Delinquent

I was sick. That's the only excuse for leaving you without fresh content for the last week. That and I am lazy. It's weird, because it seems like the days go by so quickly and while I'm busy, I should have a better excuse than the aformentioned as to why I have not updated my blog. The Kentucky Wildcats have moved up to a number 14 spot - and perhaps it's my amazement at that feat alone that has left me bewildered and utterly unable to say much more. Who really would have thought. Perhaps it's the congestion in my head or the fantastic weather that has befallen the Northern Virginia area. Whatever the reason, I'm a slacker.

I spent an hour or so, talking with my sister tonight. We were looking online at names for my 12-week old embryotic niece or nephew. It's still so unbelievable that we can have this conversation, or that there might really be a kid that will come stay with it's REAL aunt in the years to come. As optimistic as I am, maybe my hope was always too jaded to believe I'd really have this splendid blessing. Maybe I never thought I'd really get to be a REAL LIVE AUNT. But it seems, as we near the 12-week milestone, that this kid is hanging on...I'm sure my cousin could say that it's doing just that. (Everyday, I think you are amazing, Shannon).

It doesn't seem possible that it's the end of September. Somehow there has been a whole year that has gone by in the blink of an eye. I remember these weeks last year as if they were only yesterday, can see the sunshine of those long ago months, and remember what the ushering in of October meant to me. How long ago, how it feels like it was just here. How I was just there. Perhaps it's this time of year that I will always hold so tight to. How the days become poetic as the nights get all the longer.

I had a date on Friday. It was horrible, to say the least. You know, people should teach their children how to have manners. Especially men who are lawyers. More on that later.

You really should watch the show Tell Me You Love Me on HBO. This is the show I've been waiting for...

Anyway, I've got to jet. It seems The Bachelor is on and somebody just lost a faux boob and I really can't take it anymore. I am so really old. Especially when the antics of the boobless wonder isn't very funny anymore.

Cheers.

Bittersweet

I lived in the L.V. for thirteen years. During those thirteen years I became a fan of the University of Kentucky Wildcats. It's just something that you can't help but avoid. You bleed blue during basketball season, you watch every game at home or at a local sports bar. You cheer for the players, you curse the coach for not living up to the expectation of the fans...you wear your blue & white to show your support, and you take each win and loss personally. But in the thirteen years of my residence, I never believed that the fledgeling football team could pull out a true and monumental win, like the win NB-C would pray for every year against Tennessee. I never thought they'd beat those thugs from UofL...And until Saturday, they hadn't...in a very, very long time.

Oh sure, being a Lexingtonian means you do fun things like tailgaiting the UK football games. There was nothing I used to like better than spending a Saturday during football season with my closest pals, drinking beer, cooking hot dogs, and setting up shop out of the back of a RAV-4, pick-up truck, or Suburban in the middle of the Blue Lot on game day. It was fun. Sometimes we even went into the game, you know to watch instead of relying on 98.1 The Bull to tell us the play by plays, or hearing that famed "FIRST DOWN KENTUCKY!" over the stadium PA system. We relished the fireworks that would come with the occasional touchdown, and most of the time we savored the success of the day as being ours - even if a "W" didn't come at the end.

I loved this ritual. I cherished those days. That was the good stuff.

We went to Nashville in January for The Music City bowl and that was like the creme de la creme of all supreme UK tailgaiting/fanfare. It was Blue & White heaven. A warm and perfect January day. One of the best and most memorable days of my life, one that was not only savored for the kinship and enjoyment of the day, but one where we got our "W" - and we cheered for our Victory!

And now, the other Wildcats are becoming THE WILDCATS. They are ranked 21 (THEY ARE RANKED!!!!!) for the first time since 1985! NINETEEN EIGHTY FIVE. That was the year my sister was born. That's 22 years. That's before cell phones and quite possibly microwaves. That's when shoulder pads were big and so were flourescent colors. I was eight. Madonna was just making her mark and Michael Jackson wasn't a freak. Needless to say, it was a long time ago...

There hasn't been a time in the last four months that I have wanted to be in LEX more. I miss this. I miss being a part of this and the excitement and buzz that is sure to be prevelant throughout my favorite little city. I miss football and the pomp and circumstance. I miss hearing the cheers from the stadium from the parking lot below, or the Hobbit House not far from it. This is one of those things that makes LEX great. What makes you miss it. What made (makes) it special. Maybe Rich Brooks isn't such an asshat afterall. Maybe he just might know what he's doing. Maybe we will finally get a win against Tennessee this year. Or even have a comeback victory against LSU. Suddenly, it seems anything is possible this season. I only wish I were there to experience it.

