and I pretend this is my house, this is my bed in the trendy neighborhood of Montreal. The baby’s crib in the one room belongs to me too, to my French speaking baby,that answers to a French name. My husband is out at the bakery getting this week's treats. He will not forget to bring me back a chocolate croissant; this French wife’s favorite.

At the end of the fantasy I keep thinking of the chocolate croissant. I now need a chocolate croissant. “I am in the Mile End neighborhood of Montreal, Canada. I need a chocolate croissant,” the American brain in my head demands.

I pick the iPhone back up – the only necessary evil in my life it seems – and I go to my yelp app. I type in the search bar, "cafes + chocolate croissant". I find Mamie. I see it is only 11 minutes away by foot. I get dressed. I tell my friend I am going to a café to get said pastry and coffee. “Ok” mumble sleepy mumble. “Do you want anything?” mumble mumble “Noooooo….” Sleep sleep sleep.

I put on my red converses and head out. When travelling, I find one of the most thrilling moments is when you step out the door onto the street and realize you have no idea where you are going, but you are intending to go somewhere very specific. A catch 22 thrill? Down the street to Avenue mon pins – left. Then to Rue St. Denis.

I pass flower gardens, calico cats on their regular Sunday routes. I pass a house in the middle of this trendy hood that disguises itself as a greenhouse. What a glory it must be to hide away in that during the harsh Canadian winters. Magnifique.  Sip your warm coffee in there and pretend you are in Java. That’s certainly what I would do. Then walk out red faced into an artic world of icicle covered bikes.

 

All the home entrances have spiraling staircases – dripping with ivy and bursting with hydrangeas. What a beautiful porch to sip some wine on and listen to your friend play some guitar – or better yet – as I witnessed, letting Edith Piaf’s voice caress the flowers from your porch side iphone amp.

 

When I reach the boulangerie there are only three of us in there. I forget to take a ticket, since there is no one there, really. But still, I must take a ticket. I take a ticket. #“38” – ok. I wait. All of a sudden from peace to mayhem, four separate groups of French speakers tumble into the door. They are all pointing and proding and poking and discussing what they must to get. Just as I need my croissant they have come for their Sunday ceremony. They do indeed have a chocolate croissant. It is called, the “Oh Mon Dieu”.

My number is called in French. I do not recognize it, but I see it in red lights on the ticket counter so I know it is time to order. A swarthy baker asks, “what would you like”

“Je voudrai Oh Mon Dieu”  I say– the swarthy baker smiles

“et petite brioche et … Capuccino.”

“Do you want cinnamon or chocolate on top of –“

“Both” I say with a big smile.

At the counter, he comes over with the pastries and as soon as he sets them down, leaves me. He is now making my coffee. A few minutes later he reappears with a frothy cup.

“THIS is not a cappuccino. THIS is a MASTERPIECE!”

I giggle luxuriously, smile, and say “merci beaucoup.”

“Caio!” he says. Was he Italian or French? I will never know.

I pass a number of brightly painted murals. The dreams of the artist that decided to place them on the brick wall for everyone else to see.

 

I walk back to my pretend French home and sit on the porch and devour each layer of the flakey choclate croissant. I wash down the thick, ganache with “the masterpiece.”

 

 

I began my day walking hand in hand with Joie de Vivre. I make a silent prayer she would not let go of my hand until I said so.   I prayed she would not get lost in the crowd of people waiting for their bags at the DC airport, or on the metro ride back to my apartment. I tell her thank you, please stay awhile.

 

 

Montreal

I went to Montreal and was reminded of the concept and lifestyle that is "Joie de Vivre"

I intend to get back to that. I'm assuming for the next three months you will hear me singing in french, listening to french music (old and new pop). And fashion! I feel like i need to revamp my entire wardrobe.  If I could I would have stolen all the clothes from every Montreal girl I saw. They are so fashionable. Here is a guide to dressing like a Parisian girl from the summer to fall transition:

http://www.vogue.com/1061265/single-girl-paris-style-summer-dressing/?mbid=social_twitter

All the men in Montreal were SO SEXY. Totally my type: tall, dark, handsome, with scruff on their face. Messed up hair, chucks and plaid or t-shirts. Soooo flipping hot. I wanted to take them all on a bus and import them to DC for a year so I could date them all.

