so, about the blog.

I've sort of been considering moving in a new direction (it's not you, it's me). but really- here's the list of things I've been considering:

1. There is no purpose/theme to this blog.
1a. I don't have a blog that's about how many different happy hours i can hit how great my city is like this one
1b. I don't even have one that talks about my insane ability to utilize photography and cooking skills to create a world-renowned blog (or at least one that pops up on google hits and probably actually makes money from google adsense)
1c. I don't have a blog that discusses anything hugely entertaining or that doesn't exist in less than 5 paragraphs (i'm long-winded- sorry)

sooooo.... I've decided I need FOCUS. I need direction. Here's what I considered:

Writing about BOOKS
The books I feel comfortable writing about:
- college English Literature books (try Sparknotes 101 Literature book- it basically summarizes every book/composition/short story that made up the basis of my undergrad education)




- My basic go-to books, which include (long list, I know....):

Writing about MARKETING
So the whole marketing thing... I'm intrigued by social media (case studies about businesses utilizing social media), really great design (website, print, etc), the way in which sales and content can co-exist, really funny radio promotions, and thinking outside the box.

OPTION #3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8....
Writing about being a young professional/young wife/cooking/renovating our home/life in the hometown in which I grew up- aka the blog I like to call "Why My Neighbors All Park Their Cars Horizontally Across The Bottom of Their Driveways"/the "Bubble"/ My random "what I love" things... so... normal stuff, you know- Storypeople, my 50 reasons/hopes for a road trip to Savannah this fall (yeah right), the burger here, the specials here, and the great new Mexican restaurant here... plus this place is great for wine in the summer, weddings and vendors, funny youtube videos/links- like this guy singing both parts to various male/female duets (and doing better than either sex usually does) random photography that i find, some crazy widgets (just because i think it's funny and a little embarrassing to say widget), and, of course, pictures of Maisie, my baby:

Oh, and we can't forget my newest crush (similar to JT/JTT/Devon Sawa circa 1995):

The problem with all of these ideas, of course, is that 1) linking, taking pictures, etc, is far too time-consuming and will seem like a chore to me, and 2) i'm not just one of those things. Maybe if I wrote on it continuously it would help me become more organized... more dedicated to the blog. Now, I do think that my shameless babble about my personal life is getting sort of out of control. Here's my short list of why I believe it to be wildly beyond my control:

- When I go up to my normal high school reunion bar and have had enough drinks so that I've become friendly and will at least (usually) say hi to people that I knew in high school (I'm mean, I know), and they have had enough drinks to pretend that although they never said a "hey" or offered a "head nod" to me in the hallways (insert moody john mayer song) they can still chat it up like we're old buddies (yes, I get that sometimes I need to get over things. and I have gotten over it- I don't hold it against them unless I have decided that they are still jerks- through meticulous facebook research, of course)... anyway-- when I go up to this bar, I find that most know me through my twitter updates. It sort of freaks me out that I've considered de-friending the majority of my "friends" on social networking sites. (but then I can't shamelessly promote my company's promotions that are super cool- like this one to hundreds of people).

- I have been tracking IP addresses (hah!)... and I can figure out some of them, but lemme tell ya- there are way more people stalking my blog regularly than have signed up to be a follower. All of you know a ton of my personal thoughts/beliefs... I guess it's no different than if I were to write a book, but I would still feel better if I had more than 10 official followers.

- I wonder if I'm just way too into talking about myself. I'm willing to share my deepest fears (well, almost), but not willing to talk about where I live (exactly), or share pictures of my weekends/home, or report my locations via 4square (sometimes).

Thoughts? Is this how I should be writing/utilizing a blog? Would a purpose be a more effective use of my time/energy/focus?

& they may make no sense...

As we head into this next decade, can we draft a joint resolution to drop the crazy-making expectation that we must all be perfect friends and perfect mothers and perfect workers and perfect lovers with perfect bodies who dedicate ourselves to charity and grow our own organic vegetables, at the same time that we run corporations and stand on our heads while playing the guitar with our feet? -elizabeth gilbert

This came to me through the usual random internet stream-of-consciousness-clicks but as soon as I read this quote in the second paragraph, I knew I had to respond. I've written before about Elizabeth Gilbert- her book eat pray love is one of my all-time favorites (and many others as it was an Oprah's Book Club book, of course). I admire her writing style, her effortless flow from one topic to another while still maintaining a sense of humor and self throughout. The funny thing is, the book is all about finding a sense of self. The woman who has had a boyfriend or relationship with others since she was 15 is finally at a breaking point, shaking on the bathroom floor with tears and full of gratitude that she isn't pregnant, after she and her husband had been trying to have children for months. The image always struck me, and sometimes I wonder if I relate to her in the sense that I believe I'm close to being her. It's like living a life, or feeling something dangerously close to what someone else is experiencing. Have you ever driven home after a couple drinks, and heard about someone who did the same but didn't arrive safely at home without some type of interference? It's a scary thought but that tightrope of a "that could have been me, thank God it wasn't" emotional experience is tough to describe without something as shocking as a drunk/tipsy driving story.

I don't know if I relate to her so much because she's a writer (and, as she alludes to in this article, is full of self-realization, and self-doubt just simply from being a writer), or if I relate to her as an educated woman living a career (is it the right choice?) and the suburban housewife role as well (is that the right choice?)... but Elizabeth Gilbert feels like a long-lost aunt of mine.

Anyway, I had been toying around with the idea of trying to write about the complexities of my own insecurities, and those I see around me in my friends. Somehow tie this organic living, pottery barn-home, keeping up with the Joneses Bay Village neighborhood, anti-chain restaurants, cocktail dress wearing, gym-attending expectation level into a blog post. And in one sentence, Elizabeth Gilbert says it all.

So many people have a projected ideal that they propel into the universe... and beneath the bluster is really just someone with a ton of insecurities aiming to project a 2D image to the world, while hiding the 3D version of the life they actually live (which, really, do I really care where you choose to buy your groceries?) BLAH. We doubt ourselves, which leads us to become these women who must create an image to show the world. I wish I didn't worry about the "enough" part of life. "Is this house 'enough'? Is this job/career 'enough'? Am I enough?" The thing is, although I know what the latest fitness craze is, and I have dreams of being the wife who is able to keep a beautiful home with the colors straight from the pottery barn catalog, and who still has time to keep 5 frozen casseroles on stand-by in the freezer (and take pictures of it for my cookbook/blog), and who just took a cooking class with my husband- it was SO fun, really, you must try it! ... I'm just not there yet. I'm not writing 'enough' of what I should be writing. I'm probably wasting away my writing skills in this blog, and I'm really not in the career path I thought I should be in. I still end my sentences with prepositions, and I have pushed the thought of grad school aside just like my hopes of studying abroad while in undergrad. I don't go to the hipest bars and restaurants, and I don't always eat organic (even after watching Food, Inc. I confess-- I've eated McD's chicken nuggets), I haven't planted an herb garden yet this year, and I haven't even mulched the 1 bed that I have planted so far. I don't go to the gym, and my dog pees when she meets new people.

Life is messy, not perfect. That's just what it is. I hope one day to shed my insecurities of being "enough" of a writer, or of using my creativity, potential. I hope to one day not worry about being enough of a wife, and just be. But for now... I'll pour myself some wine and see if I can find some pottery barn looking outdoor accessories on sale at Tuesday Morning... and read some more eat pray love. Appreciate a deep conversation with God, a wonderful plate of pasta, and the warmth of a lover. (because that's really all that matters).

There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good - brian andreas, story people

dreams

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?


I've had this poem running through my head for the past couple of days. Not quite sure what that means, as I'm still sorting out what my dreams are... but here's a trip back to middle school/high school for you. For the record, Mr. Hughes, I think dreams crumble in fragments, barely recognizable, until the dust begins to float quietly away with the wind.

it's a system designed for silence.

Maybe it's because I didn't grow up in a rough neighborhood. Maybe I was just offended when not one, but two police cars needed to flash their lights when they pulled me over for the first time in my sleepy suburb (on the morning of my 17th birthday, no less). Maybe I have an issue with the police officer who gave me my first ticket the week I came home from my honeymoon. But I can't stand that I live in a society where I feel anxious when I see a police officer. The thing is, when I'm driving, I don't want to have to worry if 5-10 mph (on a clear day, not weaving in and out of traffic... etc) will cost me $100. I don't want to have to be nervous if I walk out of a bar in college (after I was 21, of course), or out of a house party and step onto the sidewalk. I understand that police officers have a relatively dangerous profession, but that doesn't negate the fact that a good citizen like myself should feel nervous every time I see one. I constantly do the stomp-the-brake-stare-obsessively-out-the-rearview-mirror maneuver when I pass one. And I don't really think that's right.

I happen to believe that many police officers are in a profession in which they have a reasonable amount of power over others, simply because of the power card. The gun in the holster, but "I'm doing it for the greater good" mentality. The more I think about the examples in our society in which people exploit their power, the angrier I get at how passive we are about it. Now, it's easy to give examples of the exploitation of workers, government agents, etc, etc, etc. But I'm not really talking about those... we can recognize corruption and problems in those institutions. I'm talking more about the institutions that we accept as a part of our community... the institutions that shape our children, our homes, our taxes, and the future of our communities.

