Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Dear Diary,

For the past three years I have been in a roller coaster relationship, many highs and even more lows.  One day he would greet me with warm open arms and the next he would turn a cold shoulder and not even acknowledge my existence.  So, in order to keep the little sanity and prevent my heart from hardening I am breaking up with New York City and moving on to greener pastures (literally).   Over the past nine years I’ve broken up with quite a few cities and none of them have treated me as poorly as New York.

First there was Seattle, the city I had the privilege of growing up near.  Many may see Seattle as moody with its rainy weather but I see Seattle as clever with a good sense of humor.  By hiding in the clouds it keeps wannabe Seattlites away, leaving only those who truly love the city and can see its beauty through the misty rain.  When I left we remained friends and anytime I returned to visit it treated me warmly.

Next came my biggest mistake, Los Angeles.  We had a short relationship, only about a year and half and both of us were never really committed to one another.  To Los Angeles I was just another notch on its smoggy bedpost.  By settling in Azusa I saw its flaws right away.  Surrounded by fast food restaurants, cheap strip malls, and crowded freeways there was no deception between us.  When I did leave, LA couldn’t care less because he never invested anything into our relationship.

Next there was San Francisco.  I fell hard for San Francisco right away.  He was beautiful with his sunshine and romantic fog, but also small enough to make me feel like I really mattered to him.  But as the four years passed my eyes began to wander.  I soon discovered there were bigger and better things out there and San Francisco understood this.  He knew that I need something bigger than he could offer, so he let me go.

And now it is time to say farewell to New York and he is not taking it well.  Since the moment I decided to leave a few months ago New York has been ruthless.  It seems I am always just barely missing the train and it never fails to rains when I forget my umbrella.  The streets seem to be more crowded than usual, as if he is saying, “Go ahead and leave.  I won’t even miss you!”

Now that’s just mean… but that’s also New York.  I came to him because I knew he would be ruthless and he was, and I loved him for it.  But he wore me out.  Now I’m returning to a more stable relationship, Seattle.  I’m eager to see what kind of trouble the Emerald City and I will stir up, with all of the trees, mountains, and rain I’m sure it’s going to be good.  In the immortal words of Gladys Knights and the Pips, “I’m going back to find a simpler place and time.”

Hugs and kisses till next time!

Gladys Knight and The Pips

A Prescription For Fear

Dear Diary,

I was watching the news today and normally the news makes me angry, but today it made me extra angry and I wasn’t sure why.  As I continued to watch I began noticing that it wasn’t the news itself that was evoking my spurts of anger but rather it was the commercials.  Particularly the commercials for prescription drugs.

I have noticed lately more and more ads for prescription drugs on the airwaves, and I see this causing more and more problems in our society.  Isn’t the purpose of creating a prescription drug to help rid society of sickness.  But by advertising drugs excessively a number of unexpected side effects are occurring.  Here are just a few:

Anxiety:  “Distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune.”  The ads introduce the public to diseases they never even knew about and as a result get they wondering if they have the disease and just don’t know it.

Hypochondria: “An excessive preoccupation with one’s health, usually focusing on some particular symptom.”  After hearing a list of symptoms people start to imagine they have said symptoms.  An example of this is Restless Leg Syndrome, and after working eight hours at an office desk most everyone will think they have it.

Depression: “A combination of symptoms that interfere with a person’s ability to work, sleep, study, eat, and enjoy once-pleasurable activities.”  This is caused by the mere thought of getting older.  According to the commercials, our bones will fall apart, we will have to pee all the time, we won’t be able to get it up, we will have constant heartburn, and are all doomed to be depressed.

After careful analysis I realized the prescription drug industry is a lot more devious than I originally thought.  On the surface it seems the purpose of their ads are to keep people informed about new products when really their ads alone create a need for their product.  Very tricky!

But I have out smarted the drug industry.  Instead of rushing out to buy drugs to help ease the above symptoms I’ll just stop watching the news.  It is true what they say, ignorance is bliss.  But then again who will inform me when the next H1N1 breakout hits?

Hugs and kisses till next time!

**All definitions are accurate because I found them on the internet– WebMD to be precise.

Ready… Set… DATE!

Dear Dairy,

Who ever invented Speed Dating is a genius.  It is so logical and here’s why:  if you end up going out on a blind date or even a set up from a dating website you are obligated to spend an entire night with them.  While with speed dating you get your first impression with someone and if it’s good then you can go out with them again and if it’s not then it is over in a few minutes.  Once again New York efficiently impresses me again.

