ze barfday leest.

this week i turned one year older, and am surprisingly excited about it.

not excited because of some epiphany or movie ticket discount, but excited to be moving towards the future...towards me being me...and the happiness that will ultimately bring. at this very moment, me being me consists of: friday night cravings for Fage yogurt (listen to your elder and go get some immediately), peppermint tea, and the new Coldplay album (ditto).

as a bday present to myself i decided to compile a special list. typically i am fab at focusing on questions, but for this special occasion i thought it best to impress myself with answers.

so in no particular order, i present to you...

The Things I Know For Sure.
(one for every year)

1. once you start waxing whatever, you can never stop waxing whatever 
2. breathable fabrics are best
3. laughter cures
4. i am chemically addicted to fire cheetos
5. when in doubt, cover it up
6. i will never win a spelling b
7. my friends are more fun than your friends
8. everyone endures pain
9. india sweats the demon out
10. proper food and sleep could change the world's function
11. one's jungle-book-fantasy-void can be filled by bathing elephants in a river 
12. biscuits are better with maple syrup
13. if you bake it, they will come
14. thread count and shower pressure matter
15. people mostly remember how you make them feel
16. it's not as bad as you think it is
17. things become much easier when you stop holding on and just let go 
18. if you have met, but do not like, anna brame spessard mulhair kiani - you are a horrible person
19. pretty is good. funny is much better
20. truth and trust should be the goal
21. wealth in all forms is meant to be shared
22. when i write my book, my mother will first critique the cover art
23. paper cuts bring out the dragon
24. 5 hour energy is an afternoon of bad trips and tender moments spent in the restroom
25. it is10xs the fun if there's a costume
26. grandmother stories are the best stories
27. dried apricots will do the job
28. entitlement right next to ego is the most unattractive 
29. your dream for me is at times bigger than my dream for me
30. fringe makes everyone fall in love

khappy berthday to me.

the power of four.

families are a slightly incredible cohort. you can probably relate.

they hold the ability to empower or erode. shield or abandon. enlighten or completely confuse.

and if your family is special like mine, they have the power to do all these things simultaneously.

their interconnectivity is quite brilliant. affectionate glances framing guilt. vocalized pride stemming from secret deception. a bit of codependency thrown in just to make sure you're still awake. love and belonging interlocked, laced together in a lumpy soft embrace.

my father, mother, brother and myself are a compelling bunch. and one stupid gushy blog will not do us justice. this also holds true for extended family, however it should be known the smaller group is arguably more entertaining than the larger one.

by the way, i decided it's best that grandmothers are not included in the extended family list. one. they are far too wily. and two. they have eaten more shit in their lifetime than i care to ever eat in mine. they therefore warrant distinction, and nothing ever general. each one rightfully exists in their perfectly crafted ecosystem of fantasy. and by ecosystem, i don't mean terrarium. something with a little more first class leg room and extra drawers for jewelry. one day i'll write down my memories of my grandmothers. you can then drink tea and cozy up, reading tales of my Jewish Bubba asking her 8 year old elizabeth what she wants for breakfast. my answer forever being french toast. smoking in the kitchen, she relays every detail of each conversation had over the past month. repeating and then she says to him so many times elizabeth grows up to be a story teller. doesn't every kid play 21 and shop at Bloomingdales? or if you need something with more of a bite, aloha. sit ocean side - drink something serious - and fantasize of my hot-legged-chinese-portuguese Tutu. her chapter lovingly named Have That Man Put Some Ice In My F*cking Wine, will make you vomit with laughter. 

warning: tutu makes other grandmothers blush. she lives in las vegas. she has Club A on auto pay.

in not so plain terms, my family hooks me. confuses me. loves me. keeps me on my toes. they are charged and aware. ready-to-not-take-your-ish. ready for a good laugh and great story. and above everything - above allllll the few great guarantees of this world - they are never. ever. boring. thank the prophets.

after weeks of searching for the perfect word to describe them, i still can't nail down the proper term. in surrender, all i have come up with is: power nap. because sometimes after spending a week, or a day, or a dinner, or maybe just a speaker phone conversation - you'll need one.

growing up, i memorized their individual frequencies. measured their collective output. spent the majority of my life, in two groups of three. things always seemed crystal clear.