Good for you, UK. Good for you.

Oh Yeah

Did I tell you? I saw Stunning in Las Vegas a few weeks back. We ran into each other (planned) after she landed and I was waiting to get on a flight back here. She is still amazing and fantastic and beautiful all these years later. We onky got to see each other for about an hour but it was as if no time had passed at all. Like NINE years hadn't passed at all, to be precise. Here is our self portrait.

I'm off to Dallas today. Not sure how I feel about flying on said 6 year anniversary of the events that changed our lives. Flying through IAD especially. But on with our lives and on with our spirit and I'm sure security is hightened anyway.

It's been a CRAZY week. I feel like I haven't come up for air in days, even though that is not true because Sunday I didn't do anything but laundry and watch Zodiac. Saturday I was too hungover to move until 4:00 and a trip to the outlets with SEDW. So, I guess the weekend I relaxed. But Friday was like a tour stop with Guns N' Roses as I met up with a friend from GC for dinner and unexpected late night debauchery. Let's just say Garth was right when he said "ain't goin' down till the sun comes up." We had so much fun, and I'm not sure what to say about the rest of the night except that 25 year old boys are cute. Especially when they all think you are their mamasita.

Mwhahahahhaaaa.

Don't worry kids, don't worry. There is plenty of love to go around.


Back in a few days! Until then, you should read DOOCE because it's my new favorite. Make sure to check out the pictures of her dog. Fantastic.

This Commercial Disturbs Me

I'm all for subliminal advertising, subtle even, but this defies all that. It's so blantent, that I can't help but shake my head every time it's on. Seriously, I love the fact that someone came up with a commercial that will get you to think so much about it that you might just buy the product. Except, I'm not sure of what might happen to me if I were to test it out. It kind of looks painful. And well, I don't know...just looks like I might want to leave something to the imagination. In that department, at least. What do you think?

Every Man Should Own This Album

Cause this my male friends, is what the ladies want to hear.

Okay, this is what I want to hear...but that's a different story. Run, quick like bunnies. Go buy the album Trouble by Ray LaMontagne. An old friend turned me on to him probably about a year ago, but only now have I begun listening to more of his music. He's soulful, the lyrics are charming--and all in all, this is a perfect blend of yummy singer/songwriter perfection. I'm totally hooked. This is like The N.A.T's perfect music. Whiny, sappy, and mellow. Doesn't get any better.



In case you need the words, here ya go. The song's called Hold You In My Arms.

When you came to me with your bad dreams and your fears

It was easy to see that you'd been crying

Seems like everywhere you turn catastrophe it reigns

But who really profits from the dying

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you in my arms forever

When you kissed my lips with my mouth so full of questions

It's my worried mind that you quiet

Place your hands on my face

Close my eyes and say

Love is a poor man's food

Don't prophesize

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

And I could hold you in my arms

I could hold you forever

So now we see how it is

This fist begets the spear

Weapons of war

Symptoms of madness

Don't let your eyes refuse to see

Don't let your ears refuse to hear

Or you ain't never going to shake this sense of sadness

I could hold you in my arms

I could hold on forever

And I could hold you in my arms

I could hold forever

A Little Slice Of Americana

Guess who I went to visit yesterday?

My favorite of favorite of America's past. The only man I regularly courted and loved in college. Perhaps the single greatest contributor to the foundation of our country. My buddy, my long time friend, Thomas Jefferson.

To all who know me, you aren't surprised I made another pilgrimage to Monticello. The only question you may have is "why did it take you so long!?" So long indeed. I think the last time I stood atop that little mountain was probably 1999 with the husband formerly known as mine. Almost eight years ago! It was as magnificent as I remembered it. It stood in grandeur just like the countless visits before. The echos of the past still spoke to me the same, his familiarity took it usual hold.

God, I love this place.