The other night I had my first experience with this unusual social gathering and I have to admit it was a good time.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the concept of speed dating let me provide you with a brief summery of the evening.

My girls and I (yes we came as a gaggle of girls, all five of us) and signed in and then proceeded to the bar for some liquid courage.  After we received our drinks and properly surveyed the land we went back to the area of the bar roped off for the event.  Each of us were then given a number on a piece of paper with a grid on it for us to write down notes judging our dates.  At this point a gentleman sat down across from me and we started to chat.  Unfortunately this was not my first date.  The gong (yes it was a gong) sounded and the rules were given then the gentleman sitting across from me had to move, he would be my last date.  So I waited for my next date to show up… he never showed.  I paid $35 to be stood up on my first date.  Even though it wasn’t anyone’s fault, because I am a girl my feelings were hurt a little.  Good thing the Yankee’s game was on right in front of me, unfortunately they were losing to Toronto.  Finally after four minutes of twirling my hair and cursing the Canadians the gong sounded and my first date of the evening sat down.   This pattern continued for about six other dates and then we were given a break to get more alcohol and fried cheese.  The gong summoned us again and we went back to our table for about seven more dates.  After our last date the ladies and I departed to another bar where we could rehash about the event and discuss any soul mates we discovered.

When we got home there was an email waiting for me to choose who I wanted to see again.  My gfs all chose everyone so that they would be able to see how many people chose them.  But me, being the conservative, only picked one person.  I didn’t want to lead anyone on!  My “chosen person” did chose me but I suspect he chose everyone because he did chose all my buddies and I haven’t received an email from him.  Don’t worry, I’m not disappointed because he isn’t my soul mate.

Looking back on the event I never expected to find someone I could really date, the chances are just too slim.  But I do prefer speed dating to online dating.  I’m a believer in “the spark”.  Everyone I’ve ever dated I’ve had “the spark” with immediately after meeting them.  While they all are very different on paper the connection I had with most of them is similar and that isn’t something you can convey over the internet.

So the lingering question is “Will I speed date again?”  I think the answer is yes.  If anything it gave me the opportunity to brush up on my flirting (I’ve been told I’m a horrible flirt.)  I didn’t meet my match, but I did meet some interesting characters, a conceded snaggle tooth, a man who doesn’t know he is gay, and a rude neuro oncologist from SF (which only supports my claim that San Franciscans are not my people).

Then again maybe I will meet my match speed dating.  After all it is full of characters and who ever I end up with will have to be a character to keep up with me.

Hugs and kisses till next time!

What’s your favorite _____?

Dear Diary,

I’m currently in my room listening to a conversation my roommates are having in the living room.  They are talking about their favorite food.  Immediately when the question pops up I shout out “Ice cream!”.  No response.  Then I hear one of my roommates say, “I don’t know what my favorite food is…”  All of them had to think for a few minutes before coming up with an answer.

Now it wasn’t their answers that baffled me (although cashews and zuchinni were a bit odd) it was the fact that they didn’t know.  “What’s your favorite food?” is a common question, so I have a top three waiting in the wings.  Anytime I try a new food I contemplate on whether I have to change my top three.

It disappoints me that I often find myself in this situation, you ask someone their favorite ___ and they have no answer.  Case and point:  Movies.  Now I work in the entertainment industry so I am surrounded by people who know and love movies.  Also we constantly judge one another on their movie taste, so it is only natural that one would have at least their top three decided.  But alas, I am constantly let down by my peers.  Often the answer is, “I just like so many different types, I can’t pick just one.”   Bullshit.  You can at least widdle it down to a top three, movies that you make you feel good, that you enjoy watching over and over and adequately  portray who you are as a person.

The type of things people enjoy tells a lot about a person.  For example, my top three books (in no particular order):

• Jurassic Park – Dinosaurs are cool.  Michael Crichton can’t write a beautiful sentence to save his life but he can tell and inventive and entertaining story.  What this says about me:  I have no shame in bad fiction, like to be entertained, and appreciate original ideas.
• Down and Out In Paris And London – It’s an amusing story filled with bazaar characters and brings me into the world of Paris and London in the 1900s.  What this says about me: I like to read the classics and love good obscure characters.
• In Cold Blood – A haunting story that gets inside the minds of two brutal killers and finds the humanity in the most despicable characters.  What this says about me:  I have a dark side.