Group 1) cindy + elizabeth + max = elizabeth giving max a hard time/food shopping
Group 2) artie + elizabeth +max = elizabeth giving max a hard time/food eating

the number three was easy. it was comfortable. it was rehearsed and expected. but four...four was mysterious. the yet-to-be-cracked algorithm.

artie + cindy + elizabeth +max = the unconstrained variable. 

i had often wondered what the unknown power of four would hold. not that i expected  Donna Reed Show utopia, but what type of family experiences the perfectly manicured lawn. or late night conversations in the kitchen over chocolate cake. dialing one number and reaching two people.

turns out, if you have introduced me to your family, i have most definitely stalked them for as long as possible. not to worry. i made a concerted effort to not be creepily noticeable. why would i want to go outside when i can stand in the kitchen and watch Gail passionately read the newspaper while Ron works at the computer, re-telling old jokes. she was totally unaware she ate all of the sesame seed snacks from the bowl on the counter. if you waited long enough, she would start to play the blue piano in the bedroom and sing a tune or two. who wants to meet up with friends, when i can sit in a chair and watch andi and danny cuddle on the perfect-cuddle-couch for hours. never getting up for anyone. there was no better place to be.

i blame it on my shower curtain pull back disorder. discovering rationale behind mock turtle necks and cruise ships. wall plate displays and chicken chachkes. guns and eighties hair. stories of old hollywood standards and soft-shoe. i have to know if it's pristine. if you only clean for company. if professional help should be called. or maybe no one gives a shit, and just leaves it all wide open.

but for right now, the investigation can rest. because for the first time in my life, i got the chance to experience the unimaginable. my first family vacation. ever.

prompted by the Berkeley college graduation of my brother, i have to admit i was a bit terrified. but then figured even if the trip was a complete bust, at least i had the opportunity to answer the question: Why are you going to California? with...


I'm going on vacation with my divorced parents.

words sweet as honey.

yes, i knew what was coming. and yes. some of it came. but there were other far more glorious moments i didn't anticipate.

it's a good feeling to be surprised. but being surprised as a jaded 30 year old, is even better. i grabbed ahold of memories i never thought would be mine. held tight. and floated above it all. watching my parents sit in the front seats of the car. max and i silently in the back, listening to artie and cindy family vacation conversation. mom saying how she keeps raw green beans in her purse to eat on the plane. dad laughing at mom for being ridiculous. mom laughing out loud because even though she knows she is ridiculous, my father is still far more ridiculous than everyone.

cut to the restaurant. we all sit down. together. dad and mom share salmon with asparagus. cindy can't eat her half because the kitchen basted it in sweet sugar devil sauce. another piece of salmon is ordered. the establishment makes the grievous error of charging $8 for replacement salmon. my parents riot. they tag team the restaurant manager over the erroneous $8 charge. someone gets bored and leaves to retrieve blood from a nearby rock. the argument gets heated. my father unknowingly addresses my mother, saying, hold on honey. i gleefully shit my pants. team Alinikoff wins the standoff. my exhausted mother unintentionally leaves her to-go half eaten free piece of salmon on the table. she laughs. my father hits it home with, it's the principle of the matter.

graduation day. my dad and i take pictures from the stands. my father uses his fancy camera. he lets my mom direct some shots. i ask for a thumbs up and take a picture. they both smile, give me thumbs up and say heeeyyyy.

celebration time. my dad's sf friends organize a last minute graduation dinner for max. my sweet father is excited to show off his kids. the dinner is held at the beautiful home of my father's first wife. all four of us arrive. i curse myself for not stealing more liquor bottles from the flight. during dinner, i talk to dad's first wife - seated across from me - while his second wife (my mother) sits next to me.

what's more awesome than being able to say Going on vacation with my divorced parents?

...Hanging out with my dad and his ex wives.

i'm blessed to know my experience lies somewhere between the Donna Reed Show and bat-shit-crazyville. we are humans after all. made up of unconscious gabs and loving embraces. a mess of boundless brilliance. talented artistry. and hilarious honesty.

with the humorous jaw line and humbling body hair swirls of arthur alinikoff, i am grateful. to the secretly sensitive cindy powers of observation, i promise to sit up straight to open my heart chakra. to my brother max, who really isn't impressed by anything unless he feels it in his heart. u are my doppelganger.

to all three of you. i love you.

things i never thought i would say...

my brother is 26.
my brother is a berekely graduate.
my brother is taller than me.
my brother is better looking than me.
my brother appears to have a small nose, but it is really big in pictures.
my brother has a bigger heart than you.
my brother grows a lot of facial hair.
my brother wears shirts that fit him.
my brother doesn't take a shower every day.
my brother still touches his nose when he laughs.
my brother got all the freckles.
my brother is going to be a great father.
my brother loves me more than anyone loves me.

