They say it's my birthday

So it’s my birthday.

I have never been a huge fan. It’s like most things in my life. I get overly excited, then stressed out in order to achieve the dreams I have established for the day of my birth and ultimately let down that I cannot reach the ridiculous expectations I have set forth for the celebration.

Birthdays to me mean straightening my hair, being with my best pals, and potentially dancing the night away until dawn’s early light with the knowledge that I can do what I want because it’s my birthday. Not that I typically shy away from the “I do what I want” attitude, it’s just that usually what I want is to be snuggled up in my bed far before the dawn’s early light.

So ultimately, I can’t actually stay awake to celebrate appropriately. I wish I were a person that wanted to shout from the rooftops that it’s my birth month. Plan extravagant trips and celebrations. Be the guest of honor at a surprise party. But at the end of the day birthdays bring about a lot of emotion and anxiety to me. It marks the fact that I am one year older and not necessarily a year closer to where I envisioned I would be at this stage of my life.

I am looking past that anxiety this year and focusing on how 29 will be my best year yet. Just like New Year’s Day, I will plan to do things better this year. I will be more focused on peace, love, and happiness… and all that jazz. Let’s see how it goes. Happy B-day to me…

New York I love you, but you're letting me down. Part Deux.

So where was I? Oh yeah I was taking about plants. I know you have been in suspense so let’s get right back to it. The remaining 5 points to my list. Without further ado.

6. Greenery. Speaking of Palm Fronds [which I had been], a little green space is totally necessary even for city living. It’s funny how after living in the city for about 6 months, if you visit friend’s apartments and as long as their one window doesn’t overlook a cement prison yard, it’s a view. The other day I looked out my friend’s window and I literally felt like I was in the rainforest. I overlook a courtyard and I feel like British royalty. Move over Will and Kate. Ahh and Harry… A little deprivation goes a long way.

7. Parks. Green space warrants 2 points. Central Park, long with many other parks, Brooklyn Bride, Prospect, and the highline, is amazing. Incredible I would say. Picnicking is my favorite sport and doing so in these locations brings me immense pleasure. Until I get hot. Which is immediately. At which point, I plummet into an abyss and just want to be within the nearest body of water as soon as physically possible.

8. Swimming. Love it. Could do it all day every day. I have the great fortune to live just steps away from The John Jay Swimming Pool. I personally feel like this classy establishment is the equivalent to a cabana riddled, swim up bar equipped South beach haven. The reality is you need to bring your own lock and you get frisked at the door, but hey water is water.

9. Restaurants. There are so many amazing restaurants. But due #5 on this list, I can basically only afford mediocre Vietnamese on the regular. This is actually a lie. This point is only a positive. The food in NYC is amazing despite what some snooty BK hipster indicated to me last weekend when he was touting the San Francisco “organic” restaurant scene. NYC has something for everyone and more.  In every price range, in every neighborhood, 24 hours a day. Sigh. It’s overwhelming.

10. And Finally.  Transportation. Ugh this one gets me every time. After living in Southern Florida for a mere year I came to appreciate the public transportation system in NYC immensely. I had to drive everywhere in FL and it really got me down. Although sidebar this did force me to drink substantially less and it was the healthiest I have ever been, but alas I don’t like to be forced to do anything. I love the fact that I can walk, subway, bus, or on a very rare occasion bike wherever I want whenever I want to in NYC.  But on days when I am most definitely late and have to wait 10 minutes on a rat invested platform, enter a steamy subway car only to be slammed against 50-100 other sweaty disgruntled commuters at which point there will most likely be delays due to “Train traffic ahead or an investigation at 14^th St. I decidedly hate it.

So there you have it. Marissa’s guide to what is spectacular/awful about the greatest/worst city in the world.  I love it. I hate it. Could I really live somewhere else? Probably not. But only time shall tell….

New York I love you, but you're letting me down.

