Archive for October, 2007

Just short of perfect

October 8, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Fotografias, Va-cay-cay-cay, Whoopdie Doo, World Tour

“Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.” ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

I almost didn’t go to California because the stress that I’ve been under has turned all brain matter into something resembling lumpy brownie mix. Things have been sloshing around up there without respite or a sign of abatement. Thus my only recourse would be to say maybe next time I will come visit. Next time being some arbitrary moment when my bedroom doesn’t look like Riyadh or when I’ve had more than 37 seconds to think about something other than work. But there is always that ‘something’ because those things never go away, those constant irritants that are always there and lurking and prohibiting one from being able to fully enjoy their surroundings and be engaging.

I needed this trip. Right now, at this juncture in my life, I need to be full of clichés and trite phrases about loving things and people and those warm fuzzy thoughts that normally make me wretch. I must say that from the moment Abigail put together an itinerary knowing full well my love for food and wine and shopping, that this would be wonderful and it was. It was the simplicity of it all, a walk on the beach, a dinner with friends and the conversation that make me unable to put the ‘good’ into words. I can say that there isn’t one minute I’d change about this weekend. Not even the part where I ate three cupcakes from Sprinkles thus giving my thighs their own zip code.

Being completely unapologetic in my need to be complimented and told that I’m doing something well despite the neverending feelings of imperfection. There are times when I need to be told that my writing isn’t complete shit or that being in the midst of writing a book proposal doesn’t make people keel over from the possible vapid nature and ennui inducing shit I’m capable of writing. There are times when I need to feel inspired and to be around like-minded funny and smart people is a nice little jolt. Most importantly, there are times when I need to be told that my cleavage looks great and perfectly firm. Which, for the record, beats almost any compliment about my writing.

Nothing was ever wrong, but this trip made me feel better.

Off the wagon

October 5, 2007 | Filed under: An ass the size of Rhode Island

 First and foremost, your delurking skills make me want to cry and treat you all to some Gewürztraminer.

“A bear, however hard he tries, grows tubby without exercise.”  ~A.A. Milne

For the most part I both pride and chide myself for being a creature of habit. I like my routine and feel comfortable knowing that each day will pretty much be the same as the last. Which makes me entirely predictable and fairly boring. There were months during which one could set their clock to my Saturday mornings, for every Saturday at 11 AM I could be found perusing the frozen food section of the Trader Joe’s in Georgetown picking out prime pieces of organic free range Alaskan wild salmon and debating between Macaroni and Cheese and a frozen vegetable bowl.

Given my routine nature, I had predictably had a quasi-schedule each day that always started off with going to the gym between 5:15 and 6:00 AM. Sundays were a double dose of a run at 3:15 and then spinning at 5 PM.  Then home to shower and eat the aforementioned salmon, prepare my lunch, which usually included peas, for the following morning and then Desperate Housewives with a glass of Pinot Noir and bed.

And then I moved.

This whole moving shit – from my mother’s house to my new apartment and subsequent life of luxury in the Southwest cattle call, put a wrench into my nice life filled with eating my weight in cantaloupe and a daily trip to the gym. This whole moving shit, has turned me into a person who eats when she has time and hasn’t visited a grocery store in something like seven or eight weeks. The gym? The gym is that place with the weights and the cardio equipment and where I once emerged victorious after a long run with an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. There was routine and structure and I knew what workouts would be done on which days. I rarely ate French fries and burritos were a treat. Even my whole meticulous nature of recording everything that went into my mouth has been replaced by a growing fondness for anything with a Hershey’s chocolate logo emblazoned on it.

As of right now my burrito to gym ratio is roughly 475 to 1.

While I normally wouldn’t dwell on such a thing, I find myself getting soft in areas that were once fairly compact. I’m long past some illusion of perfection in a size six, given that it is virtually impossible for me to achieve such without shaving off large amounts of bone. And thankfully I am in complete proportion and when I gain weight back it starts off at the top (which explains why someone can now throw quarters down my cleavage if they so desired) and then goes down. So despite my ever present hankering for a vegetarian bbq “chicken” burrito, I can still fit into my pants and then remove them without unbuttoning, which is surely a good sign.

Despite that I still feel…I don’t know…funny. Possibly because I’m full of potatoes in various forms instead of the once ubiquitous omega-3’s. I just feel ’squishy’ in a way that’s making me itch for a 45 minute session on an elliptical and an abdominal workout that makes me feel like someone just punched me with brass knuckles in my obliques. I have fallen off the workout wagon and right now, instead of craving more Parmesan truffle French fries, I’m craving getting up at 5:30 in the morning and having sweat pouring out of every orifice.  I’m craving salmon and peas and cauliflower and a big ass salad covered in balsamic vinegar.

I’m currently on a plane to Los Angeles for a mini-holiday where I will not mention work or congress or Washington, DC or veto. I will probably eat a disgusting amount of carbohydrates and subsequently feel bad about it. I’m putting this in writing in order to hold myself to my oft ambiguous and lofty promises; upon my return I am rejoining my gym. I’m going to eat an excessive amount of peas (I really, really like peas) and in six weeks, I’ll once again be able to comfortably visit Anthropologie without feeling like my ass will knock over a display of cashmere hoodies.