 

takeover makeover.

i'm not trying to be a debbie downer. god knows i have made huge shifts this year toward being a happy beam of bouncing light - which thanks to some adult acne medication - i totally am. thankful for my life. thankful for my job(s). thankful for all the money i don't have. thankful for steven tyler's open shirts and feather hair extensions competing against jlo's open shirts and hair extensions. but this week the light has fizzled and i am left listless, waiting around for the kneeling bus to take me home.

everywhere i turn. everywhere i look. everywhere i sit to pee. senior moments follow me.

in other words, i have been blindsided by the takeover.

the takeover infiltrates my dreams, reminding me to bend with my knees; mocks me in poorly lit bathroom mirrors, and wickedly taunts me through livingsocial deals to some caribbean paradise named 'burry me here'. you're probably desperate to throw me a congrats since you may have heard i obsess over the elderly. but let me clarify. while i do love old people - i didn't expect the takeover to lurk around the corner waiting to randomly pounce at the age of 29 3/4 on a monday.  physical ailments. early onset mental-pause. tripple checking for my purse, keys and heavy sweater. sudoku puzzles. my mind encased in some sort of mold growth build-up. i would clean it off, but last week i threw my back out again, reaching for the soap.

it all started after my 29th birthday, when i received a promo email from urban outfitters. inside the email, lived a black and white photo of a model in 4 different outfits. the words "Vintage 90s" in bold.

vintage 90s. the two words curdled as i said them out loud. i found myself offended, as if it were a personal attack. this was obviously the work of some paid intern-child. some gap baby who's parents didn't yell at them enough. some knit wit who thinks the dewey decimal is a new clothing line.

two things bothered me. one, how the hell are the 90s vintage. two, who in their right mind wants to relive them through fashion? classified personal photos from middle school shot out from my memory box. boxy crew neck tshirts. spaghetti strap flower patterned dresses. high wasted acid washed jeans. clogs. brushed frizzy hair. the egyptian pyramids. wait. let's bring up a visual.

6th grade social studies fair. here i am, looking unbathed and disheveled before it was cool to look unbathed and disheveled. i'm pretty sure the teacher gave me an A for pity effort. wearing the curtain from our living room as a toga - and belt of desperation around my head - who wouldn't want to probe this  furry child for trojan war factoids. or at least take a few sunflower seeds. it's a bit rhetorical, but i'll say it anyway - the parents didn't help with this one. like prostitution or recreational drug use, for me the 90s were a victimless crime. do not encouraged. do not repeat.

[side note
trojan horse : romans
6th grade : elizabeth]

while we're at it, what would happen if we brought back all of the 90s from this picture in particular? uni-brows. girl mustaches. shoddy shaved legs. babe, your mustache is so boss...no baby your mustache is so girly and truly ironic....wanna go back to my place and look through my encyclopedia britannicas? their vintage.


speaking of feeling nauseous, the takeover has branched out to my clothing choices of this decade.

[another side note i will share: i am crabby as i write this post. a bloated blogger. i just devoured six green tea mochi icreams, chased with a jar of dill pickles. all my ethnicities are satisfied.]

outside of pajamas, all things i wear seem to be tragically uncomfortable. at the end of the day my body screams to be released from the casing of convention. everything.must.come.off. no matter the cut or stretch, jeans are too restrictive and trigger my sciatica. i thought it was just me, until i caught some 60 minutes report on a study done of the correlation between low rise jeans and back problems in younger women. moving forward, i vote for the cropped palazzo. along with pants, belts = body torture. i use them sparingly. underwire bras and thongs are devil snacks. i would need to be getting paid a lot of money for a playboy spread to ever consider recreational thong use. we'll see where i land on that one. i thank god for my non existent chest, and double shirt it whenever possible. shoes must be semi-flat with pillows of arch support, making heels a big fat joke. but while still a joke, they are permissible under two specific circumstances. 1) to show and shave my legs for a wedding  2) to be a fo-hoe in a club, coming face to face with other real life hoes. in both cases heels stop being heels. they become twisted obligatory social armor, protecting my ego from other females.

i don't know why getting dressed is becoming such a chore. zipping and buttoning, a superfluous eff you. i thought maybe it was weight gain. but no. turns out i just hate buttoning my pants. lately i daydream of soft billowy coverage. linen blowing in the wind. elastic waste bands. jersey knit summers. relaxed tummies. damn you, eileen fischer. damn you and your twine pleated shorts. any chance those come in pants?

the final straw breaking this camels back was a moment last week in my bathroom. monday morning, 7am. (really quick. for anyone who hasn't yet experienced the takeover, let me give you a tip. only bad bad things happen in the bathroom at 7am. nothing ever good happens there, so don't take your time and hang out like you have nothing else to do. go into the kitchen. or into the bedroom. or for fucks sake watch some tv, but don't think you are in control once you enter into the lair of truth. it will end up owning you. sorry, i'll stop.) so, after turning on the shower, i pulled my hair back and waited for the room to get warm and cozy. kicking my clothes to the corner, i applied toothpaste to my toothbrush and turned to get in the bath. like a crack of lightening, i got a side shot of myself in the mirror and shockingly shuttered away in panic. steam billowed around me. i held my breath. was i hallucinating?? was it a day terror???? with magellan eyes.....i leaned in...... and stared at my ass in the mirror...

