Sucks

Breaking Up- The Instruction Manual for the Pathetic

1-Learn to master the fetal position. If you wind up tightly enough, you can keep yourself warm. Sad.

2-Distract yourself- call EVERYONE you know, even people you don't necessarily like. Make plans. Drink heavily.

3-Step away from the computer. The temptation to send e-mails to your heart breaker is too powerful. Don't do it. No ma'am.

4-Stare at the wall and chant 'Nam-myoho-renge-kyo' till one of 2 things happens:

a) You become one with your inner self and feel a power and strength you did not know you possessed

or

b)you realize how incredibly stupid you sound and probably look, that this chanting stuff is bull and you start laughing hysterically.

5-Eat copious amounts of peanut butter (crunchy only- creamy is not efficacious for some reason).

6- CRY (best to apply the fetal position technique outlined in #1)

7-Moments you feel like you are going to fall apart, think of how hurt you are, let the hurt turn to anger- find a tennis racket and beat the hell out of your living room couch. Then call your therapist.

8-Watch 'Moonstruck' and tell yourself to 'snap out of it'

9-Listen to Enya...or gangsta rap- and do interpretive dance around your apartment. Yeah, I know, but it works.

10-Know that it will get better. It has to. You WILL be okay.

IKEA

I must be the last person on earth to experience this kind of humility- this kind of frustration: IKEA. I bet it is lovely- never been there myself, but it must be divine enough to persuade one to buy MANY pieces and take them home. Then the insanity ensues. I have never felt so stupid. You know they say your brain works in different ways? Math, Language- we all have our forte' but IKEA....I call it the company of the mute, plotless comic book (oh, I left out 'instructional')- it is an 'instructional' plotless comic book. Only one little dude that appears in a single drawing. The rest of the book is pictures of screws and holes and arrows pointing to things it knows you are not understanding because NO ONE CAN and let's not gloss over the fact that there is not one single word in the entire 'instruction' book. Not one. NO words. Why would we need words in an instruction manual? The Swedish apparently don't use them. We don't need them either. Let's have some meat balls.

And might I just say, my schlep to help my friend put her new pieces together was not all that successful. And the wine did not help our mental potency . It did, however, help the time pass with laughter.

New York City

Whether you are stopping through or chasing something you cannot find, this is New York City. Drop your bags.
You can know who you are or simply thrive in the palate.
Pick your color, your saturations, your sounds, your temptations.
Pick your neighborhood, your people, the vibrations in the air, the languages rushing past, and when you find that world no longer thrills you, just get back onto the subway.
Sit next to permanents and strays, between mink coats and the homeless.
Take in an underground concert or contribute to a man’s bottle of bubbly as you walk past.
This is New York City.
Know who you are or embrace the transformation.
Come here to grow, come here to anchor or come here for every day in between.
Change your hair, change your clothes, change your lover, change your gender.
Have one night stands or barely stand out at all.
Eight million eyes are on you and yet no one is watching.
Rebel against the world or climb its ladder.
Here, suits and construction boots walk side by side.
Sit in the park and watch the planet stroll past.
Travel to two gaping holes in the ground and remember what the world was…before.
This is New York City.
Millions will come and go but the island will remain- the best and the worst of everything.

Time to Schedule Boredom

It is strange- last night I was in a mood I am RARELY in. I wanted to go OUT and be BAD- like go to a seedy, smoke-filled bar and accost someone, make out against a wall, bathed in sweat with some nondescript rap music blaring in the background. I wanted to be 'out' of character. But nothing came to pass. I was soon visited by Mr. Lonely and Senor Depression. I awoke with them as well, though I will admit that my dreams of flying tell me my return to dance proves good for my soul. Luckily I have medicine I did not know I needed: a book I am reading called "Eat, Pray, Love". It makes me ponder in both lust and sadness the need to get away- to the core of me. I am not sure I can find her in a city that demands the masculine of me ALL the time- the strong- the 'do-er'. I think the feminine in me is deep; she has been starved for a long time - she could not reach the nutrients amidst a large, required and pervasive masculine arm crossed in front of her- like the seat belt of a car. I long for decadence and paths with no purpose and moments of truth rather than lists that I then check off --- 'done...next?" Is it true that I do not know how to do nothing? I have always strived upon structure and balance but the world gives me gifts of boredom-at least I view them as boredom. In actuality they are reprieves from the 'musts' and invitations to the 'needs'- even if what I need is to do nothing at all.