I ate my way through the city. This included foie gras (twice), calf's liver, shwartz smoked meat w/ pickle and cherry coke, lobster ravioli, poutine, chocolate croissants every morning with a large latte, LOTS of beer, a bison burger, macaroons, custard tarts, gelato and the list goes ON AND ON.

I feel the need for a juice cleanse. 

My take aways from this trip are:

• live with Joie de Vivre
• dress in a more Montreal/Parisian/Hipster style
• listen to more French music
• live along with the flow of life
• eat whatever i want, just not in excess - carbs aren't bad. nor is butter.

We stayed in a beautiful rowhouse in the Mile End district. I hope to one day be like the couple who lives there: fashionable, in a city, enjoying life! Which is what I do now but in a small small apartment and with no money. hahaha. 

Digital Witness

Millennials: there are no precise dates when the generation starts and ends. Researchers and commentators use birth years ranging from the early 1980s to the early 2000s. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millennials

I am considered to be a Millennial. Millennial have some great qualities. We volunteer more, we’re close to our families, and we are consistently open to new innovation and change, particularly when it comes to environmental regulations ... and new dating apps.*http://www.forbes.com/sites/danschawbel/2013/09/04/why-you-cant-ignore-millennials/ *

One of the downsides of being a Millennial, is dating as a Millennial. On a recent night when I complained to my mother that I wanted to meet a decent man to date, she replied, “Just get yourself made up and go to the corner bar with a girlfriend!” Unfortunately – or fortunately – it’s not that easy anymore.

We are a generation who is emotionally damaging each other through social networks; due to emotional unavailability and an unrealistic expectation of instant gratification.

It seems our digital selves are determining what happens when we're away from the screen. We meet people on social networks, we judge them from their digital representation (a sexy picture), we select one stands late at night after 5 cocktails and push the tiny glowing flame icon on our iPhone screen. We meet people via the internet. We have important conversations over texting, rather than pick up the phone. We dump people via text, email. How is this behavior shaping us and our emotionally expressive selves? Are we becoming or have we already become a culture that can only express things with acronyms in a 140 character text block?

The idea of meeting people via a dating application, like Tinder, is not new.  This same concept used to be in the medium of a personal ad you could post in the back of a newspaper. “Do you like Pina Coladas? Getting caught in the rain?” Online dating is not a bad thing and I personally know three married couples who met via Ok Cupid and they seem very content. I am all for new ways of communication; they are simply a new medium for the same idea. But at times, I feel like these social networks normalize emotional unavailability or avoidance. If you don’t like someone you don’t text them back, or de-friend them from your facebook.You no longer are "required" to have a conversation with anyone. You can disappear. Or so you think.

How do we get over past romantic paramours if all romantic attachments are frozen in a digital world? Each email of past lovely flirtations, every picture taken together, all instant messages are archived. They continue there, living and breathing frozen in time. In the past, if you stopped dating someone you never saw them again unless desired. Now, we can be ambushed by anyone from our past out of the blue.  Getting a blast from the past can become a daily ritual. Of course, deleting, and de-friending help with this predicament, but Google memorializes our every infatuation and breakup whether we like it or not. If cutting someone off suddenly from text or Facebook is a way to disappear, I would argue it's not working.

We need to be careful not to become detached. Numb to the face behind the profile page.  Behind there, there is a person of worth with something to offer you. If not a positive attribute, a lesson to be learned, a story to share. 

A second element Millenials need to focus on is "time." We exist in an instant gratification culture where we can get any song, food, or Netflix series delivered to us in no more than thirty minutes. Although we speed through our digital days, love remains one of the few things you cannot make instant. It’s true, if lucky you could feel an instant connection or attraction, but time is what creates true love.  Reading an “About me” section on a profile does not mean you now are compatible and know everything about that person. We are complex, beautiful beings and that is not translated on the web. Except for those digital copies of great works; the Mona Lisa, A Beatles song on Spotify. Those things do express the human experience. 

I am hoping we use this current dating world to our advantage; use it as a tool to initiate conversation, but not use it to replace our voice. Selecting someone from Tinder can be done, but once you select them, go on a date and get to know them. Don’t just have a 30 minute "hook-up" and peace out. You weren’t made for that. You were made to be loved and cared for on an emotionally open level. 

I am holding out for the serendipitous meeting in the coffee shop line, accidentally bumping into a handsome man at the gallery, the plane seat introduction, picking up my crushed tomatoes off the farmer’s market floor, but not alone. 