When I was interviewing for teaching positions two years ago, I met with many principals... some of whom told me outright I had the job. Others called me back for multiple interviews, only to inform me that I was #2... but would I take a long-term sub position instead and perhaps they could squeeze me in next year? Beyond the principals, I met with panels of high school teachers, staring me down, asking me to dissect poetry, prepare an 8-page lesson plan, grilling me on literary theories & teaching theories alike. Not one of them smiled, except when they said goodbye. I felt frustrated... they needed someone to teach theater. They needed a softball coach. They had a system in which they could plug the exact qualifications into a database and come up with a viable candidate. A square peg to fit their square hole... full of neat, 90 degree angles and perfectly able to morph into a triangle if necessary. I became discouraged with the system-- frustrated by principals (some of whom I worked for, most of whom I met), who were authoritative, sometimes quietly inflecting their power through raised eyebrows while telling me things. Others made me wait over an hour before they were ready to meet for the interview. And the teachers... they were the worst. Silently sizing you up, determining which table you would sit at in the teacher's lounge.

Once I asked a principal (after being rejected to even interview at his school) for 10 minutes of his time, to offer an aspiring teacher some advice. Plus, I wanted to introduce myself in person. My request was ignored, and I received a generic e-mail that I had already received from someone in the administration when I requested their time. It became disheartening... it reminded me of how suppressive high school can be.

I had always thought high school was suppressive because of hormones, boys, catty girls, my own insecurities and messed up priorities. High school was stifling because the teachers didn't "get" me, because the assignments were boring, because someone told on me for going out to lunch as a junior (thus resulting in ISS, an eventual kicked-off of the cheerleading squad, and my not joining NHS), or because I was awkward and had braces and was shy and didn't do my makeup. Instead, as I waded through the endless interviews, false promises, and form letters announcing my rejection... I realized that principals had a lot in common with the police officer waiting on the end of a dead-end road in my sleepy suburb, ready to pounce with his radar gun.

As I started diving into the world of education AS an educator, I realized that the suppressive-ness doesn't end in high school. I realized how highly political the hiring process can be. And just because you may be the best candidate for the job, some other donkey will most likely get 1 of the 2 positions available. Once I was told that they had over 200 applicants. It didn't matter to me; I believe I was better than every single one of them. As I began to see the hierarchies of the education system, the complexities of unions, administration, school boards, and the inability to affect change in the system (how many teachers do you know who are fired/let go? not many, I would imagine), and tenure issues... I realize that suppressive does not begin to cover the world of education. In what way can an individual teacher affect change in a system that is clearly built around "the way things have always been"?

And, most importantly, in what way do we teach children to be forward-thinking, to problem-solve, to affect positive change in their community, if they are told to sit down and shut up in neat rows of 25 desks per classroom?

When I look back on why I decided to teach high school... I get a little stumped. It wasn't because I had a particularly great experience. In fact, I can't name one teacher that inspired me (my entire life) or challenged me, or touched me in any way, until I get to college. It's worth noting that I went to a high school with an enormous amount of respect in the Greater Cleveland Area, a top-performing, Excellent-rated, highly sought-after school district. And yet, not one teacher really inspired me to teach. I mean, you can say my mom had an effect on me... she is a teacher, after all. But she taught special ed. She taught me how hard she works, in a converted janitor's closet, sharing with another teacher, and how they usually have 15 kids in the room at a time... and don't get to take a lunch. They requested a larger room... but... again, amazing how things don't work out. I'm willing to bet the only reason they requested the larger room was because it would help the kids learn better. But, I'm getting sidetracked.

Anyway-- why teach, then? Why high school? (well, because I don't want to babysit 1st graders, for starters). But when I look back on what I love and want to do in the classroom... I'm brought back to my involvement in a (seemingly... bear with me here) nerdy program called Destination Imagination. DI is something I am passionate about, and will forever give up Saturdays to appraise kids and celebrate creativity. DI is a program that encourages kids to join together in teams to solve a central "challenge"-- an open-ended challenge with many different elements. The kids can choose which challenge they want to solve (there are ones that involve engineering, building structures, or simply creating skits), and then they present their "solution," which is always a performance of some kind that showcases their work. The kids are NOT allowed to have any interference from parents or anyone outside their team-- that's rule #1. Rule #2 states that if it doesn't say you can't... then you can. Ok... not sure if that's a written rule, but here's some bullets of what I love about the program:

- The vocabulary: We appraise, we don't judge. We offer positive feedback, and have team managers, not coaches. We value DaVinci Awards, Renaissance Awards, and the Spirit of DI (i.e. lending another team an extension cord if yours was lost in your u-haul truck)

- The vision: teamwork, creative problem solving (find the answer that is well-integrated into your solution, but something unusual and effective!), questioning, attempting new things, performing and interacting with appraisers, utilizing everyone's strengths for the greater good.

It's non-oppressive. Everyone wants the kids to succeed... and yes, it can get competitive... but a good competitive... you find yourself striving to beat the best team you know about, simply because you know that if you do that, you have achieved more than you thought possible.

That's why I wanted to become a teacher. To challenge students to question themselves, their world, to make sense of others' perspectives. To communicate effectively and creatively. To be interesting, to work together & stand out, to make a difference, and to affect positive change. And I believe that through writing and reading... there is no better medium to teach diversity, free-thinking, and creativity. There is no better medium to encourage critical thinking and problem solving, to challenge students to understand their world, and make an imprint... even if it's a tiny pinky-finger imprint... to leave it a little better.

And as I stumbled through teary rejections, or tried to polish off my edges so I could be this square that they needed to fill their hole... my vision of a classroom and an environment brimming with creativity & voices (not mine) slowly became muddled. I began to see the catty sorority sisters become teachers in other states... I looked back at some of my own teachers, and realized that the system was in place. Too many principals made me feel beneath them. Too many teachers were unable to relate to a confident, yet still slightly nervous young aspiring teacher, looking for a little guidance, even as I sat opposite a panel of them. Too many people were unable to be courteous to me... a principal I knew very well, one that had told too many people I had the job, one who joked with me that I was his favorite... sent me a four-sentence rejection letter after I went through round 2 of the interview process.

When I finally met with the company I am with now... I was tired of being that square peg, and felt reassured, somehow, that they saw me as a whole person... my family, my ethics & values, my work ethic and tenacity. I'm in a field which, by all accounts, I have no business being in. I'm not passionate about either thing that the company does... except, I am passionate about feeling valued. Feeling as though my ideas (from a young, 24 year old female) matter. And not feeling suppressed. I'm not even writing this because I know there's a chance they could read it (and no, my job is not rainbows and butterflies... sorry guys), but I really feel as though my bosses are not necessarily superior in that they need to let me know that they are above me. Instead, I respect them because of their vision, work ethic, and values. Isn't it sad I can't say the same for the education system?

I remember vaguely reading education articles about the oppressive nature of our classrooms and public education. And it wasn't until I met these people who run our schools, who treated me as though I was less of a person, less of a person of value, less of a teacher... that I realized how true that might be. Question how we equate success in school. Question how children get into college. Question how many decisions kids make every day... how many decisions they are asked to make, regarding their education, their learning, or their own thoughts and beliefs.

And then go to www.destinationimagination.org and sign up to volunteer with a program that truly is all about the kids. Because for me, that's what I signed up for when I took hours of classes on constructivist teaching, when I created silly bulletin boards and sat through a Praxis test (which I scored an "excellent rating" on, by the way. -- eat that, Mr. Principal) selecting a's and b's and showing that I knew who Robert Frost was and how many syllables are in a haiku. Because that's what mattered, right?

the heartaches that make me whole.

It's been almost 8 years since my life has taken it's turn. Isn't it funny... you can look back at one moment and realize that it set everything in motion? There's a Dave Matthews Song (so Bay Village of me to reference it... 2nd sentence, too... wow, Emily)... that reminds me of that moment. My husband gets upset when I reference it- it used to be a code for my uncertainty.

Don't you ever wonder maybe if things had been slightly different you could be somebody else? Don't you ever wonder maybe if you took a left turn instead of taking a right you could be somebody different? Don't you ever wonder could I have been...

At the time, life was a mess. I often make the mistake of looking back at that time and feeling as though it was glamorous, adventurous, and full of passion. I try to avoid the details now, because I have romanticized my time spent with my best friends. And yet I don't want to do it any injustice; those girls I was friends with were my heart and soul. They (one in particular), could talk to me as honestly as only best friends can. We shared our secrets, our greatest fears, and the best jokes. She truly was my heart. But it would be wrong of me to think that the time spent with those girls was the best I could be... it wasn't. In truth, I was intimidated into situations, sneaking off to concerts because it was believed it wasn't ok to spend a Friday night in our sleepy suburb. It's hard to say how much of that was my beliefs and how much was theirs, or maybe it was a group effort. Whatever the case, I believe that (for the most part) you don't choose your friends in high school. I'm not totally convinced you choose your friends in college or beyond, either.