...my ass. the shar pei. stared back. (click the link.)

stunned. overnight subduction zones of distinct ugli fruit texture had managed to form. at long last, i was an impressionist. a bus ride of possibilities later, i convinced myself this condition was not a cocktail of laziness, stretchmarks and cellulite, but somehow related to extreme dehydration. figuring an iron would not generate prolonged remedy, and i've already had surgery once this year, i opted for drinking more water and avoiding the mirror entirely from this point on. so far, lighting hasn't struck twice.

enough kvetching for tonight.

my pajamas are calling.

g.r.i.t.s.

 i am pining for my peoples.

i miss makeup-less faces. banana hair. and ache vulgarous.
foxy charm. sassafras. and unrelenting absurdity.
i miss magnetism. kindness. and mania.
morning glasses. ratty t-shirts. wal-mart granny panties.
i miss adorable confusion. and indigestion. and stupid stories.

i miss us not doing anything. together.
i miss dancing in an ugly kitchen.
i miss your heart.

a long stupid story about a small stupid fish.

the day before my 29th birthday my dear friend andy grammer happened to be in town.

i first met mr. grammer many years ago on a costa rica service trip. not only did his new york accent, knowledge of magic tricks, and tube socks make a lasting impression - he felt the need to solidify our kismet connection by stuffing a wriggly hand-sized cockroach down my shirt. after burning my clothes and borax-ing my skin, i made sure to push him off the mountain, and laugh in his face. we have been friends ever since.

andy is the best buddy a girl could have. he is a guys guy, has a flare for hysterical self deprecation, and is one of the most entertaining human beings i've ever encountered. oh, and he makes music videos in his spare time. basically he's an an ego boost pack. just add water, stir, and enjoy. instant awesome.

as we walked along the water front, catching up on life, andy decided i should have a pet. he demanded to know where the nearest pet store was, so he could buy me a puppy for my birthday. i explained that though the thought was irresistible - it ultimately was a horrible idea. looking back at the history of our relationship, i can confidently say this sums up andy in a nutshell: irresistible ideas with potentially disastrous consequences.

with the dog acquisition behind us, we went back to my apartment.

i don't know if it was the eminent nauseating taste of 29, or the fact whimsical andy was there, or that i was miffed since dogs aren't permitted in my building -  but that sunday night around 9pm the persistent phrase screw this shit, i am an adult kept weaseling it's way back into my conversation. the truth was i wanted a pet. it was my birthday damnit. andy and i downed a bag of nacho cheese doritos and set out on our journey in the black of night.

for this specific whim, only one retailer would do. enter, the illustrious 24hr wal-mart. i know. many of you poo poo this multinational super giant (i understand why and i don't disagree with you), but please have compassion. as many aspects of my southern upbringing present themselves, i embrace some, and distance myself from others. but there are those that aren't worth the effort. when you require socks, a snow shovel, and 40 ft of rope at 2am, the wal-mart is there. when your wife kicks you out after finding tanya's panties and his-and-her KY in your truck, don't be troubled. you may sleep peacefully knowing surveillance cameras watch over you in the wal-mart parking lot. if you were me last week, and blew all your money on organic chard and planet friendly bathroom cleaner solvents - in and effort to 'live the kind life' - $4.50 for 32oz of shampoo looks real good. it's sick and it's real and i welcome it.

if you don't do cool things and go to the wal-mart in the black of night, let me tell you something. wal-mart not only sells fish, but also fish accoutrement (please say that in a French accent). putting myself in the fish's place, i thought it better to err on getting two, than just one. un poisson seemed so awkwardly friendless. no one to stare at. no one to swim to. no innocent bystander innocently seduced by your codependent fantasies. after all, one is the loneliest number. i chose two goldfish (one big one small), a large bowl, fish food. checkout. done.

may i please introduce you to my fish. tina and ike.

tina is camera shy.

ike the publicity whore.

andy and i got home, put the fish in the bowl, sang happy birthday and called it a night.

monday morning mr. grammer was driven off to live his normal life - this week consisting of a west coast radio tour, his guitar, and magical vocal stylings. i of course, applied bus face, and prepared for the reenactment of my very own groundhog day: an office job where before 8:45am i microwave myself a bowl of quaker oats with raisins and banter with rock and math nerds. at some point before 10:30am an unofficial game of: now that's inappropriate! ensues (imagine jovial harmless fun of the penis game from jr. high with participants being middle age educated professionals). however this day would be different. it was my birthday. i was a now 29 year old pet owner of wal-mart fish. someone congratulate me. pat me on the fucking back.