I choraled my buddy Jeff, a native Frenchman who knows only slightly more people in NOVA as I, to accompany me to Charlottesville yesterday. We had a great (no, wonderful) day on our short road trip that meandered the back roads that Garmin suggested. Deep into the brilliant countryside of Virginia, past green fields and rolling hills that seem unspoiled from any progress to move forward in time. Up to the hill of my Mr. Jefferson. We wandered around the gardens, explored this architectural masterpiece, payed respects at his grave, and witnessed the attempt of an unknowing American diss the French, right in front of an unsuspecting Frenchman. Puzzled look on said Frenchman's face. Priceless. On our way back, we drove through the University of Virginia's campus, and found a great rooftop spot by the Amtrak (that one was for you, Vee) station in Charlottesville for a couple of beers and great conversation. It was a spectacular day, one in which a friendship was forged, and conversation a plenty about all sorts of things like philosophies on life, my weird requirements for potential suitors, religion, politics, and Jeff's sly attempts at being a matchmaker for yours truly.

A day that was hands down one of the best and where a new friendship was forged.

Oh, Mr. Jefferson and your Monticello. How you still hold my heart and mind captive!

To The Magnificent Little Monkey Man

Joey Joey!

I can't believe you are already a year old. You are a beautiful little boy who is loved beyond measure. It was one year ago I saw your face for the first time, and how I loved you from the first glance. You are a child who captivates even the casual admirer, not to mention the aunt(s!) who could never spend enough moments with you. You are a beautiful mix of your mother and father, and I only wish that I were there to spoil you and love you like I wish I could. Like I should (but haven't). You darling boy, were in the dreams your mom and I shared as a teenagers, the manifestation of lives yet to come - the hope and the love of all that was to be. Dear Joey, you are an amazing culmination of many dreams and silent prayers. May your life ahead be an amazing journey that is beyond imagination.


Happy Birthday sweetest boy and all my love to you in your many years ahead.

Hints & Expectations

In my reflections of the past few months, I've realized that I have unfair expectations of people. In turn, I think this gets in the way of a lot of the things I try to do to move forward in my life. It's almost as if the optimism in me says - oh give it a few moments more, surely they'll come through - because isn't that what people are supposed to do? Someone will reach out their arms to save me. Someone will understand that I just need them to be there. But rarely do they ever. And what happens is I end up feeling defeated and destroyed. I can't help doing this. I have done it all my life. It drives some people crazy about me, while others think it's a fine quality to have. I personally, sit somewhere in the middle.

One of the things I like best about me is that I am an eternal optimist. I see the glass half full about 90% of the time. It's only when I'm in a deep blue funk that I see the glass as empty, cloudy, or not nearly full enough. This happens to be the case for me over the last few months. Four to be exact. I've been teetering somewhere on the edge of manic depression since the end of April. Masked well, smile ever present. Behind closed doors a total freaking disaster. Waiting for someone to notice that I was doing everything wrong as it pertained to dealing with my life. People don't notice unless you don't function. I'd like to think of myself as a reasonably functioning disaster. She who spirals down farther and farther into her mind and empty bits of her soul, giving pieces of reason for the actions that are no longer reasonable. Afraid to do anything to help myself. Easier to cry because crying means acknowledgement, crying is a sensation you forgot for like, seven years of your life.

It's hard to fool the outside world, but it's even harder to fool yourself.

And finally, after months of solitude and reflection one day the light switch turns on and everything is illuminated. As cliche as it gets, you wake one day and the drops in the glass seem to add up again, instead of being taken away. You begin to have clarity and resolution. No longer wanting to be afraid or holding onto the illusions of the past. It seems the reigns have been placed firmly in the palms of your hands, and you willingly take the lead. So much change has left you tired and in need of the calm only your spirit can bring. Somehow you see what you've come through - like a hazy fog, a distant memory. You know you can be better, and you want to be.

My divorce was final two years ago this week. And it's grasp, his grasp, has loosened but the earthquakes still continue hit. Two years, it has taken me to wake up and to stand firmly on my own two feet. To get it together. To understand who I am and who I want to be. Who I don't want to be. Each chapter tiny aftershocks inside me, each step forward leaving me in a better place. I have made many mistakes, but they were mine to make. I have been to hell and back, you might not realize it, but I have. The difference is that I'm no longer looking back. I'm no longer waiting to be saved and I'm no longer scared. I no longer need to have affection to prove my self worth. I know that happiness is a choice and a choice I wish to make.

I know that the hope that overflows within me is greater than any fear I may ever have. I know that people are inately good, and I choose to believe that. I choose to have high expectations, and I choose to be a positive person. I choose to be happy and forgiving, of myself and of others. To have passion and desire, and an unquenchable thirst for something more. I choose to be thankful and to love longer and more than I should. I choose to believe in possibility and not complacency. I choose this wonderful life I have made for myself and to maybe even become a joiner.