The Present

So, I am inside my head again. No really. I cannot get out. It is like an uncomfortable situation. Like when you get into an elevator and as the doors close you realize you are about to go 13 floors encased in someone else's gaseous vapor. Where did that come from? Was that me? No. That was not me. Good Lord! You go one floor- you want to get off. Please God, don't let anyone else get on...oh no, we are stopping. Yep. Great, she thinks I did it. I can’t look her in the eye...I have looked at my watch 9 times. Subtle. "It wasn't me!" Naturally, she gets off the elevator the floor before I do. I linger, embarrassed and angry. I get off the elevator. I watch the next poor sap get on.

Uncomfortable.

My brain itches sometimes. It has so many voices. And let's be honest, we all have the voices. In fact, the one with the ego is writing this right now. "I don't have an ego." "Yes you do". They battle. But I was thinking (or the more sane of my voices was thinking) that a truly medically insane person, you know the ones that pepper the sidewalks of New York, the ones that scream out loud as they walk having virtually stimulating conversations with themselves? These people are not unlike me. The only difference is...they say what I am thinking. Truly. Own up to it. If all of my voices talked out loud- I would be THAT person. You would be that person. So does that make them crazy or just 'unfiltered'? Does that make them lucky? Maybe I am missing out. Maybe letting all of my voices ‘talk’ rather than stifling them would be better?

I got off topic there...choral hazard…the cacophony of personalities dies to a quiet hum. “Shut up, I am trying to make a point.”

If I am so in my head and think so much then how then can I ever BE present? I am reading and have read more than one book recently about the power of living in the moment; about the NOW- about how to truly be alive one cannot be dictated by the past or the unknown. My problem is that I am constantly on the peripheral of a moment- even if it is an amazing moment. I am always aware but I teeter…I think, “If I could only go back and change…if only I had…” Or, on the other hand, I am in this divine moment and I catch myself thinking about the future- worrying over it- something so trivial. My mom calls it ‘borrowing trouble”.


So if I have one foot in the yesterday and one in the tomorrow…well, you have heard that quotation. I am basically peeing on today and when I realized this some days ago, when I had my AH-HA moment, I began to cry. I have never been present. Not in my whole life.

How do you do it? Tell me. Tell just one of the voices in my head, please. One of them has to listen. They are diplomatic.

If the ‘unexamined life is not worth living’ then how does one examine his life and not live in the ‘thought of it’ instead of the ‘now’ of it.

Maybe I should lighten up. People that love me tell me that all the time. But this is too serious of an issue for me to shake it off as nothing more than my ball of nerves squeezing down upon my existence. I want to know. How do I live in the present? I have asked all of my voices and they are no help. Maybe I should ask one of those misunderstood souls on the sidewalk. Maybe he knows something I don't.

Smoking Chef

I am a pretty low maintenance girl. In fact, when it comes to cooking and eating...the less I have to do the better. I am a chronic grazer, a picnicker of sorts so it makes sense that I did not make much use of my 'stove' in my previous apartment (some would not say it qualified as an actual cooking device). But now, oh now, a Viking range beckons in my new home and so after purchasing two very tempting steaks, I decided tonight was the night I would play with gas (as in the kind in the stove- not the kind I am sure to have later).

I got out the olive oil, the salt and pepper, I turned the large sleek stainless steel knob. Magic. It works.

And so does my smoke alarm.

The meal was brilliant despite the blood curdling alarm that eventually conceded defeat to my open windows and breezes created my panicked attempts and mad flapping. The cow was a little overdone but I have to say, cooking an actual meal was very satisfying- to my tummy and my soul.

I will do it again. And I will remove the battery from my smoke alarm.

One Sentence

Nothing is more beautiful than a very pregnant woman, sitting on a park bench bathed in sunlight, delighting in her vanilla ice cream cone, with golden retriever, head in her lap, hoping for any 'extra' drops.

Could Not "Pass" this "Over"

When you live in Manhattan as I have for some years now, you are likely to have seen just about everything. So when something occurs that makes you stop and stare or something you saw lingers with you throughout the rest of your day, it is a rarity. Today I was working at home and after a wrestling match with an ornery computer, I decided it best to take in a walk along the Hudson bedazzled in the spring sunshine. I set off blissfully with iPod on and rounded the corner to Riverside drive, about to cross over to the park when I notice not one cab, not two, but probably 50 or 60 all parked along the side of the street - some 3 or 4 deep- and not a soul in them. I looked to see if I was in front of a building where a concert could be held or some large gathering...no. Where were the cab drivers? I slowed down considerably and rounded another corner where all of a sudden there were nothing but men, all on knees, bowing and praying in unison. They bent over and touched their foreheads to the sidewalk and back up- over and back up- over and back up.