But there's something about your best friend, the kind that can see the ugliest side of you, even uglier than your husband is allowed to see. The friend who won't judge because... because... well, for no reason other than they have shared pieces of themself too precious to lose, either. Best friend seems like such a funny phrase- "I like you, you, and you... but YOU'RE my BEST friend." Are we 10 again? Whatever the case may be-- my brain has been permanently wired from the time I wore my first BE-FRI shattered heart necklace. It's those people that I share the ugliest side of myself, the scariest thoughts, the ones I could never write down, not here, not anywhere, that I can have the most fun with.

I can think back to moments in my life and pinpoint my best friends. They were there for me, and I for them, for different reasons. Mostly through angry IM chat conversations with other catty girls in middle school, and through the process of separation in high school... my very best friend was heart-breaking to lose. I didn't understand how the one person who knew you the best in the world could now leave so easily. It wasn't easy, not for her, nor for me. It still isn't easy for us. There's an unspoken history that we would rather ignore than acknowledge. Maybe it's a testament to how deep our bond was. I've talked before about my "ex" girl friend on here. I'm at the point where it's sad for me to think about it... simply because I realize I'm no longer sad about losing her. It was a long process, and for a long time there just wasn't going to be a replacement-- not my then-boyfriend/now-husband, not my college friends, not my mom, not anyone. But, eventually, I found that again. The feeling that you can trust someone so completely, and even more so, you can trust them to not necessarily steer you in any particular direction. You can't really trust them to bring out the best in yourself- because to be the best person I can be, I can't show that ugly side I discussed earlier. But it's ok to be ugly and rotten, to think miserable and horrible thoughts, if at the end of the day, you are proud of yourself, and you surround yourself with people you are proud to know.

I've been thinking about writing a post that outlines my only true heartbreak... I've been told that the best writing isn't about the good things in life... and maybe its not. It's more about the conflicts, heartaches, and losses that make me feel a little stronger, even if I'm left sitting on the floor with a pounding headache.

always love.

i apologize for the stupid post title. i get sick of things easily, and have to make everything in powerpoint because photoshop no longer works on my computer, circa 6 months ago or something like that.

sometimes i like to do quick thoughts. here we go (in no particular order except my own random mind):

- it's Easter tomorrow. meaning tonight husband and i are decorating eggs and drinking margaritas. normal. i'm also sort of thinking that i would like to be one of those couples/families that goes away for the holidays. not that i don't enjoy the time spent driving from house to house to house hearing the same stories every year... but. i saw a holiday cruise on celebrity's website and it seemed right up my ally. i love our families, however, the holidays its a bit overkill... and it's never as fun as it should be. (sorry to be pessimistic. i'm just envisioning sipping screwdrivers at some bed and breakfast somewhere by the sea...)

- we have so much yardwork to do i don't know where to begin. actually, i do. today i picked up enough pinecones to fill 1.5 giant brown lawn garbage bags. husband is powerwashing the deck. we installed motion-sensor lights on the deck. and our yard/lack of anything other than dirt/stumps/weeds is outrageous. i posted to twitter that i want someone to come in and redo our lawn. we would willingly be a "before and after" promotion for our landscaping and/or our basement. i've also been voicing commercials recently so, you know, i'm like a pro at endorsing things.

- today i had an idea. there are a million and one retirement/elderly/old people-targeted condos, townhomes, communities. why are there none for people in their 20's and 30's? i would officially like to buy property, build townhomes with great kitchens and patios and basements for entertaining (make them affordable for the just-out-of-college salary), and make it a really great little neighborhood... put in a couple sports bars, a wine bar or two, and a really amazing coffee shop. i will then screen everyone who wants to move in and chose people based on what they would bring to a neighborhood block party. casserole? no, thanks. beer? margaritas? guac? sure! there's really such divisions on where the young people live in cleveland, it's sad.

- the above concept came from a discussion about how we're never going to be friends with our neighbors. but really, our neighbors are crazy. i'll do a post another day that profiles the surrounding houses and you'll understand. it's a very different suburb when you go down a tax bracket, i think. (yes, i realize we're part of that bracket. no, i'm not trying to be snobby. it's not all about money. these people are just strange).

- i was thinking about posting more pictures and links to my blog. i've been reading other really popular cleveland blogs... and the writing sucks (no comment on my writing today, i realize there are major issues. probably stemming from third diet coke i just finished today). i think the reason people love them is because they are relatable, they have tons of pictures, and discuss specific people/places that people can identify. so... i will make a better effort to take more pictures. i'm charging my camera as i type. however, this blog is supposed to be just an exercise in writing... not a typical "young professional in cleveland trying new restaurants" blog.

- if you read this blog regularly, i'd love if you would become an official "follower." i really don't know why i care that much or what the followers mean, but it's nice to know who is reading it so that i can have official readers and not just a certain amount of anonymous ip addresses.

that's it... random, lazy, no pictures. no deep thoughts on love, marriage, death, aging. (what is happening to me?!).

happy Easter, all! enjoy the holiday and celebrate with those you love!

Forever and Almost Always

"and you'll be mine, forever and almost always..." a lyric from a singer/songwriter i happen to love.

at almost(!!) 25 years old, i guess i'm young to be almost(!!) married one year, have a home, a puppy, and in general spend my friday nights lounging on the couch watching movies and doing laundry. to some reading this, that may sound like hell. i mean, it's not the 1950's anymore, right? i'm a young woman, a young professional, i should be at happy hours, exploring the city, making new girlfriends and closing the bar with a cosmo in each hand!

this weekend i talked with a friend about the concept of forever. getting married is a huge commitment- how was i able to do so and make the transition seamlessly? i guess to preface-- i did not exactly make the transition without some bumps in the road. namely my senior year in college i decided to change everything about my life (teaching? nah). i went through some pretty rough weeks sorting through my emotions and getting myself prepared to "take the plunge." however- once i made the decision (again-- I think since i was 17 i had made the decision to be with him for a very long time), it wasn't about looking back. and it wasn't that much about looking forward.

one thing i'm trying to consider and remember is the importance of each day, each hour, each moment. at 25 years old (while it IS young), a quarter of my life is over. the decision that was eventually unquestionably the right one, the decision to get married, is really more based on a here-and-now philosophy. he makes me happy NOW. i know that someday i want to build a family together. (i don't know that someday- i know that NOW, but i don't want a family NOW. does that make sense?). i know that right now, to be the happiest person i can be, it's right here, in this home, with this guy, and enjoying my time spent with another person. maybe that's a childish way to look at things, but the here and now of a "forever" perspective is important to me. it's important to remember what it feels like to laugh, to enjoy a lazy sunday, to enjoy the days we spend together. and those days turn into weeks, which turn into months and years, and eventually we've enjoyed a whole year together, and forever doesn't seem so crazy. if we make healthy decisions for the best in our relationship, then we will grow together through the years. i know that if i'm ever more unhappy than i am happy, i can make decisions to help me through that. i'm not saying that i went into the marriage thinking it could go wrong- on the contrary, i went into a marriage choosing to be happy. happiness that lasts every day (except when he leaves his socks in the hallway), and then every year.

maybe for some, happiness is living a life of a roller-coaster-- the ups and downs of dating, breaking up, dating again, choosing to be with people who don't have the potential to make you happy for days on end... maybe for some those hills and valleys of emotions work. for me, they don't. i don't believe i was too young to be married, to choose to be happy. it's an interesting concept, this "forever"... and instead, it's more like a forever and almost always concept- it's not about the forever, it's about the choices you make today and tomorrow and the next... the choices that will make you well, make you healthy, and make you feel as though you're living.

morning musing.

there are quite a few things i enjoy about working downtown... and one of them is my secret fascination with bike messengers. not so secret, i guess, because i do discuss it often whenever i see one. i love the duct-taped messenger bags, really worn chuck taylors covered in sharpie, green pants that have been cropped off and cool fingerless gloves they all wear. i love the lifestyle, the attitude, the costume.

so i just went back to bed after seeing the husband off to his job on saturday mornings (yes, we get up at 5am). i felt guilty because i put maisie back in her crate instead of sleeping with her on the couch, and turning off the lights by myself in an empty house continually freaks me out. it's no surprise, when i go to bed in such a freaked-out, guilty mode, that i would wake up with a jolt then because of a bad dream. and guess who suddenly arrived in my dream, screaming/bellowing at me in a devil-like fashion? yeah. a bike messenger. my secret fascination might be turning creepy...