Perhaps these two years, perhaps the last four months have defined me. But in no way have they defeated me.

Restitution is officially paid in full.

Connection

I was scrolling through some old posts today. Funny how they can transport you right back to the time and place their relevance used to hold so tight. As if you can remember the hours in which you wrote their words, the way the day felt as you let them wash over you, the way in which certain juxtapositions formed the greater part of that time and place. So long ago now. Such a far away place and time...

In my query, I stumbled upon a quote I had posted from the movie Shopgirl. Almost instantly, it took me back exactly to the moment I first discovered it. It was a summer evening. A relatively typical Friday night for me. I ordered a pizza and dove into my Netflix. That night, I watched Crash, and Shopgirl. The lighting in the Hobbit House was dim, only the table lamp and it's soft amber glow to light the nooks and crannies of that otherwise dark room. I remember talking to my friend, online. Taking it easy, I lit several candles, turned out the lights, and retreated to my favorite place - the extra-long bathtub in the otherwise extra-small bathroom. I read from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, a fourth edition paperback with it's pages yellowed from time. I was drawing pause that evening, and surrounding myself with words and images from months of needing and wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself. Months that lagged on without resolution.

That night, while watching Shopgirl, I was able to find some words that offered me the comfort I needed.

Words that I haven't looked upon in just over a year, or thought of since. Somehow these words that rang true that vivid July night, are even more noteworthy all these days and months later. Their relevance still stings me, though this time for very different reasons. This time the words take hold for all of the moments that have come to pass, and all of the goodbyes that came too soon, quite possibly because of a few stolen moments that led me on the greatest journey. Most definitely because he never meant to hurt me. These words echo a profound and familiar strangeness somewhere deep inside. Strangeness this time because I am no longer standing in only her shoes, but the shoes of both Ray and his Mirabelle, looking back at the world through each others eyes.

Ray: Just so you know. I'm sorry for the way I treated you.
Mirabelle: I know.
Ray: I did love you.
Mirabelle: All right.

As Ray Porter watched his Mirabelle walk away....he feels a loss. How is it possible, he thinks to miss a woman whom he kept at a distance so that when she was gone he would not miss her. Only then did he realize how wanting part of her and not all of her had hurt them both and how he cannot justify his actions except that...well...it was life.


This time it is the prose of a thousand conversations that have come to an end. The knowing, and acceptance of many mistakes. It is the beauty of trying anyway. The helplessness of running scared, and being paralyzed by fear. Of unexpectedly falling in love with someone who knew he could not love me back. Of being loved by someone who I would never love back. It is the split second reactions that cost me everything. A million tiny moments where I feel my world around me growing bigger, and smaller with every breath. It is the sum of the successes and failures. Of all the good and bad.


It really is life.

Saving the world, one company at a time

So.

I just completed the big presentation. Biggest presentation of my relatively young career. It couldn't have gone better if I do say so myself. I'm scheduled to present to the CEO, President, and all the VP's the first week of September. This is a good thing. This is the kind of thing that opens doors and leverages all those years you've spent building credibility. This is the thing that takes you places.

So the three weeks of work, really long hours, and Sunday's spent developing may pay off. Yay. It'd be nice to make a difference and bring around some much needed change. It'd be even nicer if it paid off, for the company, and of course for me at the company. It is definitely the right direction to be headed, and I'm proud of myself for it.

So tonight, I will not work late. I will go to the gym and maybe watch a movie. Just relax and take a deep breath. Good work today.

Good work.

I Seriously Have Issues

Just sitting at my desk (at home, not at work of course), and was going to reapply some lipstick after lunch. What I discovered in my purse was that I might have a problem. I mean, six lipsticks, three glosses, and three liners? If my very limited math skills are correct, that equates to twelve seperate units. I am only one person. There are only seven days in a week. How much lipstick does one need exactly? As you can discern, I am not a brand loyal shopper (for the most part).

