New York Doesn't Heart You Back

My first response upon seeing this headline:

Went a little something like this:

In case you didn't know this from reading my blog, tourists are awful, awful people.  They treat locals rudely, and treat the city like Disneyland.  Excuse me, but this is a real-life place, not some made-up Narnia.  Stopping in the middle of the street to take pictures is not okay.Why does NY Not Heart Tourists?


TOURISTS complain loudly when anything takes longer than five minutes.  In case you were wondering, everything does.  Things worth doing will take MUCH longer.  Yes, the subway can take upwards of hours.  Yes, if you don't have a reservation, it will take 1.5 - 3 hours to seat your party.  Yes, there is a line for the bathroom.  You know what makes the waiting worse?  Your self-entitled huffing and whinging.  Oh wait, NOT.

TOURISTS are afraid to ride the subway, for some inexplicable reason (I've ridden the Amsterdam trolley, Roman buses and Parisian Metro, and not speaking any of those languages I can tell you, PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION IS NOT HARD). 

TOURISTS can't understand why everything is so expensive (higher overhead = higher prices = higher wages = pays my bills so I can listen to your whining, jackass). 

TOURISTS WALK SLOWER THAN ROMERO-ERA ZOMBIES.  Seriously, PICK UP YOUR FEET.  Or at least walk single-file.  It's my morning commute, not flippin' Red Rover.

TOURISTS glorify the dumbest part of the city - okay, Times Square is exciting like, the first time.  I can even forgive the line around the block to get into Hollister on Fifth Avenue, because it's kind of funny in a tragic way.  But 9/11 was a scary and sad thing, the ramifications of which we have to live with EVERY DAY, and your souvenir hoodies and rubber bracelets from the 9/11 Memorial remind us of that, so thanks for bringing it up.  Maybe we should go to your hometown and photograph fatal car accidents, screen print the onto T-shirts, and wear them around all the time.

TOURISTS don't do any research.  I once had an otherwise lovely Texan couple ask me what "That there buildin' was."  If you can't identify the Empire State Building in the age of Still Photography and The Internet and after TWO King Kong movies, you might be a tourist.  Other amazing questions:  "How do we walk to the Statue of Liberty?"  Well, I hope you have a wetsuit, because it's on a freaking island!  And the lament:  "I didn't know you guys were closing/we needed a reservation!"  CALL AHEAD.  I call every place I ever to go ever, just to make sure I'm not walking into a disappointment.  "We came all the way from _____" is not an excuse for not doing your prep work.  I'm sure they have phones in _____, you could have called to check.  Jackass.


There is a distinct difference between a tourist and a visitor. 

VISITORS ask for recommendations and listen.  Say you want to walk from the Upper East Side to Chinatown -- a mere seven miles.  But it's a quicker trip if you take the subway.  Trust me.  I'm happy to give you directions or recommend a restaurant for your family.  But please, ask nicely, for it is a kindness I am happy to bestow from the goodness of my heart, and not something you are owed simply because you "came all the way from _____."

VISITORS venture out of Times Square.  And not just to the 9/11 Memorial.  Shudder.  They use their maps (free everywhere!) or smart phones (you already have it!) to find their way around and they do it discreetly and not, ahem, in the middle of the sidewalk.

VISITORS have peripheral vision.  They aren't stumbling around unaware of others in their path, they move to the side on escalators, and navigate crowds like something a little more refined than a charging bull.

Visitors to the city grasp the concept that New Yorkers are just like Minnesotans and Pennsylvanians and French and Dutch and everyone else:  we just happen to live in New York.  Which, as fans of the TV show Girls know, just automatically makes us more interesting.  That's all.

Forgiveness

I had a dream a few weeks ago that left me feeling devastated.

I dreamed I called off my wedding the day it was to happen.  I couldn't go through with it, it didn't feel right.

I looked into the eyes of the man I supposed I would marry, and said, "Please don't hate me, but I can't marry you."

He sprouted tears and I held his head to my chest so I didn't have to look in his eyes.  Then, I took a deep breath and continued:

"It gets worse...we can't be together anymore."



Little did I know, I'd soon find myself in the position of having to deal bad news to someone I love very dearly in order to spare their feelings.




It is so very, very hard to recover from a broken heart.
I didn't realize it would also be this hard to break one.
I guess I learned a measure of forgiveness.