"Wow", I caught myself saying- probably audible to anyone nearby. But my sheer fascination and curiosity went head to head with my utter respect for religious freedom. The latter kept me walking. I only barely hesitated. I mean, surely in New York I had seen this before at Passover? No. I had not. All of these men, all of them cabbies, all of them parked haphazardly to jump out and pray together because their religion said it was to be so.

I love moments when I feel like I am in New York for the first time.

The Naked Stare

I just had one of those moments. When I am in the bathroom and after letting the water wash away the soap from my face, I lift my chin to catch my eyes in the mirror. I stay there. I look so long and so deep into my own eyes that I can see my reflection inside my reflection inside my reflection - all in my pupils...in and out..they get bigger and smaller...the water drips down my face. I stay there. I talk to God.

Have you ever stared into your own eyes so long, so closely that your face becomes distorted? That you no longer see your form anymore? You see something else. Someone else. That is where I got today. I used to do it a lot when I was a little girl. This is my best time to talk to God. And it is funny- with all the fear and anxiety and stress that I am experiencing right now- there was a calm there- inside my eyes. And I saw a woman who has so much to do.

Moving = Breakdown + Build-Up

So, I just moved.

I had heard people tell me (WARN ME), "Oh, wow- you are moving? Have you had the breakdown yet?"

Me: "What? No- why?"

Now I know why.

But my new neighborhood is, in a word, divine. The upper west side has this charm that is inexplicable. Kind of like the difference between being 25 and 35. Both are great- both ages have energy and youth but at 35 you have let slide away all the 'crap' of image ( I am so looking forward to this)...you know enough of who you are and have enough history to just be as opposed to 'being' for others (insert yuppie and trust fund babies abound with no remorse or sense of humility). But hey, that is my opinion.

Post breakdown? I cannot articulate how alive I feel. Crossing over the park I had one of those moments. We all know when the city can get to be too much. Sensory overload. And then suddenly, as quickly as the wind hits you in the face, you have another moment, another overload, yet everything makes sense. You want to be nowhere else than here...than New York. I felt the sun warm my skin, heard a dog bark and a child laugh, the sound of a baseball cracking off of a bat, and smelled the freshly cut grass. If anyone had told me this could be New York, I would never have believed them. But now that this is my home and now that I have just that- a home- I can be nowhere else. Crossing the park is a symbol of crossing into newness for me...a new side of town, a new home all encased in a new season that flourishes with possibility.

So that is that.

Lack of Lumps

Oh, the bra.

It feels like a fraud. I mean, putting curves where there are not any feels wrong and yet? What is it about us women? We have to have these 2 lumps or we do not love ourselves. While most women have to 'tame' their lumps, I feel like I am in the secret service- just trying to find the hidden anecdote- the bra- to make me look like I have lumps at all. Ok, the grass is always greener but... How can I look natural when all mother nature gave me was the 'pass card' ?

They are not that bad. In fact, in 30 years I know they will not be around my hips....that would be impossible. Gravity cannot work on something that is not there.

Bra shopping is on par with a root canal.

Looking down...nope, still nothing.

Series of Moments

“Happiness makes up in height what it lacks in length.”

If you think about the fact that life is just a series of moments, it can depress the hell out of you. Why? Because most of those moments are not anything exciting and even more of them are painful. But then, every once in a while, you have a spec on the timeline of life- like God squeezes you and in that moment, you forget the previous thousands …you are in THIS one and it is good. No, it is great.

I think we all live life waiting and hoping for those moments…to bridge the gaps of the ho-hum and the sad infused. So what I want to do is remember. This is why I write. I can come back to these words. Because we all have a short-term or even selective memory. Funny how we readily recall the ‘wish I could forgets’.

I had an experience today where, for the first time in a long time, I felt that PING- that ‘God Squeeze’ and I KNEW I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing and that I was great at it. And now that the ever-present ho-hum moments have surfaced again, I hold onto today- to help me bridge the gaps and to know that my life does have purpose and the track I am on, no matter how many detours I take, is the RIGHT one. Isn’t that what we all really just want to know? That we are on the right track?

Today was an audition. You know- that feeling of- get your nerves together- bring YOU into a room with complete strangers- DO what they tell you to do and basically stand there naked (emotionally). The voices in my head taunt me… “ You know you are better than this, than what they see…Why can’t they ‘get’ me? Why can’t I just make them see?…Why can’t I live up to my potential in this moment? Ever?