To love the moments we live in.

i had a beautiful walk all over the city today. i took a half day from work for an afternoon of doctor appointments. this wandering is something i rarely do. i walk with purpose even when i have no purpose. i walk very fast thinking of other things. i'm not in the moment. i also listen to my iphone or check apps. 

today i had no headphones. i let the world fill my ears and eyes. also, getting purposely lost, i had to focus on the little things to figure out where i was. it was great fun and i need to do it more often. now that the weather is good, i'm going to try to more. 

i wrote this on my "notepad" on my phone. when you get the feeling to write, you must write. and it was just one of those moments when the words were floating in my head and had to get out if i was going to remember the images i had seen today. 

Little girl bouncing along the hopscotch - the beads in her hair following suit. Jazz notes falling down the club stair case, floating through the air and taking a ride on my pounding of the pavement. I think Seaton street is my favorite. It's dripping with roses and ivy and all the houses are painted in the color of "home." To love the moments we live in. How easy one forgets.

and here are the pictures i took of Seaton street. I couldn't help it. 

my tribe

i hate it when people bail on me.
moving to a new city is so much harder than you think it will be. i figured since i did it once, the second time would be easier. but sometimes i feel like it's just as hard.
i can't wait for when i finally find my tribe. i think i've found some of them already.
i have to remember to be patient.

one thing i've learned in the past year is that this cliche is true:

quality relationships take quality time. you can make fast friends, but it is the amount of time and how open you are with them that makes them worthy friends, friends that will be there for you. this goes for romantic relationships as well.




PHOTO CREDIT: Daasanach tribe girl - Omorate Ethiopia by Eric Lafforgue, via Flickr

Only in J Crew Land

I saw this on the metro yesterday. WTF. Only in this city would you see a dollar bill ripped up for no damn reason. In every other city people ain't ripping up monetary funds! They need that money!

Out of Town Weekend: NEW YORK

i stayed in a different city this weekend. all the girls who walked the streets had tired dyed blonde hair, dark brown roots, matte red lips that cradled a cigarette. All of them wore leather jackets or fur but no puffy sleeping bag ones. such as myself.




Me and my friend watched couples on Friday night, Valentine's day, making out on the street between 2-4 am. We were in a bar, seated by a window that overlooked the avenue. After seeing the first couple macking face, we started betting if the couples would go home in the cab together or take separate cabs. It was fun to watch these little soap operas from afar, displaced enough outside the chaos to enjoy the stormy romance without the consequences.

My big purchase of the weekend was my signature perfume. I've realized every sophisticated woman has a signature scent and i want one. It's something I always thought as a rite of passage of sorts for a grown woman so i took the plunge. I bought a REALLY expensive french perfume. It says this on the back of the bottle:

“A woman of such intimidating beauty and sparkling vitality gained the adoration of everyone around her. However, no one knew what she had been through. With her wild spirit, she was tough, stronger than metal, and never looked back. When she met him, for the first time in her life, she could stand still. She may have found the absolu man.”

This is what's in it:

Top notes :

tangerine from Italy, pink pepper from China, blackcurrant from Burgundy

Heart notes :

violet leaves from Grasse, iris Pallida from Tuscany, mimosa from Grasse

Base notes :

patchouli from Indonesia, white amber, tonka bean from Brazil

WASHINGTON D.C.: MOST LITERATE, MOST ALONE.

I find it fascinating that both these news stories broke today:
D.C. is the 2nd best city for singles: http://www.nerdwallet.com/blog/2014/best-cities-singles/

It also is the #1 most well-read, most literate US city. http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/style-blog/wp/2014/02/06/washington-d-c-is-still-americas-most-literate-city/

WASHINGTON D.C.: MOST SINGLE PEOPLE, MOST LITERATE.

This leads me to the following questions:
Are smart people shitty at dating?

Are smart people too intelligent to date? Meaning too aware of the pitfalls and tragedies dating can bring, so therefore avoid or reject it.

Are people in DC so busy reading books and articles on the internet they do not need human interaction?

Are people in DC too socially awkward and nerdy to find partners?

Are intelligent people arrogant, too picky when choosing a mate?