Sunday Social

1. What is your favorite kind of surprise?

I actually hate surprises.  I like to be in control!  I would rather surprise someone than BE surprised.  The only surprise I can stand is: trying a new food and being surprised at how good it is.  Like raw kale, black licorice, Trader Joe's salad dressings, Coco Slice Watermelon candy, roasted red pepper soup (Trader Joe, you sly puss), or jalapeno poppers.


2. Flowers or Chocolate?

I would rather be surprised with flowers.  Nobody brings me roses anymore.  Not since I gave up acting to save my sanity.  And don't forget I work in a candy store, I basically have unlimited access to chocolate all the time!  But oh, I wish I merited flowers, still.


3. What is your favorite summertime activity?

I really love giving Ghost Tours.  Yeah, I know it's technically a job, but it's also a performance (one that merits the bestowing of roses upon one's tour guide? I digress). 

Suited up and ready for takeoff!

There's something so powerful about being hooked up to that microphone, surrounded by strangers, watching beads of sweat drip down their faces as they stand transfixed, lost in MY words.  Something about the stillness of the summer heat makes their stunned silence even more palpable and their shivers even more profound.


4. Do you have any vacations planned this Summer?

YES!  As every year, I plan on travelling to Buffalo, NY (by way of a brief stop in Binghamton) for Grandma's birthday celebration and everything that entails - playing cards, Canal Fest, fireworks, all of it!

Over the (Hudson) River and through the (Upstate NY) woods to Grandmother's House, last summer

5. Favorite Summer Holiday?

Grandma's birthday!  Hu-DUH.  My own takes second place after that.


6. Dream Vacation?

Every day is a dream vacation when the town you live in is your greatest dream fulfilled.

Me And My Cinnamon Shadow

I have always been ... creative.

I don't remember the story very well, because I was very young.  So very young - so feel free to chime in, mom! - that this story has been told to me instead of remembering it personally.

The long and short of it is, when I was but a wee baby, I got ahold of the cinnamon from the spice cupboard and poured it out onto the floor.  My mother was furious.  I was undaunted.  I told her I was using the cinnamon to make "shadows" on the floor.

The thing that strikes me is even then, I was using unique medium - whatever I could get my hands on - to create art for no purpose.  When do we lose the urge to create, for fun?  When do we start believing that art isn't worth it because it's messy? 

When I was in college, for my final project for Performance Art class, I spread a tarp on the ground outside and used my bare feet and hands and (sorry, mom - yet again) eggs and potatoes from the fridge and condiment packets stolen from the dining hall to make a Jackson Pollock-style splatter art.  Part dance, part painting, part social commentary, but all of it was for the little kid in me who just wanted to play with her food.

I got an A in that class.
And the cinnamon shadows story lives on.

Dreams Come True

I know you're thinking, "How old is she, 12?"

Nope, 21.

Moving on.

This is my favourite photo of myself not just because it's one of the only photos I feel I look honestly pretty in, or because I believe I am genuinely happy, or because being genuinely happy in the photo makes me honestly pretty.  You read yesterday's post, I'm not going to dwell on self-loathing two days in a row!  Sigh of relief.

If you're savvy, you might recognize that I am standing in Central Park, approximately 3 years and 4 months before I moved here and almost seven years to the day I write this post.

In this photo, I am so deeply and hopelessly in love with New York City.  My every thought consumed.  I spend my days wandering the streets looking all around me trying to absorb as much as possible, to put into words how I feel, wanting to be a New Yorker! 

I study their fashion trends to copy them and be one of the multitudes on the catwalks of the streets. 
I want to eat at an outdoor cafe as passersby like myself pang with jealousy at my glamorous life of ease. 
I want to smell of dirt, exhaust, and Nuts 4 Nuts, inhaling the deep, sweet odors unlike anything before.

I want to throw my arms around the tree behind me and hold fast, believing that if dreams were currency and sincerity counted towards your credit score, I could own an apartment in glamorous Manhattan and this could be my life.


Seven years later...

...and it kinda is.

Try A Little Tenderness

A day ago, I was having an emotional heart-to-heart with a friend of mine who was complimenting me.  It made me uncomfortable while it thrilled me, and he said aloud:  "You have terrible self-esteem."

Being told you have low self-esteem (and that it shows) does the opposite of fixing your low self-esteem, FYI.