It surprises me that people don’t think of these thing, but spend so much time thinking about their image.  I mean aren’t your favorites part of your image?  Just like your image it doesn’t define you completely, but it does show part of who you are.  It says more about you than your jeans or curly hair, yet people rarely take the time to think about these things.

Then again, I do realize that I am an over thinker and an over-planner, so maybe I’m the only one who judges people on these things.  Maybe I need to change that, and not be as prepared for these questions… really what does my planning say about my image?

Hugs and kisses till next time!

No Me Gusta…

Dear Diary,

At the end of my South American travels I had a 14 hour layover in Lima.  I wasn’t sure what I’d do with my time since I would be alone and had no money. So I took a cab into the city prepared to wander about.

After a few hours of heat, dodging cops in riot gear, and an attempted pick-pocketing I decided to seek refuge in the park.  After all I love parks and had a good book I was working on.  A stress free way to enjoy Lima.

Little did I know that Lima’s parks suck!  They are beautifu but impossible to enjoy and here’s why:

• It is filled with lush green grass, but you are forbidden to sit on, and if you do a little man will run up and and blow a whistle at you.
• There is almost no shady benches.  The few that are they have are occupied with teenagers making out.
• There is nice Peruvian music playing in the background… but only one song that is on a two minute repeat.
• The constant whistle screeching from the guard on the power trip never goes away!
• There are sprinklers that not only go on in the middle of the day (which any gardener will tell you is the worse time to water), but they go on without warning and as a result you get soaked and all your stuff get soaked as well.  So not only are you all wet but are forced to give up the shady seat you acquired by waiting for the shade to come to you.

Maybe I just miss Central Park.  Then again it is covered in frost this time of year… perhaps Lima’s parks aren’t so bad.

Hugs and kisses till next time!

“When you wish upon a star…” Nothing happens

Dear Diary,

I am a wisher.  I spend a lot of my time wishing for things.  When I see the first star appear in a night sky, I wish upon it.  I play a game with myself when the subway comes.  If when it stops and I’m directly in front of a door then I win and can make a wish.

I remember the moment when I was younger and first learned of this whole “wishing thing.”  I threw a penny into a fountain and wished to become a Care Bear.  The thought of joining the pack of cuddly bears up in the sky and spending my life helping improve the life of suburban children made my tummy tumble with excitement.  Then I waited… and waited… and waited.  I never became a Care Bear.  But why didn’t it work?  Pinocchio became a boy, why couldn’t I become a Care Bear?

After that you’d think I’d give up on wishing, but I haven’t.  Occasionally a wish will come true.  Like when I wish for winter to be over.  But I have a feeling that even if I didn’t wish for it, it would still happen.  The majority of my wishes still haven’t come true.  They aren’t crazy or outlandish wishes, they are simple and it is very plausible that they could come true (I can’t share any of them with you because then they wouldn’t come true for sure.)  But I still continue to wish.  I guess that might be the romantic side of me, I keep waiting for my wishes to come true.

But when, or if they even do, I probably won’t attribute it to the first star in the night sky or the subway stopping in front of me but rather I played my cards right and made my wish come true.

Hugs and kisses till next time!

I Am Not A Pervert

Dear Diary,

The other day I was watching You’ve Got Mail (you know you love it too) where Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks meet in an “Over 30” chat room.  And that got me to thinking, “What happened to chat rooms?”

I suppose they have been replaced by message boards and instant messenger.  But I remember the good old days when you would wander into a chat room targeted towards a particular interest you had or your age group.

I remember when I was in the seventh grade my friend Maria and I were all over the chat rooms.  There were two that we went to, some were better than others.  I can still remember our screen names, she was “Strawberry Kiwi” and I was “Sweetie” (the ie is what made me original.)  To be honest I can’t even remember what we talked about in those rooms.

There was a scandalous side to these rooms.  Some people would try and have cyber sex, which at the time was kinda gross, but now is kinda funny.  It usually started off by someone asking if anyone wanted to have sex.  Someone usually would step up to the plate, but it didn’t go much beyond that.  Everyone else would get disgusted and bombard the person with messages forcing them to leave.  There were also monitors on there and you would be kicked out for swearing so if you wanted to cuss you had to say “a$$” or “f*ck”, you know, get creative.