whew. anyway, i felt like i should update this at some point... not sure who all reads the blog but the feedback from my very close friends has so far been positive. i've been thinking about being in my 20's and living in this great city (great... miserable? whatever). the dining out options, the bar options, everything is just so wide open for exploring and husband and i do very little of that. michael symon opened a restaurant 5 minutes from my house and it took us months to get there. yikes. the problem with clevelanders, i think, is the polarity most have in the suburbs. if we were to go to dinner, by the time we've decided we are officially too hungry to even think about making something at home, we're ready to go to the staples- we stick to our normal west-side locales. and, we're homebodies. the other week, a friend was over and at 11:00-ish, he decided it was a good time to meet up with some friends in tremont. i had been asleep on the couch for a good 1.5 hours by then. maybe if husband didn't have to work on saturdays and wake us both up at 5am things would be a little different. maybe. tonight we have big plans with our parents and some friends, and the neighbors (parents', not ours. i told you before we're the black sheep of the neighborhood), are going to see a band play at a little bar in north olmsted. ok, so its still the west side, but i am secretly giddy about doing something out of the ordinary at least. i'm planning on consuming lots of bud light and dancing ridiculously to middle-aged men rocking out to "hang on sloopy" (don't judge).

alright... i'm getting sleepy again... maisie was the most extreme version of herself yesterday- she was absolutely a complete puppy-nutcase. i've never seen her that hyper before, actually, i've never seen her awake for that long. husband chose to buy her two of the ugliest toys in the pet store last night. of course she loved them. one is a red tube thing that has a black tail on one end with a squeaker in it. i'm thinking its used to train hunting dogs to kill coons. the other is a squeaky moose- it's lime green with obnoxiously painted antlers- in a diarrhea/orange color. hideous. and maisie went nuts. i'm plotting how to throw away the toys without husband or dog noticing but so far i'm not coming up with a thing. i might just hide one under the couch (strategically, so i can implicate maisie if husband ever finds it). anyway... she has been sleeping on me this morning for a good three hours at least, after sleeping all night. poor hyper puppy... i think she totally wore her self out (at least, i hope. last night was intense!). she's doing the dog-dreaming thing now- twitching, eyes fluttering, little snorts. i almost want to wake her because she's just too cute right now. i'm getting sleepy too... i think it's time to make some coffee and then get started on cleaning this house... it's a trainwreck every saturday.

the sound of what cannot be seen.

i've been reading a new book- "reading like a writer," by Francine Pascal. it's one of those books that i find myself continually picking up and putting back down again, but i think i tend to do that with books that i read very closely, re-reading paragraphs, sentences, thoughts, making sense of the concepts outlined on the page. from my first venture into the book, i realized that i knew most of these concepts already... and it took an adjustment to learn to put aside my ego and learn from a published writer, teacher, novelist. the book encourages a close reading of the text, stresses the importance of picking the appropriate words, a strong knowledge of grammar rules, sentence construction, and the deliberate breaths between paragraphs.

all of those concepts i understand. it wasn't until i studied poetry with one of my most respected professors that i realized the impact a single word can have on the page. i never understood poetry, and was worried she would see through my facade as a top student of literature when we started diving into 19th century poetry. instead, she gently guided me through a painstakingly close reading of each text, stopping to ask what i was feeling, what emotions each word invoked. it was then that i came to appreciate seemingly minute word choices each author made. it became easy to imagine that a short poem could take years to perfect. i imagined authors erasing, scratching out words on the page, and holding their heads in their hands as they searched for the right words to place in the right spaces.

grammar is a lesson i am always kicking myself for never quite mastering. it was in spanish class that i learned about what a subject of the sentence meant. i learned words like predicate, past participle, and clause. too bad i didn't understand spanish and instead passed through spanish 4 by writing verb conjugations on my desk and then rubbing them out with my thumb the second the teacher walked towards me. in college, i stumbled through a grammar class with the most airheaded professor in the department. needless to say, my time spent diagramming sentences was as successful as my time spent learning was a square root was (read: nonexistent).

the chapter on sentence construction fascinated me, however. pascal uses the voices of the masters to point out examples- everyone from flannery o'connor to katherine mansfield and ernest hemmingway are used to bring home the fact that beautiful sentences can be the length of an entire paragraph, diagramming those sentences would look like quite the spider web of independent and dependent clauses (don't ask me what that means, i have no idea), or the short, staccato style of a no-nonsense writer seeking to evoke simple and powerful images. i found myself wishing i would focus more on each description, each analogy, each step in the process of writing. and to be honest, yes, i should read more often.

when i was little, i would write and be annoyed with myself if i found myself writing similar to the most recent book i had read. how was i ever to stand out if i continually copy the style of the author i just read? pascal addresses this issue in the first few pages- suggesting that the ability to copy the masters is the first step in becoming a great writer. it's like painters in renaissance italy and beyond- they learn by creating copies of masterpieces, slowly breaking down the techniques, learning the rules so that they can then create their own, or disregard them altogether. i'm realizing that writing as my favorite author does is possibly the best exercise for me to do... now it just comes down to reading and feeling inspired.

to be honest, one of my biggest challenges with writing is not constructing sentences or choosing words... it's feeling vulnerable to those reading my words. a professor told me once that if you've lived a year in junior high you have enough material to write five novels. i laughed and thought about all the material i have that could be used for future novels. however, even if what i am writing is pure fiction, it still comes from my mind, my experiences, and my perceptions of the world. i have so many people whose opinions mean the world to me... and for them to read my words and see my thoughts, sometimes horrible, tragic, or sensual thoughts- even if it were (for all intents and purposes) 'fiction,' it's difficult to let the wall down.

in truth, it is my life- my perceptions, no one elses, and i should be able to separate the narrator in my head from the voices outside- i realize the value in rejecting feelings of insecurities and doubts... i just don't know if i'm ready do so, yet.


in other news- it has been quite the rough month. first, bella came home and was taken away faster than any animal should be. then, we brought little, funny maisie home. in between stressing about her health (i still have fears about parvo), maisie decided to not spend one night sleeping in her crate and instead cried and barked for 5 straight nights (going on 6 now). we got up every morning at 5am to feed her and take her outside... and by friday, i was exhausted. then on friday, spencer left us. spencer was the dog i begged for when i was 11 years old. he was my first real family pet- and he was the best guy. he was fun, happy, and so loving. i really find it incredibly hard to find words to explain the amount of love i have for him. he was the best. i guess that's all you can say. at 13 years old, he had been loved and brought love to so many people. .... there's nothing else i can say about my favorite guy- the words seem fake right now, not enough, or something.

the snow is blanketing the ground and i feel deflated... i know how wonderful my life is- i'm sitting here in my warm, beautiful home with my husband and new puppy sleeping on the other couch, my family a 5 minute drive away, and dinner plans with my very best friends tonight. but after everything, after all the emotions and all the tears- i'm just not myself right now... the main question i have is the process of aging. i guess i understand the getting old part of it... maturing, growing, experiencing life and love and loss. but i don't understand the time process of it all. if we only have 100 years to live- what impact can we have on the world? i understand having children, leaving a legacy, raising a family, keeping the cycle in motion. but i don't understand the shortness of it all. it seems cruel- 100 years out of how many thousands or billions? for some- its not 100 years. it could be as little as minutes, days, weeks. 8 weeks for bella. 13 years for spencer. both seem just too short- spencer was taken from us even though he had so much love to give. people, animals, it doesn't really matter with me- it all puzzles me, and it all makes me question the finality of life and the impact of our choices, our footprints. and all of these thoughts are definitely giving me pause... time to be contemplative, deflated, reflective.


Often, i write all day long with white ink on white paper, late into the night, until it is all i can do to feel the letters curving to earth from the tip of the pen and then, i fall asleep. dreaming of running, or maybe driving in a car the color of water and i wake the next day remembering nothing and i gather the stack of paper and a pen of black on the desk in front of me and the words begin to dance over the page like long legged insects across a still lake and the words in white whisper behind and underneath the new day. if there is any secret to this life i live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can. and there is nothing more to it than that. -brian andreas, story people

and we all keep on moving

the world just continues on after something traumatic and terrible happens. isn't that always a shock to us? and it always is a shock to me that time does help. the night bella died, i was filled with such incredible sadness, i felt that my heart was breaking in little fragments and i didn't even have the strength to grab a broom and keep up with it. bella being who she was, and being with us for such a short time really taught me quite a few things about love, loss, and family. it's no secret to those reading this blog that i'm not necessarily from the most traditional family. on the outside, sure, i even am told how much i resemble my parents. but i am adopted, and while it's a wonderful blessing to have started my life with so much love- the love of making sure i had a good home, the love of making sure i had a life, and the love of my family... etc, etc, etc; sometimes it doesn't feel like it began with love. sometimes it feels cold, calculating, unfair. and i don't just mean for one side or the other. on both sides of the exchange, it feels unfair at times. when you dive into the issues of giving up a baby, and not being able to have your own children, there's a lot of "unfair" going around, i guess.

so my concepts on family and love and the fairness of the world have been complex, starting probably when i was 12 and may or may not have screamed nasty things at my parents as i stomped upstairs and slammed my bedroom door. to come full circle with this blog in one sense, i said when i started it that it was a discovery of this post-marriage, post-maiden name, post-college me. and it has been a discovery- what goes into a marriage, what goes into creating a family is all becoming new for me somehow, in some way. bella taught me an important lesson in love- one that seems to correlate to my complex, somewhat over-analyzed views on marriage and family...