In the 28 years of my life I have operated mostly under the assumption that upon leaving my home and going out into the world, everyone I encounter is either going to say or think horrible things about me.  I assumed everyone felt this way.  "Look at how sloppy she dresses, does she honestly think we don't notice her acne scars under all that makeup?  Is she trying to hide it behind her thinning hair?"  Everyone on the train, all the people at work, all my customers must constantly be thinking these things.

Never mind the fact that when I go out into the world, I have nothing but sweet and beautiful thoughts for strangers.  "The curve of her thighs is so sumptuously beautiful, his tattoos are so artfully done, I wish I could do my makeup like hers, his cheekbones are amazing, I've never seen anyone look so good in sweatpants before!"  And so on.  Why not?  They're all better than me.

Then the epiphany:  If I assume everybody is thinking horrible thoughts about themselves, as I do, then maybe they're all thinking beautiful thoughts about strangers, which I am, and the realization:

Maybe - maybe - there is nobody out there who will say things to me as mean as the things I say to myself.

This changes everything.  Not immediately, of course, but it's something to turn over in my brain the next time a stranger pays me a compliment.  Maybe I shouldn't dismiss it.  Maybe it's sincere?  Maybe I don't need to worry as much as I do? 

Maybe I should be more kind to myself?

Ten Things That Make Me Happy

1. Candles

2. Walking

3. Adrenaline

4. Coffee

5. Ugly dogs

6. Putting makeup on in the morning

7. Scrubbing my makeup off at night

8. Falling asleep to music

9. Singing along

10. New York City

Like A Kid Again

I miss everything I used to hate about being a kid.

When you're little, someone cooks ALL your food for you.  And if you were anything like me, you hated it.  I put up such a fuss over eating basically anything.  I hated dinner so much that I gave up eating meat altogether when I was a teenager!  It stuck - that was half a lifetime ago and I still cringe at the sight of pork chops.  I just wish I had a "personal chef" again like when I was a kid!

And bedtime!  I hated being told to go to bed.  I could never fall asleep.  I have vivid memories of watching the clock tick the hours away, staring at the walls of my bedroom, unable to drift into slumber.  When I was older, reading and knitting and listening to cassettes over and over until I was finally lulled into sleep.  Sleep used to be so hard, and so boring!  Now, I fall asleep on the subway, in my dinner, on dates!  I wish I could just look at the time, announce "Woah!  It's my bedtime!" and everyone would understand (especially when I'm at work!).

Let's talk about baths.  Being told to take a bath when you're a kid is just the WORST.  All those year I wasted not enjoying the simple pleasure of lying in warm water, relaxing, without a care in the world...

When you're a kid, you have someone watching your back ALL THE TIME.  Reminding you to do your homework, clean your room, brush your teeth, turn off the TV so you can get work done, wash the dishes.  If you're lucky, you even have someone to wake you up in the morning instead of the violent jarring buzz of the alarm on your iPhone lying on the pillow next to you!  And if you're really lucky, by the time you stumble out of bed, they'll have already made coffee and be asking you what you want to eat for breakfast so you don't miss the bus.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, we should all be so lucky as to have moms who watch out for us when we're growing up.  Thanks for having our backs and helping us grow into (mostly) functional adults.

Happy Mother's Day.

Sunday Social

1. 1 year ago I was doing ….

Applying frantically for new jobs, I was just about to be hired at my current job at the candy store!  I felt like all the pieces were falling into place - little did I know, a month later, I would be dumped by my boyfriend, forced out of the house, and be spending 45 hours a week at that job, which would become my salvation - helping me to defray the expenses of a new apartment, and keep my mind off my feelings of worthlessness and confusion. 


2. 5 years ago I was doing ….

A whole lot of nothing!  I had just graduated from college, and was kinda bumming around, living with my folks, not really doing much of anything except breathing the deep sigh that the end of formal education brings.  I was head over heels for my now ex-boyfriend, we had been together six months, and I was hoping to move to New York City in the future.  Six months later, I would do that very thing.


3. 10 years ago I was doing….

I had just gotten my FIRST job as a cashier at Target, making money to move out of my parents' house and into my first apartment with two friends, who were dating at the time.  SPOILER ALERT:  never move into an apartment with a couple.  NEVER.  Unless it's one of those hard lessons you just have to learn from experience.


4. 1 year from now I'll be doing…

Something totally insane and over-the-top for my flatmate's birthday, no doubt.  I don't like to know what the future has in store.  I want to be surprised.  I don't have any future plans except to "not die", so anything I say about my future is total conjecture:


5. 5 years from now I'll be doing….

