I think two of my best qualities are honesty and having good intentions. I'm not good at curating my life to seem like I'm a pro at anything, so, instead, I'll just document, to the best of my ability, my attempts at being a grown-up, a woman, and a wife. With plenty of LOL, FAIL so you know it's real.
Married And Still The Same
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Having been married for a week now, I can say that marriage is great! My husband (husband!) is awesome! I want to be a great wife and a great woman and good at all the things! But, let's be honest. I'm still the same person as I was before we made those big promises and serious vows and signed that sheet of paper and kissed in front of some of our very loved ones. I'm still loud-mouthed and lazy and I still don't really like to cook and being crafty/DIY still seems fun and interesting but just too much work. Sometimes I'm still selfish and needy and entirely too much of a hater to appreciate things in the moment. And I'm still, at 30, married, and with a "career," trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.
Living a Life of Quality
Friday, September 26, 2014
De-clutter. Simplify. Quality over quantity. Practicing moderation. Making the choice, every day, to be happy, live well, and with character. Let every moment be a special occasion. Have self-pride, self-confidence, self-esteem, and self-love. Work for your happiness, and though you should not feel entitled to the fruits of your labor, you should feel accomplishment and content for doing good work.
Small reminders for living a life of heart. Brain and fist are optional, but recommended, as they are invariably helpful.
The Desert and The Vows
Friday, September 5, 2014
It's been a minute since I've blogged (as Kanye might say, if he still had a blog - does anyone else remember that?), and lots have happened. For one thing, we've been traveling. A lot. Like, Tokyo, Taipei, Kaohsiung, Hong Kong, San Francisco, Palm Springs, a lot. If I'm feeling ambitious in the next week or so, I'll be back with pictures and stories; if not, just know that it was all extremely exhausting and incredibly, swelteringly hot, but, still, great fun with lots of yummy food.
Today, I want to write about the desert. And the wedding vows, which up until now, have not really crossed my mind as anything urgent, and have just kind of been 'something I need to do sometime before the wedding,' but which now have become 'ohcrapIhavetowritesomethingthatotherpeoplewillhearmeread.' But first, the desert.
The first time I truly saw a desert was earlier this year, when we went to Marfa for a glorious weekend. That was when my love for the desert really blossomed and became a real and solid thing. That was when I knew that, while trees and grass and general greenery are lovely and while oceans and lakes and rushing waters are quite amazing and sometimes exciting, vast stretches of dirt and sand that roll into hills and then flatten away into a nothingness are breathtaking and heart breaking. The little bits of plant life, whether green or brown or spiky, seem to be impossible, and that impossibility makes them mesmerizing. And the sky. The hugeness of the sky with the infinite of dark and glittering stars feels both gigantic and, somehow, miniature, and to gaze upon it in the sea of dust and heat can make a person feel like floating, at first, and then falling slowly up into the deep.
I get that feeling, sometimes, when I stare into a Rothko painting. It takes me by surprise, because, one second I'm just staring at a piece of canvas on the wall, and then, dreamily, it feels as if I've fallen down a rabbit hole through the paint, and it seems as if time has always just been the sensation of slowly falling, where up is down and down is sideways and it doesn't really matter because it's all just space, anyways, and there's not really a top or bottom. It's the feeling of infinity, I think. Or, it's how I think infinity would feel. Which is terrifying and frightening and too much for a single brain to deal with alone. And I have always had a strange fascination and attraction to things that terrify me.
For example, I am quite terrified of having people I know actually read things I've written while I am still in the room. I'm not afraid of giving speeches, or standing up in front of a crowd, or of writing whatever I'm feeling, however ridiculous and foolish I may sound at the time; but I think I get quite panicky at the thought of writing something that is meaningful to me, and then having someone read it with me standing there or having to read it aloud to people myself. It might be fear of being judged by others, as I am shamefully aware that I have a tendency to do this towards others, even though I know it's petty and silly, or it might be that I am manifesting some trauma of having written very personal and meaningful things to people, and having them not have the reaction I was expecting when they received these words in some way. Judgment and expectations, I think, is what has me nauseated at the thought of having to prepare my own vows for my own wedding in ten weeks. Nauseated and, quite literally, trembling.
It's pathetic, when I stop to think about it. But I'll do it. Obviously, I'll do it. Partially, because I love to write and I love A with all my heart and I think that the one thing I'm reasonably and decently skilled at in this world is writing about my feelings, so it's not even a question of whether or not I'll do it, and partially, because, for some reason, I am equating this challenge with my entire writing block that has been stumping me for the past...5 years?! And I feel like if I am able to write my own vows and read them out loud for our family and friends to hear and survive, then the fear of writing something cliche and stupid and not worth reading will, hopefully, dissipate and become a resolve to sit down and actually write again.