Here we have many major brands represented. For example, the trio of lipliners from Revlon (Mocha colorstay), MAC (in Whirl), and the newest by Lorac (number 8). Gotta give a shout out to my lipsticks from L'Oreal in the essential staple shades of Naked Ambition and Fawn Fatale (ooh la la), as well as yesterday's Wearable Rose from Bare Escentuals, the super slick and shiny Raisin Cane by Benefit, a recent add of Lancome's Amande Sucree, and today's special by Nars in Masai. Of course one can never have too many glosses, and my preference for lipgloss is always Lancome. It's the only kind that actually stays on my lips for more than 6.2 seconds. My favorite is Dreamsicle, (only second best to the staple Miracle that was recently purchased and then promptly forgotten in an Anaheim hotel), and we also have Berry Bold. This little sample from Clinique is called Camisole, and it tastes like poo.

I think maybe my makeup fetish may need to get in check. How can a young hipster like myself (fantastic play on words) ever fulfill her dreams of being rich if she keeps spending it on $16 tubes of rose-colored bliss?

I may not be rich but at least my lips look good. And if they don't, I only have myself to blame.

Cheers!

Coincidentally, this is my 200th post, because I'm sure that should be signifcant somehow

I'm going to see The Cure. I think this is significant because they just seem like one of those bands you must see before you get old and saggy (er). I think it's very exciting that Robert Smith looks even creepier all these years later with that pancake makeup, heavy eyeliner, and whacky red lipstick. I gotta give it to him, at least he's keepin' it real. Their album Wish is still one of my favorites, and yes, I confess, I do still listen to it when I'm depressed. Check. And there will never, ever, be a song like Pictures of You. Sigh.

I soooo hope they play it, I mean, it's the essential Cure song. They've got to play it, right???

So September 19, bitches...woot.

Stuck Between Here and There

There is something happening to me right now.

I feel like I'm going through the motions of moving forward and hanging on again. Perhaps my move is finally sinking in, perhaps I find myself challenged in the desire to fully start living my life here. Still clinging onto the memory of a life I used to find a little to familiar. I am in a state of constant movement, of constant longing, and of constant commotion. I think all too often of all that is left behind, and I'm fascinated by all that lies within me. I have this intense yearning and desire to stop feeling so alone. To be held in the arms of the people that I love. To remember how it feels to be surrounded by people who know me for me. Yet I am in awe of the experiences and self reliance I have come to know in only a few weeks, a couple months, out here on my own.

My heart is pulled into a direction five hundred miles South and West of here. To a place where life stands still to me only in memory. Where the cars pass by an address that used to be mine. Where the sun rises and sets, just the same as when I was there. But now, it does so with one less citizen. Days pass by now in that place, unfettered by the soul that exited its gates only a few months back. Undisturbed by my fleeing. Little does it know that the person who never could call it home, only knows now how to call it just that. And the people there...The people who I don't know how to let go of. The old friends, the best friend, the newest friends who were left all too soon. It just perpetuates this need to run back. To wonder how I ever took them for granted, or ever wished for more.

To be 30, and single, and slightly edgier than the people in your new place of employment were quite ready for, in a suburb not exactly what you pictured it to be, is hard. I find myself in a constant battle with my mind. The good vs. the bad. What out weighs the other? Was this the right choice, or was it me, running, again? I struggle with the wondering, with the looming cloud over my head - will anyone here ever know me like they knew me. Will I forever be...

This lonely.

Because I sure am, lonely.

There are days that are better than others. Where strangers who only see me as threatening, ask me questions about who I am...where I think, maybe a breakthrough isn't far off. But it isn't the same. And I wonder if it ever will be.

I think about the friendships I sabotaged on my way East on I-64. My best friend. Whose laughter I hear, and whose tears I see played over and over every day in my mind. She who I loved more than anything else there. She who made it home.

I did so many things in my grand departure that I am not proud of, and my restitution has been masked by illusions of grandeur, by fleeting moments of content, marked by an ever present battle between my heart and my mind.

If there is such a thing as Karma, well, she has come knocking on my door - demanding her payment in full.

And I live in regret.

Regret for not appreciating what I had. For not truly understanding what it meant. Or for seeing the love that surrounded me. I regret not being a better person to the people I should have been better to. For causing my own heartache, and the heartache of those I cared for the most.

And somewhere inside my core, there is something that still enables me to know and believe that where I am is exactly where I am meant to be. To learn and to fall and to be just me, maybe for the first time in my life. Perhaps where I need to be is totally alone so that I may stumble, to recreate and to learn how to stand on my own accord. To be self reliant, and to rediscover. To cry. To remember. To be thankful and draw pause. To not take for granted the friendships I do have, ever again. To make changes in a company - that needs the kind of changes I can bring. To meet people who have never had the pleasure to meet someone like me. To be sad and spontaneous instead of sad and pathetic. To love from afar those who have changed me the most. Appreciating, a life that was better than I ever thought it was.