IS THIS WHY IT'S SO DAMN HARD TO DATE HERE????

this video explains my theory:

Roman Geisha

last night i went to a birthday party. then the whole party went to a bar. at the bar i was approached by an older, Roman banker. It's as if God knows my biggest temptations. We flirted all night. Talked about Italy. Then we started talking about relationships. Then we found ourselves at a 24 hour diner because there was still so much to talk about. And then we talked about his marriage. we left the diner and both walked towards our different lives.

Nothing happened but good conversation. It wasn't about dating, sex, or exchanging numbers - that never happened; it was about talking to a stranger and the enjoyment of that. But i don't know why I entertain unavailable men. Was I a Geisha in a past life?

It's something I'm working on, and it makes me hate bars and it makes me hate dating in a way i never have before.

Rome wasn't built in a day.

My hood.

I like the subtle little characteristics of my neighborhood.

Every morning i am awoken by four bitchy Pekingese dogs yapping at each other. In the beginning of this custom i wanted to strangle all of them, but now they are a sort of alarm that rings to let me know it is time to get up.  They yap at each other every time they get outside, like they are biting each other. it's weird but it's amusing in a similarly weird way. They are walked by their mom or dad, who live across the street from me.

There is a middle-aged single mom who always talks to her old male neighbor every morning, in between yelling at her child to "get ready because we NEED to GO!"  they always seem to share a laugh though.

This morning, while walking to the metro to go to work, a little Hispanic boy maybe 7 years old, with striking green-blue eyes was walking towards me on the sidewalk. He smiled at me with a huge grin and said, "Hola!" It was great to get that enthusiastic of a greeting from a complete little stranger. He most likely thought i was some other old lady, but he was a sweetie.

Random things like that make me like my neighborhood.

i also love the fact that everything happens so close to where i live. last night i got to get drinks w/ girlfriends and saunter home to my little place. i am doing yoga tonight at the studio in my hood and pub trivia with some co-workers.

life is long and life is good.

Levo League

Last night I had the pleasure of attending a "Levo League" happy hour in DC.

Levo League is a social good startup designed to elevate young women in the workforce by providing the career resources needed to achieve personal and professional success.

Check it out here:
 http://www.levo.com/home

If you check the online community, you can see there are numerous chapters across the country, offering networks to find other women in the same career stage.

As a young woman, I feel belonging to this group will help a great deal in navigating my career. It is a fun way to ask others for advice, or learn what they are doing in their careers.  As a young woman at my first professional job, it's nice to have the support of strong, independent women in the same place as myself, and women who have already gained years of experience in my network.

At last night's happy hour I met some wonderful people. Two of them gave me a VIP PASS to FotoDC's 6th annual photo week launch party!!! I'm obsessed with photography so this is something I did not expect and am soooo looking forward to attending this weekend w/ these new gfs! :)

Last night was a reminder to put yourself out there, meet new people. Having many different networks and social circles can enrich your life in many ways.

They ALSO have a pinterest page!!!
http://www.pinterest.com/levoleague/

Whiskey & Women

http://guestofaguest.com/washington-dc/calendar/2013/october/whiskey-women-book-signing-and-tasting

http://www.amazon.com/Whiskey-Women-Untold-Bourbon-Scotch/dp/1612345646


 

I went to a Whiskey tasting/Book signing last night. I figured, "i am a woman and i like whiskey." I didn't finish the flight because I wanted to walk - not stumble home.

I got the author to sign my book and he had a very clever inscription i want to share with you, dear reader:

"S, may your scotch always be neat!"

har har har!!!

i had told him my favorite was scotch, Laphroaig


:)




i like going to random things and meeting people and not knowing what is coming next. although people complain that it is not good to focus on the future, i find the future to be a wondrous mystery - the possibilities are endless and everyday you open it up like a little gift to add to your glass menagerie collection. And when you stand back to look at it, so many people and memories whisper from the shelves. 

You never know who or what will walk into your life. It's exciting.

You're gonna make it after all.

I finished a project management seminar my company sent me to for two days today. It was at a hotel in downtown DC so i got to pretend I was Mary Tyler Moore in the morning business crowds. No hat to toss though. Can't stand the hat hair. I settled on wearing tights and a skirt from Banana Republic.



I learned a whole lot. I was reminded of the Work Breakdown System (WBS) I studied for a semester in my masters program. The seminar leader said many good sentences that related not only to project management but also real life. One that resonated with me was:

"I cannot reach perfection but I can reach excellence," shown bright on his power point.