you see, it took less than five minutes to know i was going to love her. isn't that wild? yes, we didn't know her that long. yes, i held her for an hour before taking her home. yes, we discussed it backwards and forwards. and yes, she was only home for 24 hours, and only with us for about half of that. but the crazy thing is, time didn't matter. once we decided to love her and bring her into our family, that's what we did. and everything else really doesn't matter.

and by the way, time really does help things. that first night i felt anguished. the next day, i was angry, later, i was sad- projecting guilt onto myself. and later- i realize it's just not. fair.

the story doesn't really end there. i haven't stopped talking about bringing another puppy into our house since two days after bella died. i'm not quite sure what was wrong with me- maybe i needed somewhere for the excess love to go. maybe i'm just a freak of an animal lover and i needed one. and, maybe this goes back to deciding that i need something and finding a way to get it. husband needed more time. i'm glad he did- because secretly i think i did, too. we ended up bringing little maisie home on friday night (yes, it's 4:53am on monday. i clearly suck at crate training). part of me was worried- am i expecting a little puppy to heal my heart? that's a lot to expect from her. she isn't bella- she is someone new to love and in way, she deserves all the love bella received and more. maisie is easy to love... in that careful, cautious way. the i-just-got-my-heart-broken-so-don't-think-you're-gonna-get-in-the-door thaaaat quickly way. i find myself like a teenager though, a little hardened from the last hurt, but still hoping for a kiss goodnight to make me feel swoony. (for the record, i never really had my heart broken by a boy. somehow husband managed to capture me at the tender age of 17... although emotional teenage me certainly could imagine what it would have felt like to have him decide to go out with my best friend).

so here we are, maisie, husband and myself. not sleeping, unsure about what to do with disciplinging this little pistol. (she loves shoes, finding a thread to yank from a rug, and doing everything she can to distract us at the dinner table). maisie is very easy to love, and husband and i are figuring out how to love a little furbaby again. (p.s. part of me is terrified that something will happen to her. if you pray, or think positive thoughts, i would appreciate some positive thoughts her way... although we bleached our entire house, parvo is still contagious and it still fraeks me out).

alright, enough for now... i'm going to try to get some sleep with my puppy who spends every night ccrying and then peeing in her crate. (for the record, her crate is divided. there is barely enough room for her to turn around in there. i know dogs don't pee where they sleep, but she does, because 1. she doesn't seem to sleep in there unless it's 4 in the afternoon and sunny, and 2. she pees and then gets upset about it, waking us up. and 3. we take her out every hour to go pee. by the time bedtime comes she is to the point of pretending to pee so she can come back inside since her little bladder is so empty. it magically fills back up again sometime between 2-4am.)whew... it's gonna be a fun ride with this one.

sometimes it's unfair

the hardest day of my life happened two summers ago. i was driving to work at my dad's company prior to finding a "real" job... normally when i get in the car, i end up plugging my ipod in, getting my phone out to call someone, or at the very least, flipping around the radio. that morning i did none of that. i got in my car with my phone in my purse, the radio silent, my ipod put away. i was just driving, both hands on the wheel and everything. as i rounded a curve in my sleeping neighborhood, i felt my car hit something and stopped suddenly, terrified. i had not seen anything in the road and my thoughts were spinning- did i hit a garbage can? a box? something much worse? because i did not see anything, i sat in my car, dazed for a minute, listening to what i can now describe as the worst sound in the world. i heard a howling, but couldn't connect (or didn't want to) it to what had just happened. then i realized that i had clearly hit someone, and realized i needed to get out of my car.

i saw the prettiest dog you could have ever seen, sitting in her front yard, one paw dangling in front of her, howling. i almost passed out, and didn't want to go near her. she came to me, though, not knowing or realizing that i was the one who hurt her... she just wanted someone to help her.

the owner was the nicest she could have been- understanding that her dog frequently took off after cars, joggers, squirrels, and spent the first ten minutes of our interaction comforting my strange, hyperventilating sobs. my mom came after a frantic phone call- she knew the house i was at, she had seen the dog run out before cars too many times. that day i spent crying in bed, angry at myself, at the dog, and at the woman for not recognizing that her dog needed to be kept on a lead.

i'm the girl who hid kittens in my garage and my bedroom, knowing full well my dad was severly allergic to them. i've gotten out of my car to try to lure strays to come over to me... i've called animal control about baby deer too close to the road. i realize i love all animals a lot more than i love most people i meet.

so, last night was really hard for me. husband and i brought a new puppy home on sunday- a little sleepy boston terrier we named bella. she was beautiful but very timid. she only wanted to be held, and would drag herself on your lap and curl up to go to sleep in favor of walking anywhere on her own. the most excitement we had was at 12:30am, 2:30am, and 4:30am, in which she peed just a little in her crate and was very, very upset about it. she found a pile of pillows in the family room and immediately found her new bed when she couldn't find a lap, picking her head up to watch you with big eyes as you moved in and out of the room. too many people told us she was just a new puppy, adjusting to a new home, but she wasn't... 24 hours later, i rushed our new puppy to the animal hospital... she had been throwing up, getting sick, and then crying the saddest puppy cries as she pulled herself onto my knees. as i drove to the vet i kept telling myself she was just a little baby, probably weak and tired from her travelling. i told myself i was crazy to be making her go for another stressful experience. i think we knew something was wrong with her, though. my husband met me there and we learned she had parvo... a deadly puppy virus that is highly contagious. bella spent tuesday and wednesday in the hospital before she died. we called every four hours to check on her... the night we dropped her off we came home to disinfect our home, then went to buy her a leash, a pink collar, and puppy toys, convinced that if she had a nice home she would bounce back. little bella was a fighter, but she didn't stand a chance. she was too little, too young, too weak.

it's hard to feel ok in a world in which puppies die. i realize there are greater catastrophies, greater sorrows, but seeing her one last time, curled up and looking like she was sleeping was one of the saddest and hardest moments of my life. we only had her 24 hours and she had captured our hearts. i am so glad we brought her home to us, though... without us, she may never have had a home. she may never have been able to sleep in someone's arms who loved her very much... and she may never have experienced love and comfort in a time when she needed it the most.

bella also brought my husband and i closer. we worked to get our home ready for her, we talked more, let the dishes slide and instead went to dinner, cried together, and made plans for her to be a part of our family.

i'm crying as i'm typing this... and i realize i seem completely lame and sappy. she was just a puppy, after all, and not even a happy, funny little ball of energy she should have been. we never knew her but as a sad, sick little baby. but she was loved- if only for one day... and i think anyone deserves at least that.

you & me

i have recently met a new group of people that i wanted to discuss because they intrigue me, and because i'm so surprised people like this exist so prevalently and want to connect with me.

confession: i am a bit of a celebrity whore. i love famous people. not all famous people, but with a good majority of famous people i meet i have this condition in which i want to be near them, hang out creepily by their side and listen to every word they say. it's somewhat embarassing, but i'm not too worked up about it. it's not like i meet celebrities daily. except for maybe athletes, since i work in sports, but i don't really count athletes as celebrities. unless you're david beckham (and if i met him, i don't think i would ever leave his side). so, i get the whole self-absorbed celebrity stuff. i actually think it's fine for them to just talk about themselves for four hours. i would hang on every word and be ok with it.

it's the non-celebrities, or "local" celebrities who think its necessary to be that self-absorbed that i just don't really understand. i've never met so many people in my life that can have conversations just about themselves. since when is it ok to not have any interaction in a conversation? i've really seen it at least five times in the past few months, and at first i thought there was a problem with me... since getting married, did i lose the ability to talk to other people aside from my husband? am i that boring that i just have nothing to say? do i miss the lulls in conversation that allow me to jump in with a laundry list of what's going on in my life? i started watching my conversations with (ahem) normal people and can now safely say that it is not me, it is without a doubt, completely and totally their fault.

the thing is, most of these people are actually really nice. it's just that they are self-absorbed. there are no questions from them about my day, my life, my job, my home. when i say no questions, i mean it. and then i start thinking that there must be something wrong with me because i've never been the approachable one. no one ever knows what to make of me- i'm shy and quiet at first, but i'm pretty opinionated. a teacher in high school once gave out awards at the end of the year. i got the serial killer award (yeah, she sucks as a teacher, clearly. it's amazing they allow people like that to teach and i couldn't land a job. whatever, anyway...). i have never wanted a million acquaintances, and ended high school and college with quite a few people i knew but didn't ever feel like initiating a 'hello' to in the bar. i'm just not that girl. i have my great friends, and i have people that i will occasionally make small talk with in the grocery store (or even the bar), but not many. it's outrageous how many people are just talking at me now. since when was i ever the girl that people just spilled their thoughts to? i'm convinced i've either gone soft or i'm somehow just meeting the most self-absorbed, obsessive people in the greater cleveland area.

and like i said, if i'm impressed by you, it's perfectly fine to talk about yourself. i definitely discriminate. i am not impressed by most small-time celebrities, athletes, etc. when i'm drunk this can change a little (we had a small incident in which i stayed next to jeff timmons of 98 degrees all night. oops). anyway, i find even with my closest friends from grade school, i'm becoming the one who just listens. and i get that- their lives are not as settled as mine, and i'm always up for listening if it will help someone i care about (and yes, i guess i care about most people). but this new epidemic of people is just a little too much for me to handle. maybe that's why i write this blog- it's my one chance to talk about myself. my thoughts, my feelings.