now about le poisson.

the fish started out great. each morning as i fed them, they swam to the top of their bowl, eager to see me and say bonjour. at the end of the day, they welcomed me home and recounted cutesy forgetful stories of blowing bubbles and bathing about in a bowl of love. soon after that, they started talking. i first noticed the 'talking' one nite as i sat on the couch in silence, lotioning my feet and researching grilled cheese recipes. studying the sound, i found my fish made a sweet bubble licking noise as the they repeatedly kissed the top of the water. awesome i thought. it's like i have an imaginary cat. content with my pet purchase, i closed my eyes and lived out my extensive dreams of pet ownership some more.

later that week, my friend cheney - the only vegan who visits me - came over and noticed the curious fish talking. she seemed alarmed. 

elizabeth, why are the fish making that sound?

huh? because they are just goofing around....see?

with that comment, i noticed my fish weren't traversing around the bowl as they had before, but were concentrated skimming the top of the water with their mouth. 

cheney jumped on the computer and researched the behavior. 

45 seconds later.

THEY'RE DYING!!!! she screamed THERE ISN'T ENOUGH OXYGEN IN THE BOWL FOR THEM AND THEY ARE FORCED TO TAKE IN AIR FROM THE OUTSIDE!!! THEY ARE SUFFOCATING! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO????

cheney was abhorred. her eyes filled with overwhelming sadness, giving way to grape sized tears tumbling down her cheeks. she looked at me for guidance.

by this point i had lost all feeling in my face. i turned to the poor fish. there was no talking or kissing,  but languid swimming, gasping for air. i had become the most horrible human being ever born into this world. in that moment it had been decided.  

in an emergency effort to save them and aerate the bowl, i emptied out 25% of the water, and poured in fresh water from the tap. this would have to do until i could buy a pump after work. in doing so, however, it seemed my worst nightmare had come true. adding the fresh water had disrupted the million particles of debris (read: fish shit), which now ubiquitously floated around their universe. this had in turn traumatized my fish so acutely that they could only now drift. not move. not go belly up, but just exist. i guess if some asshole put me in a glass cage, forcing me to live and breath in my own excrement - i'd be traumatized as well. all of this proved to be too much for cheney, who apologized for her intense reaction, but thought it best to leave. i didn't think an apology was necessary. wanna come over tonight and watch me kill my fish? anyone??

i said goodbye to my friend and watched ike and tina begin their floatathon for 10 more minutes. in the end, i felt defeated. i said the long healing prayer and went to sleep.

the next morning, they were actually alive and moving about.

feeling the guilt of a jew attending catholic school, i went to the pet store to purchase whatever was necessary to not kill my birthday fish. after speaking with candy the pet lady - i learned their bowl was too small for their size, and i would need a 16 gallon 40$ tank.  40$ WHAT??! no thank you. i told candy i would get a 10 gallon, and they could pretend to live in a 6 floor walk up in nyc. i also procured an air pump and filter. with my goldfish guilt still in the forefront, and my ego determined to not project vacant-tank-of-water shame - i bought gravel, plastic trees and bushes. i was banking on the hope that ike and tina's love language was receiving gifts. this for sure would make up for the attempted manslaughter.

after 60$, and one heated discussion highlighting how none of my purchased items were returnable (if by some ironic twist of the universe where i arrived home to find my fish had in-fact died in the 45 minute outing i took to save their life) - i made peace with the fact i now had no food money,  but my goldfish would survive. in a moment of desperation and future planning, i studied ingredients on the fish food canister. good to know if worse came to worst, i could throw back a few flakes. or just eat tina.

putting together their new fantasy suite, i cursed andy grammer under my breath. what kind of man flies around the country - bringing goldfish home from the wal-mart - and then abandons his responsibility. no emotional or financial assistance. no fish support. what sort of person tortures young females with cockroaches and then is amused by his own jokes and good natured acts of kindness? a good for nothing prankster, that's who. i should have known this idea was ridden with shoddy repercussions, which i would be made to suffer through alone.

finally with the drama gone, the fish took to their new home swimmingly (sorry), and life began running much smoother. i researched tank cleaning, feeding tips, and behavioral warning signs. in my seeming regulatory conversations with candy and the pet store customers, i learned more about goldfish than i have ever cared to retain in two lifetimes: they are dirty and expensive. i believe it has something to do with the fact that they speak french. one gentleman informed me ike and tina will soon outgrow this current tank, and will become so massive - they will be impossible to flush if.they.should.die. i now have the email of a fish farm in north seattle - which adopts coy sized goldfish from owners who are unable to care for them.  my non fish friends laugh and threaten to buy me more tank-life. heartless bastards.