It's a strange feeling of empowerment and utter helplessness. Of wanting to say, I need you. I'm sad. I'm lonely. And I'm happy. Because, I am happy. I think that's what is the strangest contradiction. I am happy. Yet I'm so sad. I don't know how to balance these emotions or feelings. I don't know how to say things to even my closest friends because I can't describe the intensity these mixed emotions have. So I retreat, as always, inside this empty soul, inside this small apartment, inside another empty bottle.

I retreat, because I don't want you to know how bad it really is. I just want to smile and laugh and hide the tears that come too easily, no matter what their origin. I want to hide behind the good days (that do outweigh the bad) so that you can't tell that I'm having a hard time.

Anyway, I'm stuck somewhere between here and there. Between the good and the bad. The past and the present. The before and the unknown. I'm stuck. Trying to move forward before I spend too much time holding on to something that is no longer there, as I'm so prone to do.

Waiting to learn more.

Wanting just to remember.

I Always Said, She's Hell On Wheels

And it's not even an election year.

Good job, Floss!

Delirium and Randomness

It smells like pee in the Hotel/Apartment. I know that My Girl hasn't done the deed inside, but I'm perplexed as to the smell that I can't seem to get away from in here tonight. Odd.

It's hotter than 69-kinds of love in the No.VA area. I only went outside this morning, at lunch, and to take Abby for a walk and that was more than this old girl could handle. When you are anywhere but the beach, 95-degree winds do not count as blissful. They are just hot air. Much like most of my writing.

I made a trip this weekend and got to see some of my friends. It was a bit of a foolish, and spontaneous one, that left me really, really, freaking tired and unable to, yawn, get back into the groove.

I'm working on a big-for-me presentation at work. It's keeping me hostage at the office until 7:00 p.m. each night and so I really don't feel like blogging when I come home.

Really excited about the new Jane Austen/Anne Hathaway movie. Going to go see it on Sunday. By Myself. Yes, that would be solo movie, deux.

Just got notice that the love of my life, Paolo Nutini, will be in DC on October 4. The dilemma to accept an invitation to make another trip across the pond with a friend+her friend has now just become a harder decision to make due to that unfortunate show date. Couldn't he wait until the 6th? Bollocks.

Had weird dreams about you.

Figured out that my Vee's due date is the one year anniversary of my Grandmother's death. It seems a brilliantly beautiful irony.

Off to more PowerPointing now.

Will be back from neglect, soon.

The Best News I Could Ever Receive

My cousin is pregnant.

I'm going to be an aunt...

Can I just express how freaking amazing Shannon is? To give so much of herself for this opportunity to give my sister the greatest gift of life? To not give up and hold fast her determination...We got the news yesterday, and after an early call stating that the urine test was positive followed by some long hours spent waiting for the blood test to confirm, it seems my little sister may soon be a mom. How wonderful and utterly unbelievable. It hit me in a swell of emotion after my four hour delayed plane took off the ground...A flood of tears came over me. So much love for Rebekah, for Shannon, for all of the miracles that have and will continue to bless them, and us.

So please keep our family (growing! family) in your thoughts and prayers over the next few weeks...On to the 12-week milestone.

This is life's wonderment, these are the miracles we pray for, this is what is rewarded by faith, and hope, and love.

It seems so real. So true that the greatest is always Love.

The Least Complicated

It's been a good week. You know, not the kind of week where everything is perfect. But the kind of week where your routine is changed, maybe for the better, even if only for a brief second. It's been the kind where you are grateful for the split seconds that come to pass because they give you different scenery and surprising bits of change. Where you feel abnormal and yet, happy, all in a matter of minutes. Hours. Days. Not where you gain profound, life changing moments. But where you just have nothing to complain about. Nothing to feel sad about. Or extremely happy about either. Where it's just calm. And the peace comes over you. Where you know, that you are still in a huge state of change. That the change is going to be okay.