Rockin' a badass tattoo sleeve.  Moved downtown about 40 blocks.  Still living off the 1 train - 1 train 4 LIFE! 



6. 10 years from now I'll be doing…

Living off the 1 train - at Christopher Street/Sheridan Square.  In a silly little Greenwich Village studio with dark wood bookshelves that go from floor to ceiling, and a huge, worn-in sofa.  Drapey fabrics and cacti everywhere.  I'll be seen most often lounging here in a silk kimono, writing crazy stories and drinking black coffee, made in my tiny kitchen that is used mostly for decoration besides.  When not in my cozy abode, I'll swaddle myself in black, as the wealthy eccentrics of the West Side do, don a floppy hat and flounce up Broadway as far as I can walk, taking mental note of all the memories of the past 15 years in my city, my oldest and most enduring love.

Call It A Talent

Today's Blog Every Day prompt is to sell yourself in 10 words or less.  I did it in 9.  I know I've said it before, but it bears repeating:

...Only I Didn't Say "Fudge"....

I am afraid of peanut butter fudge.

Rather, I am afraid of saying "peanut butter fudge."

Let's back up.

I have the easiest job ever.  My job is to smile and hand out free candy.  Like Halloween, only for nine hours at a time standing on your feet up and down stairs.  Okay, not so easy, but not exactly mentally taxing, either.  Smile, announce the name of the candy in your hand, extend hand, place candy in hand of tourist.  NEXT!

Given the repeated monotony of the main function of my job, I am allowed time for my mind to wander:  What was the name of that book I wanted to buy?  Should I schedule a bang trim next week?  When will I have time to buy groceries?  Where will I take my boyfriend for dinner this week?  And so on.

One such occasion, my mind must have been wandering and a customer startled me out of my reverie asking, "What are we sampling?"

"Penis butter fudge..?"  I offered with my mechanical lilt of the head and outstretched arm.

They looked at me quizzically.  My heart lurched.  I realized my mistake.  I tried to maintain calm.  I repeated myself as though she hadn't heard me correctly the first time:

"Today we're sampling Peanut Butter Fudge from our fudge selection downstairs," I smiled icily, trying to appear superior and in general the kind of person who would never just casually say "Penis" to a stranger while handing out free candy.  LA!  How absurd.

"Would you like to try some?"

They accepted my offerings, and though the whole exchange took a matter of seconds, it had been a full month before I worked up the courage to say "peanut" in front of strangers again.  I've been telling the fudge staff that I'd rather not sample anything with nuts in it for fear of aggravating anyone's peanut allergies.

Which is a stickier situation than penis butter fudge, I'm sure.

I See Dead People (Maybe)

I spent most of a rainy morning practicing my newest ghost tour route down in Lower Manhattan.  The rain really made the experience, I gotta tell ya.  Nothing like getting your route map and notes soggy while you bump through streets crowded with tourists!

But, I wouldn't do anything differently.  I already can't wait to go back tomorrow.  I love getting up close to history, so close you can touch it. 

The Morgan Building, and shrapnel scars it bears from the Wall Street Bombing of 1920

I like talking about death!  I like it as a fact of life.  It's the one thing we all have in common.  As I tell all my tour patrons, talking about death reminds us how short life is, and how we can't take any moments for granted.  Talking about ghosts gives us hope that we may live on, even after death, in some way or another.

Do you believe in ghosts?

This is a window from the Rhinelander Sugar House, used by the British as a prison during the Revolutionary War.  Many considered the building to be the most haunted building in Manhattan.  It has since been torn down, but the window remains on display as a memorial.  So, of course, I had to take my picture with it:

Is it my imagination, or is there a shadowy mist over my shoulder?  Is it fog in my camera lens, from the rain?  Or is it possible it could be the arm of a colonial prisoner, reaching out to catch my attention on a drizzly day in May?

I won't tell you what I believe.  I tell you to keep an open mind and an open heart, and always have your iPhone camera at the ready to capture the moment.

It's Ok Thursday #93

It's okay to...  tuck your shirt into your underwear and not realize it for an hour.  And get caught with your fly down.

It's okay to...  pay money for an experience.  Like a really great tattoo or trapeze. 

It's okay to...  like weird things like black licorice and 60's pop and knick-knacks and reading. 

It's okay to...  stress out a little bit once in a while.

It's okay to...  recognize your own talents and try to promote them.

The Five Scariest Moments in Trapeze

The scaffolding on top of the building?  That's the trapeze school!