and then it happened.

this past weekend, while passing through the kitchen i spotted an orange body floating belly up. it was ike. 

i began screaming at the tank. NOOOOOOOO!! NOOOO! You stupid fish!!!! You can't DIE! not this week! I have spent so much money on you! What is TINA going to do?? he bobbed up and down atop the green tree. tina gave him one last fishy kiss goodbye and swam away. i had never noticed how big ike had become. he had bulked out considerably thanks to the larger tank. fins of silky orange fabric hovered around his body like a cocoon. what a beautiful animal. i would miss the circles he swam around tina - showing off for her. she would now be lonesome without his companionship. reflecting upon this was particularly gloomy. i couldn't help but feel i should have given them both away when i had the chance. at least then they could have grown old together on the fish farm. but no, i was selfish, at ike's expense. tina has been widowed. their romance only lasted 5 months. everything i had done: the research, shopping, food, prayer - was for nothing. i became enraged.

i grabbed a spoon off the counter, whispered stupid fish, and poked ike in his side. 

and then, like harry potter magic, ike came to life and swam away.  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he didn't sink, or float, or run. he speedily swam to all four corners of the tank, and then to the bottom, and then to rub up against tina, and then swam by my face and pooped in it's general direction - as if to say sukkkkkaaaaaaaa! 

stupefied, i picked my heart up off the floor. incredible. i don't even remember teaching him now to play dead. i congratulated myself  for being a fabulous pet owner. 

the only downside of ike being able to resurrect from the dead? he most certainly will out live me. 

i need fish support.

wanted: more sweaters

with my 2011 push to propel myself into adulthood, i organized my closet by color, and discovered a whole lot more about myself than i bargained for.

15 grey sweaters.

JCrew loves you

15 grey sweaters, that i actually love and wear, and have no intention of ever giving away.

this unearthed sweater guilt is a bit difficult to admit. one, because that's an inordinate amount of the same color for any one person's needs. two, because when i arrived home from india i had three sweaters. none of which were grey.

anthropologie i hate you. i love you. i hate you. iloveyou.

as far as material possessions go, i grew up identifying as under-complicated. not uncomplicated. just under. simple. give me a coat and a toothbrush. i can make it work. stock my fridge with simple pleasures, i am happy as a clam. i once visited vermont for two weeks, with only what fit inside my backpack. a more dramatic excursion involved a baha'i winter school in the mountains of valencia spain for eight days - where i survived with the clothes on my back. somewhere in between an intense training workshop- sleeping in a linen closet - washing my hair with bathroom hand soap - and using paper towels to dry off - i knew my capacity to do without was larger than most. i saw this friendship as a positive, and treasured it as such.

i assume part of this came from max and i being raised without a lot of excess, which is easy to do when you don't have money to spend on vanity. why own a hairbrush in your early 20s when you don't (want to) brush your hair? who needs a second lipstick in college when you have one from hs prom circa 1999? i was branded with the ability to identify need vs. want, carried it with me through high school, and then onto college. i associated spending money on pure wants as wasteful. and in my gut, it sort of still is.

even though i make my own money, and pay my own bills, and have a 401K, deep down i am petrified of the wanting enslaving my life. this reaction isn't just limited to big ticket items or buyer's remorse. i'm speaking of irrational thoughts on simple purchases. little devil whispers lurking in the isles of target.


put the body lotion back, it's 10$.


but i want it, i use lotion every day.


then buy a cheaper one.


but i love this one - the fragrance reminds me of a tuscany romance.


fine. one pump. once a day. (eye roll).


the ludicrous continually harps that somehow people would see my 15 grey sweaters, and identify me as a grey natured gal. this of course would be completely accurate. they then go on to perceive me as being frivolous and shallow. good thing my boot addiction is still under wraps.

somehow this unhealthy relationship with my own personal stuff, bled into the ish i have with your belongings as well. ooooh i like your purse doesn't mean i want to borrow it. please don't try to lend it to me. help yourself to anything in my closet is a phrase more or less wasted on this girl. there are others in this world better suited for this friendship. with balls of fire, let me introduce you to anna 'the absconder' kiani. she'll take borrow anything. your sweater, your purse, your child, your heart. and then proceed to 'pull an anna'...where she keeps it. for herself. forever. however, since i see this as her one and only flaw, she is forgiven.

i will attribute this particular conditioning to my best girl friend-sisters emily, juliette, and rachael. more commonly known as the cholas of la mia. since the age of 7 i watched on as three girls fought dirty over every possession imaginable. clothes, hair product, territory of the 'front spot' during bath time. yes they are beautiful. yes they are talented. but don't let their web of charm fool you. lose her hairbrush? gurl knows how to cut-a-bitch. i will never borrow juliette's belt ever again. i am so so sorry.