I have done it a hundred times but today was the day. Today I was in my body, in my mind, in my voice, in my shoes, in all the talents that have been given to me and each crappy, hurtful, embarrassing moment I have had in the exact same situation on countless auditions before, got me here…prepared me for it. It was worth it.

Today I believe in my existence.
Better hold onto that feeling.

A Joy I Know Nothing About

There are a few things in life that bring us unending joy: people, Fridays, seeing your dog waiting for you when you come home from work, whatever. And then there are those things that bring us joy but we know nothing about them...how is this possible? How can something I know zilch about make me happy? It dawned on me. It is the journey- not one that frustrates the hell out of me because I just want to 'get there' - to the end of it...but when I realize that it is in the 'finding out' that excites me- when I see that the love of something propels me forward and I know that it is the learning, no matter how humbling or daunting, that is the reward and the impetus...

So what am I talking out? Okay, I admit, I wish I had some religious metaphor here or that I were speaking of some life- changing spiritual endeavor but I am talking about...wait for it...wine. Yep. Wine. I know, I know. But truly. How much do you know about wine? If you say a lot I say you don't drink it- ever. If you say you know 'nothing or not much about wine' I say one of 2 things...either you don't and you stick to your beer or bourbon OR you do drink wine, love it like I do and realize the more you try, read, taste, the LESS you know and the more you want to....that is good stuff, right? I mean for wine anyway- at least there is a payback- I am not talking about my insatiable urge to know everything about the world of accounting.

So if you appreciate the grape as I do and think that, were Jesus here, he would want to split a nice bottle of Pinot Noir over dinner, I have a little something for you...a website you should check out if you have not....his name is Gary Vaynerchuk. Dude is nuts (about wine). He is borderline certifiable but he is changing the wine world- making it fun and taking the stuffiness out with the cork. He has a video wine blog and 5 days a week close to 60,000 people tune in to watch him taste wines he has never tasted before- to watch him describe a wine as "shoe leather meets cherries covered in bacon fat." A man who trained his palate by eating everything he could long before he was of the legal drinking age and now, he can tell you, EXACTLY what the wine smells like and tastes like....if nothing else, he is highly entertaining and proves how far passion can take you.

You have your Robert Parker, Josh Reynolds,your Wine Spectator and Wine Enthusiast but now you have "The Thunder Show" and a web wine insane gent from New Jersey. Who knew?

My passion is wine. I know nothing about it and with each new one I try I know less. Just means I get to 'study' more. How awesome is that. Why would I rush a journey I never want to end?

Salud.

http://tv.winelibrary.com

For You Only

Was there ever one thing you always knew you were good at? One thing. And maybe you never told anyone because you thought if someone knew- they could take it away from you or make you do it so much that they would find fault with it - and steal it away. They would take your hope. Not that you ever had hope of using it. But it was one thing that was yours and no one else’s. Then one day you wake up, exhausted from searching for that one thing you are truly good at- your talent. And you realize that you have been circling- around what you have always known. But you have let it lie-your 'undiscovered' talent- dormant. And deep down, you know are still good at it- that no one could take it away. But still-you keep it under wraps. Because what if the world does embrace it and then it is not yours anymore- it is theirs and one more time you fall short. I can’t risk it. Some things are better just for me- no matter what- right?

Old Sweatshirt

I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I am wearing an old college sweatshirt. Just the fact that I call it an ‘old’ college sweatshirt makes me sad inside. Am I that much older than I was when it was my college? Yes. I guess I am. So, do I even have the right to wear it anymore? I mean, am I the same person I was then? No. Not even close. I guess I never considered clothing to have an expiration date but if we should stop wearing things when we are no longer the person we were when we wore them the first time- I don’t know. Maybe I should. Funny how you can feel you don’t have the right anymore- even though it is you: you then and you now. And the changes that are so great in number and degree happened so slowly that you never saw them- as they happened. It takes passing by a mirror in a sweatshirt you used to wear, when you were someone completely different- to make you think about it.

Untitled

You think you would know- before. I mean, you think you would see it coming or feel it. But then you wake up one day and it’s there and it’s really apparent and it becomes all you think about. It walks with you into every room and you wonder how many people can see it. So you try to cover it up. You try to make other things stand out to take the focus away but it only makes it worse-like the more you try to conceal it, the angrier it gets. Is it as bad as you think it is? And then when you finally decide to do something about it and you put your hands on it and stand in front of the mirror for way too long examining it- knowing full well it is better to leave it ALONE- you just can’t. Because you think one more try will do it- because you think you still have control. But there it is- bigger and uglier than before. Maybe tomorrow when I wake up it will be gone. But it never is- not completely.