1.  Climbing the 20 foot tall ladder to get to the platform - exacerbated by the fact that the trapeze structure sits on the roof of a building, making you three stories and 20 feet high in the air.

2.  With your toes over the edge of the platform and your right hand on the bar you're about to swing from, letting go with your left hand of the cable that is the only thing on your body holding you back from being pulled off the platform and into the air.  Trusting the girl behind you (thanks, Abby!) to hold onto you until you're ready to jump:

Scene:  Meghan's first jump

ABBY:

Put your left hand on the bar!

MEGHAN:

I don't think that's such a good idea, ABBY!

Thanks for holding onto me, Abby.  I owe you a fruit basket.  Like, a big one.

3.  Hearing the word "Hep!" telling you to JUMP.  I heard it like five times before I actually jumped.  There's no turning back:  certainly not down the aforementioned shaky 20 foot ladder (shudder) unless you JUMP.  Once you jump, there is free-flying and wind and sun and the rush of swaying in the breeze.  But until you jump, Abby is holding onto you waiting to release you to gravity's mercy.

This is the "greatest of ease" part.  WHEEE!

4.  Letting go with your hands.  Once your knees are up over the bar and you're hanging upside down, all you see is the net beneath you.  BUT DON'T LOOK DOWN!  Look at your knees, then release your hands and hang from your legs.  It's exhilerating to know that you can trust your body to keep you on the bar, but terrifying to have nothing to hold on to.

5.  Getting back on the ground, legs shaking, and realizing you did it all - climbed the climb, trusted someone enough to let go, made the jump, and did it all with nothing to hold onto but yourself.  Realizing that all the fears you had were unfounded, and you can really do anything you set your mind to - including pulling your knees up under your chin.  Finding out that anything is possible and then, everything that happens next.

Currently...in May

Feeling:  Anxious for summer.  After this brutal week of lots of work (and still being sore from trapeze), next week I will have a much easier schedule.  I can't wait to buy groceries at a regular store!


Watching:  Don't judge me - Hole in the Wall.  By the time I get home from work, I have about an hour to get ready for bed, eat dinner, and relax before I pass out to start all over again.  I like my salads with a side of schadenfreude. 

Reading:  My ghost tour notes!  When I'm finished, I'm looking forward to starting The Great Gatsby, which I somehow never read, but have been hearing a lot about lately.

Thinking about:  Ghost stories.  All day, every day, until I nail both tours perfectly this weekend, I will be the crazy lady on the subway clutching her note cards and muttering under her breath about severed heads and angry mobs.


Eating:  Whenever I get the chance.  Trader Joe's soups in a mug are great.  I can drink my food while I run around the house.


Looking forward to:  My next tattoo appointment exactly a month from today, ComicCon 3-day passes going on sale this Wednesday, having my evenings free!


Making me happy:  see above...anticipation!  Also how green the walk to work through Central Park has become, and when the subway platform is so quiet that you can hear the buzz of the flourescent lighting.

Don't Creep the Creeper

What are reasons people photograph strangers in public?  Here are three of mine:

1.  They are being rude
2.  They are being HOT
3.  They are a celebrity

For instance, Number Two:

After trapeze the other day, we retired to the High Line for a picnic.  I brought along my new parasol (and everyone else got sunburned, hah!) and big sunglasses.  It was a beautiful day, and just a little bit chilly out.

While sitting on the High Line, no fewer than eight tourists stopped to take my picture.  At first, it was so subtle I didn't even notice:  my friend whispered that a pair of girls had been snapping photos off to the side.  But then, it was downright obvious:  a man with a huge camera stood fifteen feet in front of me, crouched down slightly, and snapped several shots.  I smiled and waved.

When I take a photo for reasons 2 or 3, I try to be subtle:  position myself across and pretend to be on my phone.  I noticed at least two people sit down, balance their phone, and snap photos in this fashion.  Maybe I'm not being so subtle at all.

On the other hand, I didn't really care.  Because first of all, I had just swung off a trapeze and the adrenaline rush was AMAZZZING.  And secondly, it was flattering to know that people enjoying looking so much the first time that they wanted to look again!

And for the record, this is what I was wearing that day:

Sunday Social

"These are a Four of my Favorite Things"

1. 4 favorite things to do on a weekend

Light my candles, do my laundry (if your laundromat played 90's romantic comedies, you'd like it too!), make a big salad for the week (bagged lettuce and tofu on a bowl aaaaand done!) and listen to band rehearsal across the hall.