The idea of going into a chat room now doesn’t really appeal to me, now I prefer to chat with only my friends online, one on one (group chats can get complex and hard to follow.)  My innocent mind has been corrupted by shows like Nightline and so I automatically assume that anyone I’m talking to online is a pervert.  I kind of miss the ignorant bliss of a cyber world without perverts.  Oh how I long for the good old days.

Hugs and kisses till next time!

Waisted Creativity

Dear Diary,

I’m not in therapy, have never been in therapy, and I don’t know that I need therapy, but earlier today I had a very therapeutic moment. It finally became clear to me why I had such an insecure early adolescence. The culprit was stretchy waist band jeans.

Growing up I always preferred a stretchy waist band. For a long time I refused to wear jeans and would only wear stretch pants (the kind with the stirrups). Then when I moved into the 5th and 6th grade, I gave jeans a chance, but to transition properly I stuck to the kind with the stretchy waist band.

Yes, I was a geek, I now know that, but back then all I wanted to do was fit in. It never occurred to me that it wasn’t cool to wear stretchy waist band jeans. I mean why would people care what my waist band was? All that mattered is that I was comfortable… or so I thought.

My comfy bubble burst one day when my “cool” neighbor invited me over to her house for her birthday party. I felt special because all her school friends would be there (we did not attend the same school because I went to a private elementary school.) And her school friends were cool and kinda edgy, they had divorced parent and sometimes smoked. But my neighbor gave me an ultimatum, I could not wear the jeans with the stretchy waist band and I had to wear my pants an inch below me belly button. Now this I thought I could do. But then when the day of the party arrived all my “cool” waisted jeans were dirty! Oh no! So I had to wear the stretchy ones, but at least I could wear them below my belly button. When I arrived at the party I was terrified of being thrown out because my pants were unacceptable. But when I arrived I promptly apologize, “Sorry that I wore the wrong pants, but my mom didn’t have time to wash my other ones.” Instead of being thrown out one of the girls replied, “What your mom still does your laundry?” Phew…

By the time I entered the seventh grade and attended a public jr. high school I only had one pair of stretchy waist band jeans remaining and they were acceptable in my mind because they were baggy. But as my seventh grade year progressed my baggy stretchy waisted pants began to get shabby and so it was time for new pants. But without a job I had no money for new pants.

So I decided to campaign my seventh grade band class for money for new pants. I went around to each person and held the legs of my pants up so they looked like high-waters and tried to convince people I had sad pants. I obtained a few dimes and nickels, but that was about it. Then half way through my rounds someone decided to stop me from having high-waters and so she tugged on my pants and the stretchy waist band stretched over my boney butt and came all the way down. Yes, I was pantsted in band class. I was so mortified, the entire clarinet and brass section saw my white panties. Once I regained my composure I hitched up my pants and returned to my seat in the flute section.

I never wore those pants again. And since then I avoid stretchy waist band pants like the plague. I have one pair of puma sweat pants but that’s it! Any pajama pants I own have the draw string. But it’s not the fear of being pantsed that has me avoiding the stretchy waist band; it’s the fear of being so out of touch with reality.

But then again isn’t being out of touch with reality what enables people to march to the beat of their own drum and break new ground? Without people like me obliviously pushing the boundaries of fashion everyone would end up looking the same. In that case maybe I should bring back the stretchy waist band jeans.

Hugs and kisses till next time!

Rule-Breakers Are Dumb

Dear Diary,

I love rules. All my life I have been a rule follower and that’s done nothing but help guide me safely through life. Many people see me as a square because of this, but I just see myself as smart.

My love and respect for the rules started early, in my childhood. Occasionally would slip up and break a rule that I thought was arbitrary and useless, but then I would get punished and I sure learned my lesson. The first time I can really remember this happening was when I trooped up our long windy driveway to sell lemonade on the roadside. I didn’t really think I would get kidnapped, after all kids in tv did it all the time. But no, according to my parents my hometown was filled with kidnappers and pedophiles so I was promptly grounded and couldn’t leave our yard for two days.

Since that minor slip up I haven’t done much rule breaking. I’m an avid wearer of my seat belt (especially in cabs) and always look both ways before crossing the street. Listed below are a few of my favorite rules:

My favorite rule #1: No alcohol consumption until the age of 21. I am proud to say that I did not drink alcohol until I was of age (now’s a completely different story). Growing up none of my friends drank because we knew all the kids who did drink and they were stupid and drunk assholes. So why would I want to be like them? Personally if it were up to me I’d make it so you had to pass a “drunk” test that evaluated how one conducted themselves when under the influence before consuming alcohol. But since that’s too complex I guess age is the second best system.