Flaws

October 3, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Great moments in narcissism, Listy, Socially Awkward Barbie™

“Certain flaws are necessary for the whole. It would seem strange if old friends lacked certain quirks.” ~Goethe

Today is The Great Mofo Delurk. I like the word Mofo though I use it so rarely because I’m much more fond of the more formal ‘Motherfucker’. As such, I am presenting you with a few of my pretty bad but not as bad as my propensity to drink two bottles of wine just because it’s in my line of sight, flaws. Feel free to delurk and divulge your flaws or just delurk and tell me how drop dead gorgeous I am or delurk and ask me a question like how I’ve managed to get through almost 24 years of life without spontaneously combusting from my overwhelming social awkwardness.

1) There are days that I feel like my only contribution to society will be rampant socially awkward behavior that will make others feel much better about their ability to communicate with other human beings. Whereas I kind of just stand there looking like I’m in severe pain, other people are able to, you know, open their mouths while making semi-coherent sounds. Though I was recently told, during a dinner, that one could sense that I’m a ‘writer’ (the noise you just heard was the sound of my eyes rolling). I choked on my fourth glass of cheap merlot and asked how and the woman seated next to me said that she could tell by the way I chose and used words very carefully. I laughed and patted myself on the back for being able to carry on a conversation for twenty minutes without sounding like I may have been dropped on my head and landed right on my soft spot as a baby.

2) I think that the telephone is the invention of Stalin and the Devil. Therefore using the phone requires deep cleansing breaths, acupuncture and a little hypnosis so that I can actually pick up the receiver. Prior to most any phone call, I write down notes on a 3×5 index card to lessen the chance of an untimely heart attack due to being unprepared for a difficult question. The ones that usually catch me off guard are the toughies, like “Is this Heather?” or “How are you?” I figure that with it being 2007 and all and with the wifi and the ability to listen to music on your telephone while wikipedia-ing ‘Squeaky Fromme’ means that one should be able to simply email a question. The phone doesn’t need to be used in every situation, in fact, I’m pretty sure that it’s use can be limited to dialing 911, ordering Chinese food, and possibly can be fashioned into some sort of weapon.

3) I received an email yesterday afternoon asking if when I said ‘Versailles’ I meant VERSAILLES. Is there another Versailles that I am not aware of? The Versailles I plan to visit next month has a Hall of Mirrors and Orange trees and Louis XIV once lived there and it’s located in a little place called France. The thing about my upcoming visit to France is that I am a notoriously awful planner. I say I’m going somewhere and then everything fizzles and my enthusiasm shrinks like a raisin in the sun, for prior to any trip there is thing called work which pretty much trumps everything at time, including eating and breathing and my ability to pee without bringing my crackberry into the stall with me. Because of this, I have two trips coming up that I have approximately zero plans for because when the enthusiasm doesn’t wane for me wanting a vacation but it wanes for deciding exactly what I want to do and see. Thus, my having to enlist Abigail to make up an itinerary for my upcoming trip to LA and the help I need right now from people that have actually been to France to tell me what I should see. I know the Louvre and Versailles and that big pointy phallus looking thing called the Eiffel Tower. Other than that I’m at a loss and the person going with me only wants to buy a bracelet at Cartier. So! Suggestions would be appreciated. For example, where can I go to get a croissant full of butter that won’t go straight to my ass?

Default plans

October 1, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Whoopdie Doo

“Grow old with me!  The best is yet to be.”  ~Robert Browning

My birthday is coming up. Something that I continue to forget until someone brings it to my attention and requests to know what ‘We’ will be doing for my birthday. When asked, my response is usually a half-hearted shrug because there are no plans and I’m finally realizing that all of those things that adults warned about growing up? Are actually true. Sometimes adults – the real ones, not the type of adult I pretend to be – are right. Birthday’s come faster and faster each year and I continue to be baffled at their speed of arrival since I spent years counting down the days to my birthday and now I think Oh, my birthday.

I spent my grade school years up until college wanting elaborately planned parties inviting everyone in my class and positioning myself for some sought after level of popularity. One that I never achieved and cannot for the life of me figure out why at 12, I thought that inviting a certain girl to my birthday party would make me awesome. Actually, AWESOME. The ridiculous nature of my behavior from ages eight to 17, however normal it may have been, is ludicrous and causes me to shake my head in complete shame and idiocy.

This year, I do have plans for my birthday. Plans to go to DC for a few days including shopping and a wine dinner. They’re my default plans that always bring together my best friends in the world over glasses of Pinot Noir and plates of Camembert and gnocchi. The week after my birthday, I have tickets for a transatlantic flight.

I’m looking forward to my birthday, not because of some big event and a party, but because I’m long past my need to have everyone I’ve ever met in my life there just for some stupid goal of popularity. I will be and like to keep things simple. No matter how ridiculous trite it may sound, my big plans this year will include being surrounded by people I for whom there are not enough words in the English language to describe how I feel about them and a few days at the Louvre coupled with a visit to Versailles. And really, it doesn’t get much better than that.