He also said procrastinators tend to be perfectionists.

Obviously, he was talking about me. I had no idea it was common knowledge that both traits typically resided as a pair, but now, suddenly, everything makes a whole lot more sense.

Besides my basic personality trapping me into a nasty perfectionism habit, I believe growing up as an American Woman is a big part to deal with it as well.

I feel as an American we emphasize competition, being the best, being "special", standing higher than the "average" crowd.  There has always been a pressure to be "the best" - and sometimes one can equate this need to be the best with being "perfect."

Besides this American ideal of being an independent, self reliant being at all times, throw the WOMAN factor in there:

As a woman in America there is a tremendous pressure to be all the things everyone in your life needs you to be. You must be the "perfect" mother, daughter, sister, lover, employee, artist, mother goddess, yogi....the list can go on as long as you think it can.

The media perpetuates these two beliefs through ads.  I found a recent article in the Atlantic to be really disturbing regarding how advertisers try to market to women when they "feel their most ugly." This graphic below is from that article.




SO THAT'S PRETTY MESSED UP.

The fact that the media is targeting women, and trying to feed off our already deflated esteem is pretty sick.

We must strive for excellence - not perfection - in order to stop these daily assaults our self-worth experiences.

I'm going to add this idea to my daily practice. Instead of perfection, I'm going to seek excellence. I'd rather chase after something I know I may eventually be able to catch.

It reminds me again of one of my favorite Mary Oliver poems:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Crushed and Conquered.

I finally stopped having a crush on the RPJ about a month ago. i realized he had no interest in me, i was too young for him, and i needed to stop wasting my thoughts on him.

Yet - i couldn't really stop thinking about him because that man is so GD hawt. So I never really did. I still would imagine us on the island of cyprus, in bora bora, or bali, drinking beers, and having amazing sex.





Of course i realize this would never happen but that is half the fun in day-dreaming, isn't it? if it could or would happen it wouldn't be so fun to think about. Anywho - i never really stopped fantasizing about the RPJ.

And today i think the Universe decided to fuck with me.

Today i left my house in the later part of the afternoon. I was in a great mood. I got dressed in my cute hemp crocheted hippie "Almost Famous"-like shirt and put some makeup on my face. nothing fancy but let's just say i was fucking RADIATING today for some apparent reason. You know, the days when you get dressed up and you just feel great about how you look and confident? it was one of those awesome days.



I went outside, walking around my neighborhood and was looking at everything, soaking it all in. As i walked down the sidewalk i saw NONE OTHER THAN THE RPJ walking towards me on this lovely Sunday afternoon with his lady friend of the moment.

I could see the "oh fuck" expression in his face. if you've read my posts before you know this man was/is like my WHITE WHALE. my moby FUCKing dick. The one guy i really want but will most likely never have - but i'm willing to act a fool and do anything to possibly get him. I AM CAPTAIN AHAB in this situation, basically.





So i saw the "oh fuck" expression - or maybe just a "awkward" expression. BUT instead of being awkward back, or adding to the "most painfully awkward interactions i've ever had with a man" top ten list that is included with every single time i've ever seen the RPJ, i decided to play it cool. i gave my most disarming, sweet smile, said "Hey, RPJ*" and on top of everything I LOOKED REALLY FUCKING BEAUTIFUL TODAY.

(*sidenote: his name - which i can't write in this blog post just in case he ever would somehow see this post, even though he will most likely never will - is the most delicious name to come out of your mouth. You feel flirty and free saying it and you wish you could whisper it in his ear so badly, but like i said, he is my Moby Dick. When you have a crush on someone, their name is so beautiful to hear and you just wanna write it into a song and sing it in the shower, hear it bouncing off the walls, enveloping your ears and echoing back to you. This may sound like crazy-talk, but hard-core crushes include intense adoration like the sounds of names or the weird observance of the way they walk or wondering how they look stark naked.)

He responded with a warm smile, hello, and how are you as well. He was with a woman who i suspect is older than me. He must be into women his age. But i swear if he just gave me an afternoon i'd change his mind.


The reason i'm even bothering to write about this interaction is because I'm so happy I was able to have at least ONE NON-PAINFULLY AWKWARD interaction with the crush that rejected me. It's hard to see someone who you asked out on a date and rejected you. It's not something you want to do every Sunday. But I'm glad i took the opportunity to make amends and just "be cool." At least now i can hope he doesn't realize how big of a crush i had on him and how embarrassed i was when i was around him before.