completely off-topic, although i think i've said all i can say without incriminating the semi-famous people i've been referring to, my bunny lola has just discovered she can handle hardwood floors. she's three years old but has always hated hard surfaces and will suicide jump to my shoulder if she is ever forced to be on a counter, vet table, or even the bathroom floor. however, letting her in the family room has allowed her to venture off into the world of hardwood floors. she is now exploring underneath all of our furniture and coming out covered in dust bunnies. yikes- time to start swiffering the dining room, i think.

alright- that's it for today.... have a wonderful weekend!

a time for everything under the sun.

i almost just wrote a blog post on the amount of television i've been consuming. you're welcome for saving you. instead, i will (in true oxymoronic fashion), discuss the fact that i feel so busy lately that i can't get a grip. i read someone's facebook status saying something about how she feels she's "always chasing her tail," and thought- yeah, i agree! ... insert comment about the epiphanies that now come from facebook.

the ultimate question- do i have the time, or do i just not make room in my schedule? i know i spend a significant portion of my time at work, or at events for work. however, when i am not at work... can i be more productive, and feel less like i have no time to do anything or see anyone? the truth is, i'm feeling drained. i barely have time to see my mom- we seriously schedule our time, and if that doesn't work then we schedule a timeframe. i feel guilty then making time to see others if i feel like i can't even connect to my mom- my best friends- etc.

and, to make this a full-circle complaint, i don't think i've ever consumed this much television in my life as i have recently. husband and i have 3 main tv shows we watch regularly. that's 2 more than i've ever watched regularly. EVER. when it's not one of those shows, it's criminal minds. that shit is addicting.

so, enough about the tv. the point is- i'm feeling drained, devoid of energy, unable to find time to work out, unable to get my ass off the couch and see those whom i need to reconnect with. i blame three things...

1. the weather. it's dark and cold. i can't go for walks by myself or with others because a) i'll get taken by some psycho like on criminal minds, and b) it's cold, dark, and icy.

2. i do work a lot, i think. when i was teaching, i was working a lot, too- but i would be done with my day at 4pm. now i'm not getting home until close to 7, sometimes much later, and all i want to do is collapse and not deal with things for a little while. (as an aside- i'm disappointed i'm not more concerned with my transition from working when i got home from work to the not opening my outlook unless necessary policy i've adopted since getting married and getting the house. i would think i would feel a little more guilty not working in the evenings, but i actually feel somewhat relieved). essentially, i'm gone/not at home/busy for at least 12 hours. that's half of my time right there...

3. marriage. i will say that marriage has many wonderful perks, but my time has been eaten up. it's pretty draining to be around someone all the time, i think. i don't always mean draining in a bad way, either... just take the word draining at face value. it's energy draining, sometimes great and wonderful energy and sometimes just energy.

and you know what- i look at my mentors at work and their time schedules- the e-mails, situations, brain power they put towards their projects... and i feel guilty. they, and really all of my colleagues, spend an incredible amount of time at work and with clients, and when they're not at work... they are working. i work with some of the most dedicated individuals i've ever been around. if we had that type of work ethic at the country club, it would be a much different place. it's inspiring, and then i start to think... i am really not that busy... i find time to watch 4 tv shows, right? i should be able to get up and go run a mile before work... i should be able to make phone calls when i'm at home instead of only in the car... i should be able to cook dinner, clean, and keep up with the laundry without the house looking like a fucking tornado by the end of the week. ... i can't.

i need this life coach to examine my time, change my habits, force new behaviors into my world. i also need a life coach to tell me to stop swearing in my blog post, write a novel already (dammit), and go to bed, emily. this post probably reads pretty poorly. i'm tired, so tired my head isn't staying up and every other word is being misspelled. ok, life coach- bed it is.

more later, more frequently, i promise.

if you see me slouching.

the holidays have come and gone... and instead of a sense of longing, i suddenly feel rested, encouraged, enlivened. i know it looks dead outside, but instead i think the new year has created some much-needed motivation and put some more life in my world. since the holidays are gone, i can look forward to saving up some money, enjoying time with friends, enjoying more free time, and moving forward on some goals that (now) seem only natural and very attainable. it was nice this year to have long weekends, feeling as though everyday is sunday, yet better than sunday because tomorrow is another free day.

it has occured to me that i have not been doing much to enlighten myself, to challenge my mind, to question my world. through the use of social media, i put my words and thoughts out there (twitter, this blog), yet i can't seem to see how anything i have written has enhanced anyone's day, expanded their mind, or enriched their life. maybe for entertainment purposes, maybe, but i am better than that. instead of an endless stream of babble, i am going to try to focus on enrichment. before i send my thoughts out to the universe- i will ask myself how this will enrich or enhance someone's day. if i cannot answer that question, then it is not worth sending. the world is not my sounding board, and i will respect those by trying to share only relevant and interesting information (according to yours truly, of course. hah).

it's not just the babble- but i am almost ashamed that each day i find myself unable to cite an article that made me think about something in a new and different light. so, i am reading more. taking my english department head's advice on this one. a bit of background: when i came to college, i had taken a post-secondary class on english composition that dealt more with critical theory than i ever experienced in four years of undergrad combined. it was challenging, and my professor at the local community college was exceptionally smart. she also made me re-write my paper on marxist ideologies and how they relate to 20th century plays (yes, i was 17 years old) TWICE until i made a sound argument. (the paper was titled "marxist paper from hellllll" on my computer, and still is). in high school, i was somewhat lazy, tired of the authority, the pot-smoking preppy AP kids. i was not a chosen "smart one," i did alright enough to earn scholarships, but not enough to care or be recruited for any AP class. so, my confidence level in my writing ability was not all there, and i don't know how much i cared, beyond what this professor at the community college told me (or didn't. looking back, i see that her making me re-write things must have been a compliment, but a simple 'A' would have made me feel better).

when i got to college, i figured i would probably major in writing, minor in education, and possibly history. my first literature class led to the professor (head of the english department) pulling me aside to discuss my potential. i told him i wanted to be a writing major. he lectured me with an argument that made two valid points. 1) i already knew how to write. 2) in order to learn to write well, you must first read. a lot.

so, i was an english literature major by my sophomore year and never looked back. (except now when i wish someone would have just simply SHOWN me what a press release looked like. aka real world writing). for the sake of mentioning it, this professor also realized my oxymoronic combination of laziness and longing for perfection. he therefore rarely gave me an a, although frequently used samples of my writing as examples to the other english students. story of my life, let me tell you.

anyway, my old professor's argument point #2 always stuck with me. in order to write, you must read. and i know this to be extradinarily true... when i am reading, thinking, challenging myself and the author, i become a better writer (and probably a better person). self realization of 2010- i am reading more. not just novels, but articles, blogs, magazines, and some critical reviews. first up: the dolphin people. next up: the zookeeper's wife. next? something non wwII. (i can't get stuck in a rut)... possibly a book called something like the bluebird and women's search for happiness (just read a review of it and it looks promising). i am also going to try to keep a better house... in order to complete my oxymoronic self, i must discuss being a wife and an intellectual.... and yes, i'm struggling to succeed with both of those.

back when i started this blog, i discussed the concept of a post-marriage me. it's becoming clearer and yet fuzzier at the same time. it doesn't seem so limiting, but at the same time, it's like planning a vacation... where do i go? what can i afford to lose? what can i invest? more questions and more opportunities have appeared, and yet i somehow feel more settled.

oh, and my final (i think) resolution: better posture. if you see me slouching, please remind me. i won't be mad, i promise. cheers!

health, wealth, and happiness

... blog title just had to be used from a favorite movie of mine, in honor of brittany murphy.

anyway, i mentioned in my last post about how i got sick last week... and they (meaning the ER doctors) aren't sure if it was a virus- a crazy, fast-hitting stomach flu, or if it was food poisoning. regardless, being that sick made me want to consider rethinking the way i treat my body, what i consume, what air i breathe, and just how healthy of a lifestyle i really should be living. for as long as i can remember, i have been extremely compassionate towards animals. i'm sure i'm not different than most kids- but i would frequently allow stray cats in our house (when dad wasn't home, since he was allergic) and once kept one in our garage, its bed of rags hidden from view, and a little dish of milk and american cheese kept it purring throughout the cold winter months. anyway- i have always (always- ever since i can remember) hated fur and hated skins... and i believe i could probably be a vegetarian if i thought about it enough. sometimes i don't eat things that look too much like the animal it actually is. that doesn't include the thanksgiving turkey- i felt a moment of guilt but then participated in prying open the turkey butt and then (once it was cooked), peeling off its skin to eat it. - that sounds so vulgar, doesn't it?

beyond my little side feelings of guilt- which are almost always pushed to the side when i see a hamburger coming my way- are the concepts of the unsanitary living conditions, slaughterhouses, and hormones that all contribute to the raising and processing of said hamburger. i believe it isn't healthy to treat a living creature in that way (think about it. some people have more compassion for a tree than an animal), and i especially don't think its healthy to participate in the purchasing or consuming of that product.