It'll be a rite of passage, both into marriage and that next chapter of life, and also maybe out of this tunnel of fear and self-consciousness that has been plaguing me and that I don't know how to get rid of with normal pep talks and the standard words of encouragement. So. First the vows, then, fingers crossed, the writing.
And, because it feels relevant, and is one of my favorite poems (of the few poems I actually have read and know by heart, which includes Jabberwocky, because, well, you'll see):
The Brain—is wider than the Sky—
For—put them side by side—
The one the other will contain
With ease—and You—beside—
The Brain is deeper than the sea—
For—hold them—Blue to Blue—
The one the other will absorb—
As Sponges—Buckets—do—
The Brain is just the weight of God—
For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—
And they will differ—if they do—
As Syllable from Sound—
---Emily Dickinson
Today, I want to write about the desert. And the wedding vows, which up until now, have not really crossed my mind as anything urgent, and have just kind of been 'something I need to do sometime before the wedding,' but which now have become 'ohcrapIhavetowritesomethingthatotherpeoplewillhearmeread.' But first, the desert.
The first time I truly saw a desert was earlier this year, when we went to Marfa for a glorious weekend. That was when my love for the desert really blossomed and became a real and solid thing. That was when I knew that, while trees and grass and general greenery are lovely and while oceans and lakes and rushing waters are quite amazing and sometimes exciting, vast stretches of dirt and sand that roll into hills and then flatten away into a nothingness are breathtaking and heart breaking. The little bits of plant life, whether green or brown or spiky, seem to be impossible, and that impossibility makes them mesmerizing. And the sky. The hugeness of the sky with the infinite of dark and glittering stars feels both gigantic and, somehow, miniature, and to gaze upon it in the sea of dust and heat can make a person feel like floating, at first, and then falling slowly up into the deep.
I get that feeling, sometimes, when I stare into a Rothko painting. It takes me by surprise, because, one second I'm just staring at a piece of canvas on the wall, and then, dreamily, it feels as if I've fallen down a rabbit hole through the paint, and it seems as if time has always just been the sensation of slowly falling, where up is down and down is sideways and it doesn't really matter because it's all just space, anyways, and there's not really a top or bottom. It's the feeling of infinity, I think. Or, it's how I think infinity would feel. Which is terrifying and frightening and too much for a single brain to deal with alone. And I have always had a strange fascination and attraction to things that terrify me.
For example, I am quite terrified of having people I know actually read things I've written while I am still in the room. I'm not afraid of giving speeches, or standing up in front of a crowd, or of writing whatever I'm feeling, however ridiculous and foolish I may sound at the time; but I think I get quite panicky at the thought of writing something that is meaningful to me, and then having someone read it with me standing there or having to read it aloud to people myself. It might be fear of being judged by others, as I am shamefully aware that I have a tendency to do this towards others, even though I know it's petty and silly, or it might be that I am manifesting some trauma of having written very personal and meaningful things to people, and having them not have the reaction I was expecting when they received these words in some way. Judgment and expectations, I think, is what has me nauseated at the thought of having to prepare my own vows for my own wedding in ten weeks. Nauseated and, quite literally, trembling.
It's pathetic, when I stop to think about it. But I'll do it. Obviously, I'll do it. Partially, because I love to write and I love A with all my heart and I think that the one thing I'm reasonably and decently skilled at in this world is writing about my feelings, so it's not even a question of whether or not I'll do it, and partially, because, for some reason, I am equating this challenge with my entire writing block that has been stumping me for the past...5 years?! And I feel like if I am able to write my own vows and read them out loud for our family and friends to hear and survive, then the fear of writing something cliche and stupid and not worth reading will, hopefully, dissipate and become a resolve to sit down and actually write again.
It'll be a rite of passage, both into marriage and that next chapter of life, and also maybe out of this tunnel of fear and self-consciousness that has been plaguing me and that I don't know how to get rid of with normal pep talks and the standard words of encouragement. So. First the vows, then, fingers crossed, the writing.
