Archive for August, 2008

Processing

August 29, 2008 | Filed under: Whoopdie Doo

“Happiness is excitement that has found a settling down place.  But there is always a little corner that keeps flapping around.”  ~E.L. Konigsburg

I’ve been home for all of 20 minutes and the second I landed and started to drive home I bought the largest bottle of Shiraz-Grenache I could find and when I finally stepped into my apartment I poured 24 fluid ounces of Shiraz-Grenache into a Nalgene. It’s been that kind of week.

I have so many stories to tell you all from the past week all of which involve my heart beating ferociously in my chest because of the overwhelming need to scream in the middle of 16th street. I’m pretty sure I’ve hit every single emotion this week and now I am in dire need of a very long nap. I am officially fried. And if I could write a sentence without my brain feeling like it was about to explode out of my eyeballs then I would. Photos are still being uploaded and processed and the ones from Thursday night are the ones that turn me into a big gooey mess of tears and pure joy.

I will tell you this though; when I took the photo below, when that moment happened when Jill Biden told her husband of the special guest and Barack Obama came out, the entire Pepsi Center erupted in an exploding cacophony of whoops and cheers. That is when I turned to my mother and said: “Holy fucking shit. This is almost as awesome as an orgasm”.

And that, my friends, was my week.

A mile high redux

August 27, 2008 | Filed under: The object of my obsession, Whoopdie Doo

“People are always asking about the good old days. I say, why don’t you say the good now days?” ~Robert M. Young

Contrary to my personal belief; I seem to NOT be a robot. This means that even though my brain is saying, “It would be a brilliant idea to stay up to two am schmoozing and look free beer and look! Pete Wentz” my body is starting to get disgruntle. Denver has just about kicked my ass into the middle of next week and it is only Tuesday. Speaking of Tuesday I had no idea that it was Tuesday until 17 minutes ago. It was a little morning surprise: The days of the week remain in the same order and there are still 24 hours to each one. Amazing.

I’ve been slowly uploading photos from this week to Flickr and upon my return home I’m hoping I’ll be able to absorb and then regurgitate the way in which this week has made me feel. Hopeful doesn’t even begin to describe it. Last night when I walked into the Pepsi Center, I took the escalator up to my seats. I turned around to look at the throngs of people below me and my chest tightened and my heart beat just a little faster. This swelling of emotions coursed through my veins as I realized where I was and why I was here. Politics is a personal thing for me because it is my passion in life. It’s the one thing I love more than writing and to be here and see so many familiar faces (quick digression I have kissed like 89 people on the cheek this week. I will come back with Ebola) and see how far people I’ve known for years have come - to see how far I’ve come - is this high of epic proportions.

It feels good. It feels amazing. For once in my life I’m entirely grateful for a serious ass whooping.

This makes my addiction manageable

August 23, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“Collecting quotations is an insidious, even embarrassing habit, like ragpicking or hoarding rocks or trying on other people’s laundry.  I got into it originally while trying to break an addiction to candy.  I kicked candy and now seem to be stuck with quotations, which are attacking my brain instead of my teeth.”  ~Robert Byrne

A few months ago I developed a serious problem that I’ve been reluctant to write about. It overwhelmed and every where I went I would think about one thing. The addiction was so powerful that I’m currently plagued with a Pavlovian reaction to purchase on sight. Y’all, I’m addicted to Swedish Fish. I don’t know how it happened but I’m dealing. Some days are harder than others and it’s actually to the point where there are days when I’m mindlessly gorging on handfuls out of the bag while watching Weeds or typing away. Last week Metalia sent me a photo of Swedish Fish 100 calorie packs. I shook her down and demanded she tell me where she found them because I needed the 100 calorie packs. I craved those tiny, gummy, sugary treats like I craved my morning cup of coffee. She found them in New fucking Jersey. There are things I will go to New Jersey for; Ikea, Alice maybe but even my addiction couldn’t force me on a trek down the Garden State Parkway. Unless my addiction also came with an inability to force every other damn driver in the state off the road because it’s a state full of people who are physically incapable of merging. Anyway, imagine my surprise when I was aimlessly walking through Target preparing for Denver when something caught my eye. A box of Swedish Fish in the acceptable portions of 100 calories a pop for the exorbitant price of $2.99. But given that it’s cheaper than my addiction to Chenin-Blanc and far more portable, I obliged. And here I sit in Midway happy as a pig in the sun with a box (or two) of tiny Swedish Fishies by my side.