[side note: if any of the sisters have a different story, i really encourage them to start their own blog. we then could begin a blog war. not only would it be a thrilling glimpse into the pathology of opposing familial gangs (yes? its a word), it would give siticom and tv series writers everywhere enough material until 2100. not to mention - lead the way to a major book deal. head out to your local barnes&noble, scoop up their best selling memoir, Champagne Wishes and Ketchup Sandwiches...which can be found on the shelf next to my very own, How to Paint Your Mother's House: A Story of Life and Loss]

in closing, though my sweater collection is an embarrassment, i will be keeping all of them. my boots as well. it's winter time over here and a girl gets cold easily. justification trumps sick childhood hang-ups.

here's a sweet vid from cindy on skype, showing off her new square dancing boots.

suddenly everything seems so clear.

the polar bear.

they say with old age comes wisdom.....and a crap load of white hair.

how i have determined that old(er) age is a comin' :

*officially, my dark brown head hair has surrendered to the infiltration of - not gray - but wiry white. with the deforestation of india behind me, my 73 strands of new growth stand 2 inches tall, scattered all about my head. i am a fuzzy white dandelion.

*a couple months back my goatee sprouted a great white. i verbally assaulted it, plucked it out, and haven't seen him since.

*tonight on my arm i spotted my first long and strong mighty whitey.

god help us.

i need a tropical island vacation. anyone who wants to come - lemme know.

i'll be the white polar bear with a virgin pina colada, evian spritzer bottle in hand, relaxing to this.

analysis paralysis.

why do i feel more capable of running other people's lives better than my own?
what the hell is my problem?

i am a clever girl. a witty girl. a hard workin' girl. a girl who can problem solve, multi-task, knows recipes by heart. a girl who did kumon. has the skill to de-seed a pomegranate in seconds - without mess. i understand the difference between too tight and just right. i can be self deprecating - or charming - or confident - or invisible - or whatever you need. i have the power to make the unsocial social. i can shower, do hair/makeup, and be out the door in 15 minutes. i can put together the perfect anthropological outfit for you. i know how to haggle with the rickshaw wallah. i am your desert island first choice. if you let me, i will work it all out for you.

key word. you.

how is it humanly possible for someone so sure (and vocal) about making other people's life decisions, SO INEPT when it comes to her own? HOW is it that i am so indecisive?

It's 2 for 1...Do I get 2? Do I NEED 2?? Is this a trick so that I spend more? If I got 2, I could save the other for next month...but then i need to buy more ingredients. Or should I save the money...or should I not get this brand....hmmmm...no sugar..but it does have ascorbic acid....

truthfully, my minutia mania has almost completely come to an end. i had to learn to get over myself. now i just buy two. screw it. over time i became angered- watching how my enjoyable toiletry isle browse was being ruined by my outrageousness. i was tired of clouding the delightfully delicate choice between cellulite obliterating lotion and sweet pea body wash.

however, one huge victory is never without a gigantic loss. instead of the small, i have become obsessively fixated on the massively meaningful - that whichisaffectingtheoutcomeofmylife - decisions. adult decisions. long term care and folic acid decisions. somehow the older i get, the deeper my thoughts piggyback on what carries the most weight. i have become a junkie to what oozes the highest proof of dramatic flair. am i addicted to the adrenaline rush of losing my mind? is my plight to be a drama whore? am i just a moron?


no. i am apparently just a victim of analysis paralysis.

analysis paralysis looks a bit like one supersized order of deflated hopelessness (add a side of extra sarcasm), sprinkled with an aversion to light, and a big gulp. no eating. no focus. no sleeping. no doing...just existing in a hamster wheel of fun.

when it comes to analysis paralysis, i am the crappiest type. i am out of control. judge judy would label me an Outrageous Person. she speaks truth, and i can prove it. number one, i myself can't stand people like myself. i hate indecisive people. ambivalence is a waste of life- it drives me insane. number two, i choose to not choose help. i don't want help with my indecision. i hate appearing to others as if i've lost my mind (huge surprise i know). i detest my ego for having so much control over my inability to share myself with you. i am bitter at the fact i have turned into this wavering woman...who may undoubtedly one day collect all two-for-one specials but no real ingredients. i will come to rely on the private life, solitude, and colossal landslide of funk which has a nice weight and keeps me warm at night.

what kind of person is addicted to the battle of internal struggle? how do we exist using this outrageous approach?