2. 4 favorite things about your best friend

Hans tells me things I don't want to hear.  He knows the cool things before I discover them, which makes me feel lame sometimes but he makes the best movie recommendations.  He's smarter than me but he thinks I'm funny anyway.  And our senses of humour align perfectly every time and we're hilarious together.  When our genius converges in about a month a supernova of brilliance will destroy upper Manhattan!


3. 4 things you would do with $100,000

Buy DVDs of West Side Story, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and Grease ... and a pair of black Doc Martens.


4. 4 favorite books you’ve ever read

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Beautiful People by Simon Doonan, and Welcome to the Monkey House by Kurt Vonnegut.


5. 4 favorite snack foods

Oreos.  New obsession.  French fries, DUH!  Pickles, which I rarely have on hand, and bananas.


6. 4 things that you must do daily

Drink coffee, take my vitamins, wash my hair, and put on eyeliner. 

BRB - AFK

I've taken a bit of a blogging vacation - unintentionally - while I sort out how to have a personal life while working one full-time job, and having a part-time job on the side, and sometimes attempting to sleep.  I'll be back in a week to share my adventures in celebrity, trapeze, and new plans on the horizon.  Thanks for hanging in there!

Sunday Social

Did you sleepwalk as a child?
Oh yeah!  I used to sleepwalk all the time.  I once woke up downstairs in the den, to my parents watching Nick at Nite, and my father attempting to explain some backstory of Mister Ed to me.  Now that's a surreal scene for a kid:  go to sleep in your bed, wake up to a talking horse.


Did you ever try to run away or sneak out of your house?

I grew up in a house on the top of a hill!  I thought about escaping a lot, but realized pretty early on that I wouldn't get anywhere.  I hated feeling trapped in situations where I was unhappy or stressed.  Even now, in my own home, I find the best way for me to deal with stress is to get out and walk - even if I don't go anywhere.  A change of scenery helps change my mood dramatically.  I'm so glad I can "sneak out of the house" now whenever I need to!


Did you have any imaginary friends?
I read a lot of books, so in a way, I suppose I had a lot of imaginary friends...


Did you ever go toilet papering?

Uh, no.  That's ridiculous.  And how would I even get toilet paper?  See:  house on a hill !


Did you ever sneak tv shows you weren’t allowed to watch?

Oh yes - sorry, mom - but I was definitely watching South Park before I was allowed to.  Everyone else in school was watching it!  Of course, I didn't understand any of the jokes at the time, which meant I couldn't understand your objection to it.  So, no harm, no foul?

Spring Fever

It's been a crazy week, folks.  It seems like warm weather and sunshine is bringing out the crazeballs in everyone.  My workweek was long but not uneventful:

Late night Dylan's Candy Bar run! instagram.com/p/YZG8QEOS7b/
— Kim Kardashian (@KimKardashian) April 22, 2013

And I am currently listening to a full-scale fiesta happening above me, at one o'clock in the afternoon.  Clapping, stomping, singing.  I can't tell if the music is live or recorded, but it wouldn't surprise me ONE BIT this week if there was an entire band over my head, celebrating the change of seasons.


But as I walked through the streets of SoHo yesterday, I felt a wave of gratitude.  I have a great life.  I live in my dream city, with a fantastic roommate, with a bevy of interesting and clever friends.  I meet new people every day, and make them happy.  I've never been happier in my life than I am now.  And it just keeps getting better.

It's Ok Thursday #91

This week's "It's Okay Thursday" is brought to you by a situation that has recently resurfaced where I feel as though my privacy has been invaded and my will has been ignored.  In light of what I am still dealing with, and what many of us have probably dealt with, I want to remind myself - and everyone - what we should and should not put up with as bloggers, as women, as human beings:


It's okay to...  answer the phone - WITHOUT FEAR -  when you don't recognize the number. 

It's okay to...  not want to talk to someone.

It's okay to...  not explain yourself. 

It's okay to...  not have any reasons.

It's okay to...  be firm - even if it causes hurt - to establish and secure your own safety.

It's okay to...  have a blog.  A blog is not an invitation to be a part of my life. 