What the good ones are made of

August 20, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum, Whoa feelings

“If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.” ~Michel de Montaigne

I was curled up in the comfy chair. My feet underneath me and covered by my dress, with a cold beer in hand, I leaned over and asked a friend of mine to tell me how he met his wife. Being on the phone for these conversations leaves much to be desired. You cannot see that look - The Look - or the half smile when retelling how one met the presumed love of their life. It’s hard to hear over the din of cars speeding past on his end or the truck outside of my window; to hear the slight laughter when retelling the moments when it might not have worked out as planned. These conversations are much better in person and face to face. So that the reactions can be seen and heard and practically felt.

At the end of the story I kind of shrugged and expressed my disappointment. It wasn’t exciting or anything out of the ordinary. It wasn’t a ‘meet cute’. It was pedestrian. And I said “eh”.

My friend JB once told me completely out of the blue that I would know when I met The One. This was back when I didn’t believe in The One and I had already planned my life around my wants and needs and my future living in a gorgeous row house in Georgetown with four floors - since they are built to expand vertically - and a gym membership at the Four Seasons on M Street. She said that I wouldn’t hem and haw about it. I would just show up for drinks with the girls and say “This is Joe. I love him and he’s it” and my friends would clink glasses of red and white to my happiness because they know that it is something that I would be sure of. I laughed when she said this because we both knew that she was right. It would just happen.

I don’t know if I believe in soul mates. In fact, I know that I do not believe in them. But Lori and I once had a conversation when we relished in all of the things that made us similar and we both noted that as individuals, we are both pretty awesome. We both are the type of people who enjoy our alone time and are easily entertained and amused by our surroundings and who we are as people that we do not generally crave having someone else by our sides. While it might be nice, it doesn’t feel necessary. When Lori met her husband though, she realized that he was someone that she could and would want to hang out with forever and ever and so they married. I loved that story because it is so very me. She wasn’t looking for it, she never had, it just happened.

I hate not knowing the ending. To have to shrug my shoulders and say I do not know how it will turn out. I do not know if I will walk into a restaurant and see someone for the very first time and spend five solid hours talking to that person about nothing and everything while sipping mojitos. I don’t know if I’ll find someone whose mere presence or with the sound of their voice, will make everything better. Will force every bad thing into perspective and out the window. I don’t know if I’ll meet someone and actually enjoy speaking on the phone just to make the drive less boring even though I hate the phone. I don’t know if I can find someone with whom to wade through the sheer stupidity of everything and the sometimes harsh words that we throw at each other. I don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone who gets me and knows my quirks and just how crazy I am and that I start arguments just because and that I don’t fight fair and yet is able to deal with it either way. I just don’t know. And it leaves something for me to be excited for and yet terrified all the same. Even if I don’t want it that badly at times the thought is just a pleasant one. What I do know is that *if* it happens and I meet that person, I just want to be able to tell my children and friends and family the story of something wonderful. A story that can be told with a smile on my face and knowing that even though things weren’t perfect in the beginning and sure as hell aren’t perfect now, that there is no one else I would rather do it all with.

Housekeeping

August 19, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“And the point is, to live everything.  Live the questions now.  Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it, and live along some distant day into the answer.”  ~Rainer Maria Rilke

In preparation for my eight days a mile high, some Deity bestowed upon me the gift of a pseudo free day which I used to have beer in Midtown Manhattan alone. In the middle of the day. Allow me to beat this “I am a recluse and I like it, so what?” dead horse just once more with feeling. I think not enough credit is given to Me Time. People need to embrace Me Time. It is time for a revolution fueled by misanthropy.