husband and i often will buy organic, a choice we make for probably different reasons, but one that we feel good about. we buy almost all of our meat organic, as well as eggs, milk, and some vegetables. but to me, that's not enough. i still eat out often- and i still get processed, hormone-filled chicken (is it really chicken?) mashed down on a griddle and thrown together with some teriyaki sauce at the food court for lunch. while i enjoy food, and i like to cook, when thinking about ways to live a healthier lifestyle, i'm realizing that the products i choose to put in my body are not the best.

now, i do think i eat pretty damn well for the most part... in my defense, i feel a twinge of guilt if i have more than 1.5 mint milano cookies in one day, and i try to only drink water (and wine- hah) at home. but, as far as being careful about the impact of the choices i make when choosing what (and where) to eat, I could definitely improve.

beyond my eating habits, I want to improve my sleep, up my water intake, drink tea instead of coffee, and continue a workout regimen at overload fitness. the last one is the hardest for me... but i feel better when i'm fit- and one of the hardest transitions for me is learning to feel as though i'm accomplishing something while lifting weights. i used to live for the rush i felt after landing a new trick or the 'zone' i would get into while tumbling. the feeling of pushing aside your fears and doubts and insecurities and trusting yourself, all while flipping through the air. the feeling of strength and adrenaline i would get towards the end of tumbling practice- legs shaking but still throwing powerful back tucks. feeling as though i accomplish something while pushing against a machine? not so much. i'm starting to get there, though- with overload, the concept is to never "unload" from a machine- your muscles are under CONSTANT stress, and you maintain perfect posture and breathing throughout the super slow workout. it hurts like hell, and it's a series of mind over matter moments to get through it. the last workout i did left me unable to tip a glass of water to my lips, my arms were burning so badly, my eyes filling with tears over the intensity of it. it's a different feeling of accomplishment, but it's coming back, slowly.

i hope to continue a workout regimen that makes me stronger- reverses the effects of my early on-set bone loss, and provides relief for the nerve disease. and looking great in a bikini would be an excellent plus.

those are my new years resolutions- which sounds like an oxymoron. resolution has this connotation of an end- and those resolutions are more like beginnings for me. but whatever. cheers to 2010... and raise your (red- antioxident wine) if you will... health, wealth, and happiness!

saturday morning errands

7:43 on a Saturday! I should be grabbing a few extra minutes of sleep but by the time i do that it will be time to get up and start my day. I have a jam-packed day today, with lofty expectations. first, i hope to make it to a gas station before running out of gas. secondly, i hope to get all of our christmas shopping done today. husband is a BAD influence on me when it comes to getting things done early. he had some reasoning behind not shopping until now, something about our american express bill not coming until january? hm. not sure but right now i'm panicked. we should have made lists about what we hoped to get everyone and what the cost is... yet i'm stuck thinking of things last minute. i'm also not the best when it comes to thoughtful gifts. i try, but since i do things so last minute, it feels like it's not as thoughtful as it could have been. i have ideas for certain people, but nothing set in stone...

husband's gifts were all done last month on random shopping trips with my mom. he's easy to shop for in the sense that i usually just buy him clothes i hope he wears someday (ONE day), but he's so non-materialistic that it's tough to get him something he wants more than anything (besides a ps3. because i'm not paying $300 for a video game thing- not like we could afford that anyway, but you know). my mom says i'm clearly the easiest to shop for- and it's because i like things. and i want things. i have a normal wishlist i'm hoping for: a new winter coat, a new, cozy bathrobe, clothes for work, etc. i have my "i die" wishlist: a puppy, diamond earrings, a new car. and i have my "would be nice" wishlist: decorating stuff for my home, random tops/sweaters/jewelry, spa gift certificates, etc, etc. i just love things. so, i really am the easiest to shop for. if others (mom, dad, sister, husband) were as materialistic it would be so simple to get them something off their 200-item wishlist at any given time.

anyway, big plans for today include getting my hair done, a trip to the dmv, christmas shopping, and possibly watching my college alma mater face off in their bowl game. pretty standard. now i should probably go get ready so i have time to get gas and stop by the bank before the dmv. whew. wish me luck!

one month later...

almost a month ago, i wrote my last update. i really, really need to work on disciplining myself to write regularly. i'm not ready to give myself deadlines, because then it would turn into something that would stress me out, but i need to motivate myself to write regularly. i'm so into this phase of "action steps" from work that now i feel like i need action steps for my writing. i need to write regularly for at least a few months. then... what? i should really write some new short stories and send those in for publication, somewhere. the atlantic monthly? i think that's the journal that is impossible to get into... anyway, once i decide what the next steps are (if there are any), i'll let you know via blogging (that i'll be doing regularly).

someone once told me that i write better after a few glasses of wine... and i tend to agree. actually, i think i write better when i have a purpose for my writing. lately there hasn't been much purpose behind my entries. i feel like writing antecdotes on newlywed life- funny little things that only a new husband and wife could do... but sometimes i feel bad because it's always colored in my favor, and husband doesn't love being a character. but, then again, who cares?

a story from thanksgiving, shall we?

our first thanksgiving together... i took a day off work to prepare... we were all ready. but for some reason thanksgiving morning, although i was so prepared to be in the spirit of the holidays, something wasn't clicking. maybe it was because i told him 12 times i wanted to watch the parade and he turned on some cd (surround sound, of course) at the highest possible volume, blaring some heavy rock metal-type music. fine. maybe it was because we couldn't find any tablecloths or napkins at 5 stores the night before and had to resort to going to walmart in the morning. i think i may have been hungover as well, or at least not ready to wake up, by the time we got the turkey. dad brought the turkey over early (mom had bought it fresh and kept it in their spare fridge for us). husband tried to escape before the turkey came and go to walmart for table linens. long story short, i ended up in tears before we even attempted to get the crap out of our turkey's butt (which, incidentally, had frozen in the spare fridge, so we had to ice-chip out the bag of organs and other gross body parts).

so... finally, turkey is in the oven, and we went to walmart for the linens. husband assembled candleholders while watching the game, and i peeled potatoes. throughout the day, i wonder aloud that the house didn't exactly smell like an 18 lb. turkey was roasting in the oven. husband proceeded to tell me that he couldn't smell anything beyond the cinnamon broom i bought recently at the organic food store (it is a little strong). 3.5 hours into the cooking of the turkey, i finally opened the oven to discover that when (no names please...) _______ put it in the oven and set the timer, it was only set for preheat. huh. we "cooked" the turkey in an oven that had managed to cool down to room temperature in 3.5 hours and now had no thanksgiving meal.

panic ensued. (i first screamed). husband is asking me if random restaurant/buffet places sell roasted (cooked) turkeys. phone calls were made to my family, the guests of the dinner, and i ended up crying in probably every room of our house, while simultaneously hyperventilating and discussing the highest of expectations for our first holiday meal (and first dinner party, really). finally, it turned out alright. the oven was turned on, family assured that dinner was now at 7 instead of 3, and we were able to make an early trip to the in-laws instead of a late trip over. (of course we lied to everyone there and said we meant to have dinner later). ahhh... the holidays.


someone told me today that i have a pretty nice life with my husband and our little home. and i had to agree. husband is a life-saver (especially recently when i was sick and had to go to the ER... i'll spare you the details, but it involved puking an average of every 10 minutes for 4 straight hours. poor husband spent the entire night either cleaning up after me or sitting in a plastic chair with no arms at the ER while i dozed in and out of a morphine-induced sleep)... and we are also best friends. but, beyond that (and more along the lines of what that person was talking about today), we don't worry about the things that a lot of people dating around worry about. i'm always amazed at the dating world now... it seems to be broken up into the people who want to find "the one" -- those who could use eharmony or something, those who like dates involving dinner and wine and movies, and those who aren't interested in dating but who have some loose strings that occasionally trip them up... an ex from college, or a guy they've been talking to... but for one reason or another they aren't ready to commit. it seems stressful and hard to be a girl who is approachable to guys but not ready to go home with the first guy to come up to her in a bar.

anyway, i'm glad to not have to deal with those stresses, to be comfortable with him and us and not involve any other people. in a world where it's an oddity to stay together, i'm finding more and more that i like beating the odds.