And, because it feels relevant, and is one of my favorite poems (of the few poems I actually have read and know by heart, which includes Jabberwocky, because, well, you'll see):
The Brain—is wider than the Sky—
For—put them side by side—
The one the other will contain
With ease—and You—beside—
The Brain is deeper than the sea—
For—hold them—Blue to Blue—
The one the other will absorb—
As Sponges—Buckets—do—
The Brain is just the weight of God—
For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—
And they will differ—if they do—
As Syllable from Sound—
---Emily Dickinson
Being Sick And Having Someone Be nice To You
Friday, June 13, 2014
I've been sick for the last 7 days, with something that I can only deduce to be a deadly flu virus (I've been told that I'm dramatic, and that I just have a cold, but I'm the one dying, here). Unstoppable coughing, congestion that gives me a sexy voice but also makes it difficult to breathe, a sore throat that is exacerbating the aforementioned coughing, and yucky stuff in my lymph nodes and my incredibly deep sinus cavities that are a hairline away from some teeth nerves that are actually making it feel like I have a tooth cavity. It's been a festival of gross.
My three shining stars of joy throughout this: 1) TV (re-watching Archer, Fringe, and 30 Rock has been wonderful), 2) Remy, my adorable and sweet little puppy who loves licks and cuddling, and 3) my almost-husbo, who has done practically everything for me this week. He bought me all sorts of medicine, watched unspeakable amounts of tv with me, rubbed my back and shoulders, and cleaned up pee (not mine). This morning, he made me Trader Joe's Almond Croissants, which are my favorite. That's love, people.
Ten Years
Monday, June 2, 2014
We celebrated it by a semi-impromptu trip to NYC via Amtrak. What'd we do? Eat, walk, sleep, and hang out together. Essentially, what we do on a daily basis, but this time without our pup (who was having a staycation of his own with our awesome friends), and in a cool hotel. It was perfect.
Speaking of which: The Ace Hotel > The Standard. If you want tiny rooms at exorbitant prices, the feeling of sleeping in a pod (if you can sleep at all with all the noise and thin walls), being surrounded by pretentious and a-hole tourists, and total disinterest from staff, go stay at the Standard. If you want to feel like you're in an awesome library that happens to have a bar and great coffee (Stumptown) and really comfortable chairs, living in a anything from a dorm to a sweet studio apartment, and have really nice people everywhere, the Ace Hotel is the way to go.
What else? Oh yeah, we got matching glasses frames from Moscot on Orchard - our man Frank was hilarious and set us up (and convinced us we have to visit his native Colombia). People we saw (read: I saw, pointed out, and explained to him who they were): Connie Wang of Refinery29 and Waris Ahluwalia. We also visited my friend Norm at the Coffee Foundry, checked out Self Edge, and shopped at Opening Ceremony. Things we bought there: a pack of Happy Socks for him a bracelet for me, and a case of "Help, I Have Nausea" pills. We're hip and we know it.
The only things I wish we had done that we didn't was eat even more and made it to LFCC on Sunday morning. Next time.
TEN YEARS!!! 2014 is kind of a big deal for me.
Magic Marfa
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Last weekend, my little fledgling family made the tedious trip from DC to Atlanta to El Paso to a little art town in the middle of nowhere, Texas, that you've undoubtably heard of by now, especially for the Prada installation that was recently defaced. Marfa. Look it up. It's literally in the middle of nowhere. The flights were long, the drive was long, and it takes about a solid 400 hours (give or take) to get from the East Coast to this dusty and run down place.
We stayed at El Cosmico, basically a prettified campground, run by the same lady who owns Hotel San Jose and Hotel Saint Cecilia in Austin. That fact alone should tell you that it's pretty special. Tents, teepees, and trailers are available to rent there, and we got to stay in an adorable Vagabond, which was ideal because A) it was really cold at night and B) it came with its own tiny indoor bathroom, perfect for a spoiled city girl like me.
The desert landscape was impressively expansive underneath the infinite sky, the quiet was deafening, the city (town?) was crumbly and empty on one side of the tracks and interesting and beautiful on the other, the air was crisp and fresh and light, there was only one flashing stoplight, and the pizza and donuts were delicious.
It has to be straight up magic for me to have been so enamored with glamping after turbulent flights and an endless drive. There must be magic for someone who hates being dusty/dirty and is typically unimpressed by nature to have been awed into silent wonder by the distant hills and enormity of the horizon. Marfa is magical, in a quiet, creeping, heaviness that settles over you as you drive on the unimpressive road toward the single blinking stoplight. You don't know why, but suddenly, you're in love.
The Joy of Exercise
Friday, March 28, 2014
...I don't have it.
To me, the "runner's high" that people supposedly get is pure fiction, and to hear someone say that they "love working out" because it "makes them feel good" makes me want to pour hot coffee on their shirts (even though I don't even really drink coffee). When I see people running around the beautiful city of DC, either pre-dawn or post-sunset, I get the urge to push someone into the dirty water of the Potomac.