I leave for Denver at week’s end and I’ll expand on my various emotions of this massive event later. But for now, I am thinking that updates next week will be few and far between. If you’d like to cop to being a stalker, you can follow my escapades via Twitter. Here’s a sneak preview: OMFGASDFJKL I just saw [insert name here] and s/he is way hotter/taller/I’d like to have their babies in person. Imagine that twice a day everyday until I depart. It will be huge. it will be historical. It will be a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

A little over a week ago I coerced you all into asking me a question in exchange for free lip gloss. The winner was chosen with one of those random number generators um, yesterday when I realized that I hadn’t announced a winner and that kind of made me a shitty person and a liar. So the winner of a tube of Bobbi Brown lip gloss in SPF 15 is the lovely Sarah Nielson.  Send me your address so that I can send you the most neutral color ever.

I’m going to start answering some questions now and then in future posts to ease the burden of having to think off of my cerebellum. Some will be answered here and others will be on Beauty Hacks. Frankly, those are the posts I am most excited for. Also, and this is totally random, you know how most people find their niche and then go with it? I’m still trying to figure out how I’ve gotten into Personal Finance, movie reviews and beauty products all from writing extensively about my obsession for a good bottle of cheap shiraz. The sad part is that all of my posts from now until mid-November are on my Giant Spreadsheet o’ Love and Contractually Obligated Writing. Feel free to thank me later for giving you the gift of my written words.

Jennifer, Lesli and Kristine all had the same question though worded differently as if to trip me up into confessing that I am a CIA agent and International Woman of Mystery. The “What do you do for a living?” question is what I get asked most frequently the funny part being that it isn’t all that exciting or mindblowing. I’m still not about to publicly announce what I do for a living because I actually love my job. Granted I live in Upstate fucking New York which makes me die a little inside each time I say it but I really do enjoy it. It’s what I feel I was meant to do and what I’ve always wanted to do and please hold while I wipe this tear from my eye. It’s fun and I enjoy it so why fuck that up, you know?

lemmonex says:

Do you read other beauty blogs? If you do, do you feel like the brain wash you just a tiny bit?

I actually do not read any other beauty blogs. I read In Style though and Vogue but no other blogs because there is a time factor; ie not enough of it and so I’ve never had time to look. Also whatever beauty blogs I have stumbled upon often cater to the complete opposite of what I am. Contrary to popular belief I am not a white woman and so most of the tips/products do not pertain to me.

metalia says:

Let’s talk about cheese, baby. Which one is your favorite? And not just because I’m going to a cheese shop today, or anything. No, sirree.

Oh my god, I love cheese. I am a wine and cheese whore and if I could just sit around and eat smoked gouda all day, I probably would. But in no particular order: Smoked gouda, Dill Havarti, Brie (cook that shit up until it’s nice and bubbly and then spread on some bread and prepare to die), Camembert and a good blue.

miguelina says:

I’m afraid to ask, but here it goes: Why do you hate Boston so much? And a related question, for extra credit: Does that mean that we’ll never be graced with a visit from the globetrotting HeatherB?

The first time I went to Boston to visit Boston College and Boston University, it poured the entire fucking time. That was in 1999. The second time I went to Boston, August 2007, it was awful timing. I had just left BlogHer and then Oklahoma City so I missed my friends plus I was there for work at a conference I had never been to with people that I didn’t know and so I felt out of place and ornery and then my favorite person on the planet showed up out of nowhere (cue angels) and my trip got substantially better. And then I got hit on by some shit head whose balls I wanted to put in a mason jar. That said, those have been my only trips to Boston ever. I live 2 hours away. It’s not that I dislike Boston per se, it’s that each trip there has been lacking in fun, excitement and my own inability to cope. I’ll probably go back to Boston this fall barring any profound neurotic freak outs and if I do and if I have fun while there then I’m sure Hell will freeze over.

judi says:

hi heather, i’m fairly new to your blog and so i hope this isn’t a silly question but - where do you get ALL those fantastic quotes?!

Yeah, no. I’ll never tell. I will say that the quote is chosen after the post is written so I have a clear idea of the theme that I’m looking for. Though once or twice I’ve already had the quote and have just chosen it because I’m a bit obsessed. But the quotes have been my favorite part of doing this site.