If you're like me, and you worry about other people's feelings at the expense of your own, maybe you need to talk to supportive friends about a situation that is making you uncomfortable.  Setting boundaries does not make you a horrible person.  Can you imagine never setting a boundary in your life?  When is a good time to set a boundary?  Maybe it's when you don't feel safe, you find yourself worried, you can't focus on work or school?  If you're like me, you're quick to minimize the problem.  I say, what's the harm in maximalizing the problem?  You don't owe anyone your time or attention, and if someone is demanding these and you don't want to give them, you don't owe them an explanation, either.  Stay safe, everyone.  It's gonna be okay.

I Stand with Planned Parenthood

(which is to say, I mostly sat with Planned Parenthood.)

As an adult woman of nearly 29 years of age, it somehow escaped me that I should see a gynecologist.  I mean, I've seen The Vagina Monologues - TWICE! - but I've never had a professional look at mine?  Okay, that joke was a stretch.  But living well below the poverty level AND having a terrible fear of doctors, I managed to put it off about a decade longer than I should have.

Until my therapist came along and inspired me to live up to the challenges I set forward for myself.  I called, confessed total lack of knowledge, and made an appointment.

I was told to plan to be there for two hours.  I was there for two and a half, most of which I spent sitting waiting - for a financial counselor, who signed me up in a matter of minutes to receive free health care, then a nurse who took my blood pressure ( 117/78, check me out! ) and administer a rapid-results HIV test (negative, woo hoo!).  No needles involved, it was easy and I urge you all:  GET TESTED!

Then, finally, the big scary moment:  THE GOWN.  No, the actual physical examination.  Took barely five minutes!  My nurse practitioner was quick, kind, and efficient (even if she did give me a lecture about laying off the cookies and eating more nuts and avocados once in a while).

I still have a few weeks to wait for my full test results to come back, but I was told that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and everything looked fine.  PHEW!  What a relief!

For anyone who has anything against the organization or thinks they do evil work, from what I saw and experienced, it could not be further from the truth.  Women of all ages were treated gently and with utmost respect.  I might go so far as to say that my experience made me more respectful of my fellow womankind:  we were all there taking charge of our health and our lives, despite a lack of financial resources.  And Planned Parenthood helped us to do so.  Many may be like me, and receive health care they would not be able to afford otherwise.

I want to thank everyone at Planned Parenthood for being as patient, gentle, and respectful in their treatment of me - and many other women like me.  Thank you.

Mani Mondays: The Round-Headed Kid

What a mess.

Good greif.

SS: Make Me Weak

What is your shopping weakness?

Anything that smells.  I have bought lotion, perfume, soap, candles...just because I like the way they smell!  Smell is the sense (scents?) most closely tied to memory.  I think this means I am a sentimentalist:  "I have to own this perfume!  It smells like the first summer I spent in New York!"  "I have to buy this candle, it smells like the soap I used all through high school!"  These are actual things I OWN.


What is your food weakness?

CHEESE!  I secretly hope the moon is made of cheese, so that someday I can visit it...and eat it.

It's a MOUNTAIN of CHEESE!  Which I conquered.

What is your go to movie to watch when nothing is on?

I've seen Grease 2 so many times, if it smelled like memories and tasted like cheese, I would eat it.


What is your go-to breakfast food?

I'm a bit boring, I suppose, in that I eat basically the same thing for breakfast every day:  a glass of water, a banana, a yogurt, my vitamins, a cup of coffee, and a Trader Joe's veggie burger.  This is my morning fuel-up routine!


Do you drink coffee? If so how do you take it?

My coffee order is fairly shameful:  coffee, black, six Splendas.  I'm cutting back to four Splenda, hoping to eliminate the need entirely.  Cuz Splenda is mad expensive, yo.

It's Ok Thursday #90

It's okay to...  go on a date that doesn't include running an important errand.  Like going to dinner, and picking up groceries on the way home.  Or stamps.  Or running to the Post Office.  How romantic.


It's okay to...  wear loose, comfortable clothes.  Even in New York City.


It's okay to...  cut yourself some slack once in a while.


It's okay to...  sit down on the subway.  If you don't, someone else will.  That's what seats are there for:  tired people who've worked nine-hour shifts on their feet up and down stairs with blistered feet and aching backs!


It's okay to...  not speak any Spanish in Harlem.  Even if the Jehovah's Witnesses can't believe it.


It's okay to...  spend a little extra for bananas rather than go hungry all morning!

Loose Change into Magnets DIY

I have had a collection of fancy European coins for years.  Jingling in my drawer, bein' all pretty, but never being fully enjoyed to their potential...until now.