one sleepless night at 3am - with one hand surrendered to an empty bag of sea salt and vinegar kettle chips - and the other surfing the internet for the purpose of my superficial existence - i found my answer.

wiki.answers.com

behold. the mother ship. it was at this moment, my brain haze momentarily dissipated and a deep love blossomed. gazing at my computer screen like it just offered me a lifetime supply of marc jacobs. never before had the internet's true ability been so clear. i had entered unto the mecca of my people. some little decision warriors, and others with a heavy heart the weight of a whale. people who are desperate for resolution, but stress with execution. there was no reason to be embarrassed, there are are all types. people who are self-conscious. people who don't give a shit. those who are silly, those who are serious, those who can't sleep. wannabe foodies embarrassed to ask if the french eat french onion soup in france, 13 year old girls trying to decide if an when to lose their virginity. anime enthusiasts being enthusiastic about...anime. a fascinating community who prefers to enter their questions into an online data base, rather than talk to their best friend, or mother, or teacher...sounds like perfection. i let it simmer and surfed for a couple more hours.

after my initial awe wore off, i was left with an unsettling feeling. is this what technology has given us? the ability to lose our connection with each other? no need to research? not have to study for the test - or ask a doctor- or do the hard work to reap the rewards? if i fear my son has arthritis, should i be asking a website where other loserfaces (like myself) are awake at 3am? it terrified me to think i had lost my connection with the things i valued most. i began feeling i wasn't cut out for wiki.answers. i became certain of it when i found myself beginning a response post to the 13 year old who wanted to know if she should lose her virginity. after first telling her to go to sleep, and then providing her with my personal phone number so we could 'talk things out',i realized i had hit the boundary wall my therapist and i worked so hard to establish. maybe not. i deleted, signed off, and went to bed. i am not going to be that weirdo. i am not i am not.

for me, what wiki.answers represents is far scarier than myself or any indecision i may feel. and that is something i will be working out with myself. but it won't be with "How much does it cost for your dog to get an abortion?" guy. no thanks.

it's time to go make some decisions.

other decisions may take time. wearing this khat was not one of them.

Felicidad

I had a very good Halloween.

I didn't really make any plans, but it turned out to be a fabulous time spent with two of my lady friends....Yassie and Anisa. Spending time with these two scares me a bit, but not in a bad way--in a completely amazing way. Each experience always lends itself to be a little curious present that i unwrap an

d wait for the surprise. simple and abundant. Never know what ridiculousness will go down..

The scary part is,  i can see the future just a teenie weenie bit each time. When we are together i feel im no longer 27 or 28 or 25, but i can see us being these three older women...as if i get in this time machine and i suddenly am experiencing 55:

 and i don't give a shit what people think about me (or i have really got my act down on PRETENDING i don't), i know my likes and dislikes, i know im not perfect (and im ok with it), i know i shouldn't eat 2 pieces of cheesecake but im just having so much fun it doesn't matter, i know my boundaries, i know i am 

capable, i know i am funny, i know i am with people who love me.

and there are no boys,

and it doesn't matter if you wax,

and good food is just SO good--nothing else in the solar system matters-- because you fulfilled in friendship and in yourself.

and you are reminded that you are enough.

And its not as if we don't talk about stupid things, or laugh at inappropriate jokes, or become borderline "the annoying table that isn't drinking, but i swear they were drunk when they came in" table, and im not saying that doing these things makes one not 'act' 55 or 65 or whatever age....im just sayin' we had a rockin Halloween:)

it was a night of eating and drinking everything, and then playing games at Gameworks(my 1st time) (basically Showbiz/Chucky Cheese for adults).....and even though these particular girlfriends (and all of my girlfriends in seattle for that matter) help me to see that i actually love getting older...i still prove to myself i am so still forever 12. 

For example: I have so much awesomeness that i used ALL of my portion of the game tickets (300) to buy 10 jelly braceletts, 2 plastic rings, and a sheet of tattoos---from a man dressed as the devil. (probably a metaphor). and to use a yassie word, they are 'outstanding'--especially because anisa bought a freakin princess wand with a pink bejeweled star at the top--and everyone knows jelly bracelets and dragon/saber tattoos trump frustrated fairy wands, momma don't lie.........but really there is no contest, because while these girls played in the safe pond with the other fish, i evolved me some lungs and was out ALL day (8 am - 12:30 pm) dressed in my costume of choice: 

A "Casual Friday Employee from Nashville, TN circa 1987". 

And to make it alll the more worth while, i went into Barney's to poke around before supper. 

This is me with a co-worker today. He is a narcotraficante and i am pure excitement. 

Felicidad. Happy i had a good day.

PS my shirt says 'someone in Nashville loves me", i know this is true:)