My favorite rule #2: Wear a bra. Let’s be honest, boobs in a bra just look prettier. No one wants to see a pair of jugs flopping around unsupported. A bra lifts and separates, making the breasts look healthy and perky. Even if you are a size A a bra is still necessary… especially in the winter.

My favorite rule #3: No running next to a swimming pool. Those are slippery surfaces and the last thing I want to have to do is dive into bloody water to save a dumbass who slipped and hit their head. That’s just gross and you could get the hiv that way.

One of my big pet peeves is when people say, “rules are meant to be broken.” So then is it okay to drink and drive or murder people? I don’t think so! Rules are not meant to be broken, they are meant to keep us safe and function as a society.

Occasionally I’m okay with breaking the rules as long as there are rules to breaking the rules. Such as driving over the speed limit, no more than 10 mph over. Living in New York has caused me to reevaluate my views on certain rules. There are some rules in New York that you just have to break, its a part of society. Such as jay walking: the New York rule is “if there are no cars coming you can walk.” Overall rule breaking is complex and can be dangerous so a good rule of thumb is to just follow the rules.

Lets not forget about the most important rule, The Golden Rule. “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.” If everyone followed that life would be smooth sailing and drama free. Then again… where’s the fun in that?

Hugs and kisses till next time!

A Disappointed Heart and Cold Tummy

Dear Diary,

Today I had my heart broken.

Fall is officially in the air in New York. The air is still warm but there is a slight chill about. As someone who loves the summer months and hates winter the cooling of the weather saddens my soul. But the one thing that can warm it up is a hot cup of caramel apple cider! Yummmy!

So after an important (aka boring) meeting I decided to pop into Starbucks and have my first caramel apple cider of the year. After waiting in an obnoxiously long line due to the incompetent employee, I ordered a tall cup of deliciousness. And I waited… and waited… and waited. Finally the incompetent employee yells at me, “We don’t have that.” My response, “What?” After many irritating exchanges I determined they no longer have apple cider and who knows if they will ever because heaven forbid the employee know anything about the store she works in. So I asked for a refund and promptly left.

As a girl from Seattle, I love Starbucks. It’s in my genes. There is something in me that allows me to find the nearest Starbucks; I can be in the middle of the desert and be able to sniff out the nearest Starbucks, even if it means traveling hundreds of miles. No matter where I am I can always depend on Starbucks to make me feel at home and shelter me from the cruel world by providing my soul with caffeine.

So when Starbucks broke my heart by taking away my fall favorite I was devastated. I returned to work and poured my disappointed heart out to my coworker and friend. Like any good friend she tried to mend the situation. You see my building is located above a trendy market that is filled with restaurants, bakeries, and other yummy food shops. She seemed to remember seeing people with hot apple cider roaming the halls of the market. So we ventured out to find the perfect combination of applily warmth and caramel sweetness.

We wanted to do a thorough search so we hit up every shop in the market. We went everywhere, from the organic place to the milk bar to the bakeries. No apple cider could be found, the market was bare. We received a few blank looks and some “Sorry we don’t have it yet.” To which I replied, “But it’s prime apple picking season!” I guess the apples have been picked but not smooshed yet.

When we reached the end of the market without any sign of apple cider my heart was broken. Together we shuffled back to the front of the market. Just when I thought all hope was lost I saw a sight that made it all better:

Jude Law walking towards me with his gay assistant! At first I didn’t know if it was him, but then I heard him speak and that sultry British voice could only belong to one person, Jude Law! Then just when I thought it couldn’t get any better he made eye contact with me! (Well at least I thought he did… I was wearing my glasses and couldn’t see too well.)

Then he passed and the moment was over. My friend didn’t even notice him, so after he passed I told her and we hid in the corner and peeked out at him. We then decided to park it on a stool and see if he would double back through the market. He stopped at a cash machine and looked at the basket store and then exited out the back and just like that Jude was out of my life.

So I guess the moral of the story is: Don’t worry if you can’t find your favorite fall drink because something good is bound to come out of your sorrow. Jude Law will appear and make it all better.

Hugs and Kisses till next time!