.... this post is going nowhere fast. someone want to send a cure for writer's block? i'm going to just start writing more often... they may be pointless, but i'll get somewhere eventually with these blog posts.

holiday cheer

whew. it's been one long weekend, and yet passed by so quickly. i feel guilty that i haven't written in awhile, and don't have much in particular to say (cue the back button on your browser now?). we're just moving forward with life... work weeks seem to roll up and then retreat, sort of like the tides. the only difference this past week was that i felt even more disconnected to my home, my husband. it's tough to balance particularly busy weeks and consuming work with life. that's why it's now 9pm on a sunday and husband is at the grocery store while i'm listening to the clothes clank around in the dryer. however, i'm thrilled that this week will be a short one-- we're preparing for the holidays over here so i'm taking off a day this week, which will be nice. naturally, i've waited until the last minute and still haven't bought a tablecloth or napkins or put together my cute candleholders for the centerpiece. so i'm pretty positive that day off that i envision as a relaxing day cooking and baking with mom will probably contain about 3 trips to the grocery store, 2 trips to michael's craft store, and probably a circle between pier 1, pottery barn, and jc penny for linens. oh well, i think i probably work best under pressure, anyway.

i'm looking forward for a break for some family time. maybe this weekend was just intense because of the big football game, but i am excited for a friday/saturday that isn't filled with beer at the local high-school-reunion bar. i need a good date night, i think. a date night with wine and romance, not beer and burping. (sick. but really there's been too much of that going on lately). i'm a fan of football season (by default. but if i didn't like it then i would hate my job, and i can't hate my job), don't get me wrong, but the fact that i know the beer specials on wednesday nights at more than 4 bars is disgusting.

it may be worth mentioning that we stopped in a random bar on friday night only to be confronted with guys from the past- boys who went to my high school (technically they went to my kindergarten, grade school, middle school, and high school, but who's counting?), and who decided my junior year of high school that they hated my boyfriend. weird, considering none of them bothered to date anyone outside of their group (rumors flew multiple times about the STDs that passed around like a cold), much less pay any attention to me. i know people say that all the time- but i really don't think they cared much for anyone else aside from the same girls (fatter now) that they hung around with then. i would occasionally see them at parties in high school, but we pretty much stuck to our own crowds. anyway-- for some reason they took a disliking to my boyfriend because he was with me. and turns out, they all still hate that same boyfriend. it was amazing. and annoying at the same time. i barely said two words to them, and tried to calm husband down who was fuming about a boy who grabbed his michigan hat. said boy also wandered up to me, wasted and almost incoherent to ask which company i work for. he then proceeded to ask if i've received his resume (twice he sent it to me). then he grabbed husband's hat and asked if i knew "this kid." now, i'm all for recommending people, even if we weren't friends, if i feel someone would be a great candidate for a job. but i wouldn't consider giving this kid an unpaid internship, considering that since 8th grade i've only known him as an incoherent drunk who was mostly stoned throughout his teen years. from the looks of things, nothing much has changed.

so- moving forward. i think it's time for a nice dinner, some oysters, and a martini or two to clear the air. some place with no tv's would be fabulous. quick post, i know- but i'm going to go switch the laundry out and continue looking up recipes for some holiday cranberry sauce... it's almost time for the holidays, and i can't wait for some holiday cheer... :)

tell me what you're looking for...

the first thing anyone says when they hear i like to write is what's your favorite author? and that's probably one of the top 5 questions i hate the most (next one being the infamous dinner party question). so- who is my favorite author? i don't know, sometimes it's john steinbeck, jack kerouac, sometimes it's cs lewis, and sometimes its the graffiti on the wall. sometimes its stephanie myers, other times its ancient writers. god- who i love to read depends so much on who i am at that moment. the one concept i tried to convey to my students over and over again is that writing and reading is a two way conversation. the author makes meaning, and the reader makes meaning. all based on your own experiences, and usually that meaning changes, based on those experiences. therefore- who i am as a writer has as much to do with me as it does with you- reading these words, following the patterns of my speech, agreeing, disagreeing, constantly making evaluations, comparing and contrasting from your own perspective(s).

when i answer the question with a nervous laugh and vacillate between authors of different contexts and time periods, the person then tries to save me and asks what i'm reading right now. i don't know what i'm reading right now. i just picked up new moon to read some of that before bed. before that i read glamour magazine, and before that i was reading french women don't get fat. do those sound like the literary choices of someone who loves to read and write? probably not. i was never into those english majors who thought they could go about a room, spouting off on how much they love updike or faulkner, or even sedaris. sure- i like all of those authors. but i like them all at different times... when i like to read for me, and when i like to get lost in a book, i prefer to turn to my tried-and-true 'a time for dancing,' a novel i first read when i was about 14 years old, a novel that still makes me cry at the end, and still makes me blush when i read the f-word in print. it's like that go-to sweater we all have... it's my go-to book.

i don't want to sound all anti-literary-snob, because i truly was afraid to read the twilight series. i spent my time in school deciphering chaucer's love poetry and george eliot's limonal characters in cross-cultural diasporas. i analyzed short fiction- just how does flannery o'connor show grace through violence? and 20th century plays... oh, i've read. and i enjoy challenging myself. but when you're home and you want to just read to read- do you pick up some jack kerouac and try to follow endless sentences and stream-of-consciousness writing? maybe for an hour, until your eyes cross and your head starts pounding.

i think sometimes we get too caught up in the confines of society that we tend to step into the role. so, when someone asks my favorite author- sometimes i say steinbeck (the safe choice), other times i say i like victorian literature (the literary choice. plus, i did study it the most in school), and yet sometimes i want to scream. would you ask a musician what their favorite song is? probably. and they probably think- geez, lady- i guess i like them all. i like this song when i'm crying, this one when i'm buzzed, and this one when i'm thinking. and that's just on tuesday!

hmm... anyway. i'm on my way to bed soon... and i must give a little public thanks to my mother- who came over today while i was at work and cleaned and tidied and just in general got my house in line. plus, she brought me presents since i have a nervous breakdown every morning before work (i have nothing to wear. ever). i think i've said it before on here- but if i haven't- she is the reason we (husband and i) are both happy to be living here. husband told me that he has to call her to thank her for coming over and picking up my crap. hah. he then asked where his presents were... silly husband! i just discovered that the holidays are going to be even more special. in addition to it being the first Christmas we've ever spent together (ever. in 7 years of dating!!), my family is staying home from florida this year... which means that we will get to spend Christmas with both of our families and each other. i don't think words could ever express how much this means to me. the holidays are magical and romantic to me- i would give up valentine's day in a heartbeat if i could spend every Christmas with the people i love... it is truly the most romantic and love-filled time for me, and the chance to spend it with those i love (all of those i love) is just incredible. plus, we're having a new years party!! that's right- i've finally convinced the husband to throw a party with me. i'm pretty excited about it- and have already started the process of printing invitations. so- that's life right now. a rant about authors and a little note of the love-filled holidays. cheers- and happy holidays...

love affair with the tropics

ok, maybe not a love affair with the tropics, but definitely a love affair with the water. i grew up in a town with a beach... and to be honest, my favorite time to visit the beach is the fall. let me explain: in the summer, the beach is filled with a vast array of the trashiest, whore-iest, nastiest people cleveland has to offer. and i'm not exaggerating. the beach is littered (literally and figuratively) with trash. you can find extended families with about 20 children running naked around, screaming, and their barefoot, pregnant moms chasing after them. or, sometimes, sitting and smoking with them. you can find a representation of the biggest gangstas/wangstas cleveland has to offer, often with their whole ass/boxers hanging out and a nice little shaved chinstrap along their face. then there's always the fun game of tattoo scavenger hunt. i bet you i could find a popeye tattoo with a naked chick hanging on the other arm and a tweety bird on the calf. see? i win!

when i was little, mom used to forbid me to go there by myself, of course the second i was allowed to ride bikes to get ice cream i would promptly disobey her, and often be exposed to the most tricked out pontiacs around. bass blaring, green neons running along the side, and pornos playing in the trunk. then they would all rev their engines and take off to drag race, or just drive really loudly to their parties.

so, the beach in the summertime is not always the most fun time. however, in the fall, when its cold enough to scare away most of the trash and leave behind only a few stoned teenagers, i love going and sitting by the water. for as long as i can remember, i have gone to the beach when i need to think, when i need to be reminded of how large the world is, and how signficant and completely insignificant i am. i guess i feel a sort of strange connection to the water- it reminds me of a different world-- i once heard that we know more about outer space than we do the ocean-- but it also reminds me of the most special memories... vacations, laughter, even the feeling of conquering your fears. i have so many memories with the water- from my short stint on the diving team in high school, including the bruises it gave me as i learned new tricks, and the feeling of freedom as i plunged from a 7 meter platform, and also the time i sunk beneath the surface after hitting my head on the board... it reminds me of learning to waterski, flying across the surface, and the moments of solitude as i sat on the beach, writing in my journal when i was 15 years old.

i went to visit the mountains out west with my family and i felt unsettled. i guess i felt unsettled for a number of reasons (the mormons in salt lake city did not help), but i knew i could never feel peaceful next to them. i saw how majestic and beautiful it was to see mountains covered in snow as you drove along the highway, but it reminded me of how much i love the ocean, the lake, the water. i really think i have a love affair with the tropics. i breathe easier when i'm standing on the edge of something immense and complex... and i feel much more connected to the ground. today i wasn't feeling well at all, and needed to escape my house and its stuffy air, so i walked the short walk to the beach. now, i would love to live on the water, but sometimes it's so magnificent to me, i wonder if my house were on the edge of that if i would be able to handle it. it would be a cathartic experience almost every time i saw the water... anyway... random musings before bed... i need to get some rest so i can feel 100% for the weekend- i love weekends.