I like to think someday this will not all be so hard.

Things that do not matter

I got into a nasty bike accident this past Saturday. I was at that busy, bustling, breathing intersection of Adams Morgan; between the McDonald's and the Starbucks.




I flew over my handle bars onto the concrete road. I didn't get up immediately because the wind was knocked out of me. So a bunch of people came down and scooped me up with my bike. I sat on the sidewalk with everyone staring and asking me questions, "What's your name, how old are you, what day is it?"

As soon as my head was pulled off the ground, I saw the blood.  At first it came down like a leaky faucet. but soon it just started a steady stream down my left eye, my cheek, neck, down my dress, and all the rest of it on my arms and hands. My arms and hands were scratched too though, so that could of been from those cuts as well.

Someone called an ambulance and i went to the ER. I now have a black eye and a shoulder that won't move a lot.

I WASN'T WEARING A HELMET.

I'll never do that again. I am SO LUCKY that nothing else happened to me. It could've been really really bad.

My accident also set the recent laundry lists of daily stresses in my life on fire:
feelings
past shit i can't change
boys
job
other bullshit

After i was catapulted from my bike I realized nothing really matters except:
my health
what i do with my life to positively effect others
how i live my life
and who i spend it with.


At least until I forget about my mortality again, I'm done caring about stupid, pointless, meaningless shit.

Seeing Nicholas Sparks

I took a chance and saw an Author Talk at 6th & I with the the incredibly humble and charming, Nicholas Sparks.  And i even got a signed copy of his new book with my ticket purchase!

I enjoyed the talk so much more than I had expected. I thought Mr. Sparks was going to be somewhat of a "Godlike" character - very elevated, knowing his talent and being arrogant.  My first assumption is that people that are THAT successful must be like this, even if they try to not show it - to me, Oprah and Tom Cruise act like this. Very smug it seems.

So - to my absolute surprise, Sparks has none of the arrogance and all of the talent.  He was so enjoyable to listen to.  He spoke on his new book, "The Longest Ride", his writing process, what it's like to have a good majority of your 18 novels adapted into movies, and life in general.

Some moments i loved, as a writer:

• He said he gets a "seed" of an idea and this grows into a novel. He said he doesn't know where that seed comes from, but when he gets one that sticks with him he writes about it and sees where it leads him.
• He writes for 5 hours a day, averaging a novel in a 5 month period.
• A lot of his characters are based on his experiences, specifically the people he has known and loved in his life, ie: he spoke about his wife, grandparents-in-law, brother, sisters and children. 
• "Writing is hard" - He wanted to emphasize that he just doesn't sit down and have things effortlessly flow from his fingertips
• "I'm a writer not a typist" - It's easy to type out a bunch of words onto paper, but not to write a bunch of words on paper.
• Although all of his stories take place in the South, he tries to challenge himself by writings characters he is not - ie: he is a white, male - he writes characters from different gender, races and religious backgrounds.
• He does not classify himself as a romance novelist, ie: anything with Fabio on the book cover.  He says his work are novels about life and life has great romance and love stories in it, but they should not be classified strictly as "romance novels"

Some moments i loved as an audience member:

• One question asked was, "what was the hardest character to stop writing about, or walk away from when you were done writing about them?" He answered it was Jamie from "A Walk to Remember" because that character was based on his sister who died of cancer at a young age. I got misty eyed when he told that story and talked about his sister and her life and how that was shown in the book.
• He personally believes that every person will do the right thing most of the time. and most of the time we all have the best intentions.  But sometimes we screw up or are flawed. And that is how he writes his characters. 
• He was really funny!!! You'd think he'd be serious, but he was so light hearted and happy.  Not a moody, serious writer.
• He lives in a small town in North Carolina, which i love
• He based "The Notebook" on his wife's grandparents love story. 

Sparks definitely seems like a person who enjoys life, works hard for his success and tries to take in all the good and bad and enjoy every moment. I love people like that!  I wish i could be more like that.

The Cultural Queen About Town....i suppose.

i am going to a Physicist lecture,

A Curator of the National Gallery private tour.

Andrea Bruce talk @ Corcoran.

Nicholas Sparks talk on Friday.


I'm a Renaissance woman, I am!