This week, I tried a new gym/studio by my office, partially because there was a Groupon for it, partially because I'm vain and probably have some sort of body dysmorphia, and partially because I love and live with a man who likes to tell me that most of my klutziness and random body aches could be solved by living more healthily. So, for the first time in my life, I tried TRX, Barre/Pointe, and Stability ball classes. They were challenging, different, and made me feel like a balloon filled with pudding afterwards. No, I still don't like exercising. No, it's not really fun.
But, I can see how the sense of superiority that people feel for having done something active and difficult during their day could keep them going back for more. That, I get. Whatever works, right?
Minimalist Hoarder
Monday, March 24, 2014
In some respects, I am a super minimalist. I wear the same things over and over again, and when I like something, I'll buy it in multiples so that I have replacements ready when the originals get worn out or messed up. The color palette in my home generally consists of 4 colors: black, grey, brown, and white. I try not to get too sentimental and tend to donate/throw out things that have piled up every six months or so.
In other ways, I am a hoarder. Oh, do you need a shopping bag? You can take your pick - just leave alone these that I brought home with me from Europe. Have I ever used an empty shoe box? Nope, but there are 3 stacks of them in the spare closet, just in case that ever comes up. How many reserve Glade plug-ins does a 900sqft apartment actually need? We have 9. Thank you, Costco.
Spring cleaning is a sickness and I have it. I just want to go home, throw away anything that's not actually being used, and live in a clean and simple environment. But I honestly don't know how I'm going to just get rid of those (neatly stacked) mountains of Kinfolk and New Yorker magazines that I haven't even actually finished reading, yet. And what about this basket of throw pillows...does a household of two really need 12?
Don't even get me started on my closet.
In other ways, I am a hoarder. Oh, do you need a shopping bag? You can take your pick - just leave alone these that I brought home with me from Europe. Have I ever used an empty shoe box? Nope, but there are 3 stacks of them in the spare closet, just in case that ever comes up. How many reserve Glade plug-ins does a 900sqft apartment actually need? We have 9. Thank you, Costco.
Spring cleaning is a sickness and I have it. I just want to go home, throw away anything that's not actually being used, and live in a clean and simple environment. But I honestly don't know how I'm going to just get rid of those (neatly stacked) mountains of Kinfolk and New Yorker magazines that I haven't even actually finished reading, yet. And what about this basket of throw pillows...does a household of two really need 12?
Don't even get me started on my closet.
Playing with HTML
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
What always looked like a cat had tripped (do cats trip?) over the keyboard is starting to look...fun? Thanks to my snail's pace self-study of web design and basic html coding this month, I'm finding myself fairly excited when I manage to figure out a tiny piece of how to make my humble little web presence slightly prettier. Next up, learning how to use my camera! And then we'll start with the actual good stuff - adventures and stories and other lies I've told that I liked.
Adventures of Myself
Thursday, March 13, 2014
It's hard to pick up a pen again, so to speak, after being out of practice for so long. Especially if, for so long, the things that you were writing were from being broken and suffering and confusion and...lost. And now that you're not broken anymore, but happy(?!) and content (?!!) and working for something better, it's hard to put things back into that introspective perspective that you once used as a tool to survive. Because what if you look too deep, and you find that you're actually still broken and suffering? And what if all this happiness and contentment and forward-striving-ness goes away, as all good things are wont to do?
People always say you're supposed to face your fears head on, which is a little silly if you think about it, since what else would you face your fears with, your ass? But regardless, here I am. Ass in this seat, head facing the screen, fingers on the keyboard.
And the truth is, I am happy. Maybe things aren't perfect, and maybe there are still many what-ifs and the feeling that all this is still pretty temporary, but being happy isn't about being surrounded by perfect situations or being perfectly sure of your future. Being happy is, and it's been a long road to figure this out, a choice. A real struggle every morning to wake up and go about your day and your business, and even if the circumstances are crappy or just not what you expected, to choose to get through it and be happy with your lot in life.
Deep stuff for my first real foray back.
I like it.
I'm gonna keep going with this.
People always say you're supposed to face your fears head on, which is a little silly if you think about it, since what else would you face your fears with, your ass? But regardless, here I am. Ass in this seat, head facing the screen, fingers on the keyboard.
And the truth is, I am happy. Maybe things aren't perfect, and maybe there are still many what-ifs and the feeling that all this is still pretty temporary, but being happy isn't about being surrounded by perfect situations or being perfectly sure of your future. Being happy is, and it's been a long road to figure this out, a choice. A real struggle every morning to wake up and go about your day and your business, and even if the circumstances are crappy or just not what you expected, to choose to get through it and be happy with your lot in life.
Deep stuff for my first real foray back.
I like it.
I'm gonna keep going with this.
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