So as I sit two stories above the street, I can only reflect on the week that has come and is on its way to being gone:

• A flawless weekend in Northern Virgina, spent with family...spent with people who just know who I am...spent in the glorious sunlight...even if the sunlight was temporarily interrupted by the earth shattering stock revelation...it still rocked out.
• Traveling, again, to the city I loathe, but bearable for the good of earning miles.
• Somewhere where questions of earnestness are pervasive in every spoken sentence.
• Where the finality of the most important of friendships is revealed and concluded in a single word.
• In a place where you've seen a long-haired man, carrying a chihuahua in a bag.
• A found sacred temple for men who like to wear shorts, black socks, and sandals.
• Someplace where Geek gets its definition and women with plastic surgery are the norm.
• Sitting in the LAX airport, surrounded by English blokes and middle aged-American wannabes.
• Where you hear an accent, steal a glance, and a woman is immediately set on fire.
• Days that leave your knees and joints mangled.
• Surrounded by people who may never love you for you, at least not the way you were used to.
• Where an orange polo shirt, a favorite pair of jeans, horrible - yet semi-fashionable shoes, and accessories by Tiffany, Coach, and Gucci seem to just have to work as an ensemble.
• Where you are thrilled and horrified by the thought of a red-eye.
• The same place where 3-glasses of Merlot and McDonald's make a fine dinner.
• A place where you can say "I'm heading back to the East coast," and after the words cross your lips it finally hits you that you fulfilled your goal. To go, instead of wish. To have the documentation to prove it.
• To be carb-laden; bloated; and menstruating.
• The only place in the world where you can see a newscaster, faintly reminiscent of Jewel (with better teeth), delivering the weather forecast in a baby doll dress.
• Somewhere where Lindsay Lohan's recent arrest was not only the biggest headline, but also breaking local news.
• Where concrete and palm trees are supposed to form Paradise.
• In a place where commercials seem to perpetuate your divorced-American family because of how great you look after your Fantastic Sam's haircut.
• Thousands of miles away from the boss who doesn't know your cell phone despite 1) it being the number he called you on in order to hire you; 2) it being attached to all your email signatures; and 3) it being given to him prior to your departure.
• How sweet the feeling of getting a taxi and arriving to your door in only 20-minutes after landing .
• Seeing your best friend (albeit it of the canine variety) after a few days away.
• Arriving to a Gorgeous Giggling Frenchman (GGF) surprisingly back on your shores.
• Being so tired on a Thursday night, but spending an hour and a half talking to someone who is fast becoming a best friend, and feeling somehow revived after hearing her voice.
• Being asked to lunch with said GGF...
• ...and dinner too...
• Feeling a sense of accomplishment two months after arriving, still without regrets.
• Being okay. Financially. Emotionally. Professionally.

Yep, I'm pretty sure that next week it will all go to shit.

For My Slimy

It's been like, eighteen years or something since I first wished you a happy birthday...and although I'm a bit early, I wanted to make sure you knew that I am still thinking about you on your birthday all these years later.

In honor of your thirty first, I wanted to give you a trip down memory lane. Just thing, if you never bought this, then you would have never named your son after my favorite New Kid...
Joey Joey, which, I might add, was said here, first (I believe).



It's Sole, you know? Seafood... God, that video changed my life.

Have a great birthday!!!

Love ya!

Oh Shit

I just found out/confirmed...

I lost in the excess of $30k in stock to follow the yellow brick road to move here.

I just screamed. And cussed @&*@&#@*&#@*&#@*#&@*#&@*# HOLY SHITTTTTTTT.

I could have paid off my debt.

Are you F'in kidding me???

This shit only happens to me.

Eww.

Dear friends,

I'm back to the City of Angels this week. Perhaps this time, I'll see him:



There is always hope.

If you don't have plans and say, you wanted to get away next Tuesday, you could join me for an overnight romp here:



Free hotel!


Anyway, this week has been crazy and the good part of crazy during the week means that I'm getting very busy at work and actually getting to do what it is they hired me to do. I also got to catch up with a good friend from college this week - and the hours passed by effortlessly and all too quickly. My aunt and her family is in town this weekend and I had a great day shopping, lunching, and talking with her yesterday (not to mention I walked away with a new pair of some fantastic Gucci sunglasses, compliments of her). It's been a great weekend spent with family, full of sunshine and incredible weather. I'm also reading Wicked. And LOVING it. It's the first book in a very long time that I haven't wanted to put down.

Yawn.

That makes for some really boring blog material.

Back soon with tales from another tradeshow floor...

Cheers,
N