This is the DIY for the DIY impaired.  It's so simple:

Magnets + Household cement

Onto the back of coins

Let dry.

Voila!

Mani Mondays: Kara "Starbuck" Thrace

SS: All A-Twitter!

1. When did you join twitter?

So long ago that, when I joined Twitter, you hadda etch 140 characters onto a stone tablet, open your window, and hail an actual bird to carry your Tweet to The Internet!

2. Who is your favorite non-celeb to follow?

I consider her a celebrity, insomuchas she is BALLS-AWESOME:  Emily McCombs, Internet Celebrity!

3. Who is your favorite celeb to follow?

Gotta give it up to RuPaul, can I get a A-Men!?!

4. Have you ever had a celeb respond to a tweet?

I've had my tweet re-broadcast by Abba Zabba, which makes me candy-famous!

5. What is your favorite store/brand to follow?

Stores have Twitter?  This is news to me! 
I follow New York Comic Con, and stalkerishly refresh their page constantly to make sure I know
THE EXACT MOMENT 3-Day Passes go on sale.

6. Give us three tweeps we should be following.

Rachele Cateyes is an amazing blogger, read everything she writes! 
Yoko Ono keeps it really real. 
And Andrew Gallagher aka BigAXC is a cutie and always replies!

It's Okay Thursday #89

It's okay to...  pee yourself laughing at this ingenious video:

I've watched it no fewer than four times and it's still downright hilarious.  Can't get enough.  And it makes me want to re-watch BSG all over again!!!


It's okay to...  start a new book before you've finished the one you're already reading.  I hope.  I'll let you know if the book police come after me for having bookmarks in the last half of Full Frontal Feminism by Jessica Valenti, How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran, and just having started The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon on the train.  I just don't know if my ADD can handle it!


It's okay to...  be afraid of going to the gynecologist for the first time.  Doing anything for the first time is innately nerve-wracking, isn't it?  But knowing that there is a first time for everything means that the second time will be easier. 


It's okay to...  work on yourself one step at a time. 


It's okay to...  throw away moldy old shower curtains.  Hanging onto things that are no longer useful or are damaged does not save the environment.  But I will recycle the gross old tupperware when I replace it with new.


It's okay to...  admit you don't know everything yet, and revel in the wonder of knowing there are still new things to discover and new surprises to be had.


It's okay to...  let another person lead the dance sometimes.  It doesn't mean you're losing control over the ball.

On Selfies

I'm going to put this out there with zero judgement, and only love:  I think I might hate self-portraits.

Please don't immediately click the "Unfollow" button!  I'm not condemning anyone for their self-portraits.  You guys, you professional photographers, you have amazing photo skills.  You do your hair and your makeup and put on pretty clothes, set up a tripod, put your hand against the back of your neck and look down at your shoes and YOU LOOK AMAZING.

I wake up a couple minutes earlier, slap on a pound of black eye makeup, shake my head violently to The Knack's "My Sharona" while spraying Roommate's hairspray all over my general direction, precariously balance my iPhone atop the toaster oven, set my self-timer app and twist my body into ridiculous poses and take millions of photographs, making me late for whatever engagement, until I come up with this:

And you can still see the vacuum cleaner in the background.  I lack photo skillz.

And these photos look pretty (holy ego, Batman!) but I feel a disconnect looking at them.  That's not me!  That's not what I look like!  I think about these photos while I'm eating my way through a box of Oreos on the couch, sifting through the Netflix lineup like a picky toddler pushing vegetables around her plate.  So far removed from the "finished product," I plot and strategize:  "If I wore more makeup/if I tilt my head up/if I twist to the left..." how can I always present myself in the most flattering way possible? 

Do any of you find yourselves drawing up, sucking in, tilting out, and pouting IRL?  That pressure to always be photo-flawless seeping into your consciousness, taking up time you could be spending having FUN?

And then I see photos of myself looking sloppy in the moment of sheer bliss.  Too-big smiles, awkward angles, caught in the act of having FUN:

And I think, "That's who I want to be!  The girl who's too busy living life to worry about her sneaky double-chin, her too-round teeth, the way her belly curves, her hunched shoulders!  The girl who glows from within, and doesn't even have to re-set the self timer and worry about it falling off the toaster oven AGAIN."

To recap:

THIS looks like a girl who is trying to prove she is happy and confident and beautiful and sexy:

And THIS girl KNOWS SHE IS.

And I think that last picture is really me.