As the seasons change, I am once again in a state of retrospection. Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here?  You know those real life altering meditations where I am once again reminded of why I both love and hate New York City. It is a fascinating situation where I literally feel both emotions equally and fully. Due to the fact that I am a victim of a top 10 list society, I will list here the top 10 reasons contributing to this dichotomous relationship.** After writing this it got lengthy so will be broken out into 2 installments.

1. The people. God why are there so many people??? I love people! I hate people! Sometimes it’s nice to look around and think “Wow all of these tourists are visiting MY home, because it is so cool and great.” Most times, I am thinking “WOW I want all of these tourists gone immediately, along with half of the residents of the isle of Manhattan.” Mama needs room to breathe.

2. Said people like to talk to you. Sometimes this is in the form of friendly banter and I feel like “Wow this is amazing people care about me!” Most times it’s some variation of heckling my reaction is “Dude I am not actually going to smile right now, no things are not okay, I am sad and I am going to continue to cry directly into my martini in public and it’s okay to do that because I am in NYC and everyone here is nuts and at least I am fully clothed.” And all other times these people just want me to join some type of feminist cult.

3. Dining Al Fresco. There are so many options of dining outside. It’s fantastic! The sun is shining, people are jolly, and things are feeling fine. Although 75% of these places are located directly behind a dumpster, you have 30 centimeters between the diners next to you, or if you are lucky you are on a roof. Roofs are good. I love roofs. On to the next.

4. Roofs. Everybody loves a good rooftop bar. I am included in this populous. They make me feel like I am Beyonce and Jay Z. I want to roll up to every single Roof Top bar wearing a white linen suit and a fedora. Maybe I am thinking of the Will Smith video for Miami, whatever I just love being roof side. And everyone cool has a rooftop terrace of their own. Except me. Because I am poor. So that’s why I also hate them.

5.The rent. You've heard that LCD Soundsystem Song. “New  York’s the greatest if you get someone to pay the rent.” Well it’s true. NYC rent is damn expensive. And most people live in what the rest of the country could only consider a pantry. And you continually feel like a pauper. But if you are rich in NYC I imagine it is simply amazing. If I won the lottery I would get a Butler and make him fan me with a giant Palm Frond all year long. 

We are halfway there. The rest is to be continued. Can you contain your excitement?? 

Namaste.

7 years ago I would have never imagined myself spending 90 minutes in a 120 degree room in search of a workout.  Thanks to my sister in law for being the kind of person who would want to do something like this for a bachelorette activity, I discovered although Bikram yoga was just as awful as it sounds, it could potentially cure me of my hot flashes so I continued on.  

Personally – I feel like there have to be some issues with a workout that has more warnings in the beginning of the class than apparent benefits. Teachers casually mention that yogis might pass out, feel dizzy, nauseated, light headed, and become short of breath in the same sentence that they tell you to lengthen your spine.  And that frightens me slightly, but then they mention things like that I am a “flower petal blooming”  and that I am there to “fall more in love with myself” and that I am replenishing my body and soul and I feel pretty much incredible. Plus they convinced me with all the heat and bending I could release some what can seem like unbearable amounts of stress I feel on a daily basis and I was cautiously optimistic. 

So for the past few weeks I have been going on the semi regular and it isn’t that bad. I am not so sure about how much my chackras are aligning, but I do feel like that sweating out approximarely 2 gallons of water  has to be somewhat cleansing right? Until I arrived tonight and someone was being carried out on a stretcher  and I realized that Bikram yoga is beyond my threshold of weird.  Anyone that likes stretching and balance in 120 degrees, while drinking the sweat of 45 strangers is a whole new level of crazy I can’t even begin to comprehend. People get carried out on strechers and nobody blinks an eye! Some chick was muttering in the corner to herself repeatedly about toxins! It smells like rotten foot! I am going another 5 days until my trial membership expires in the hopes that my face thins out a little bit for photos, but that’s about it. Later yogis.  I need cooler temps and better aromas. 

My so-called senile life.

On a recent Friday night as I was folding my laundry I went to tune into my nightly episode of Frasier on the Hallmark channel and was dismayed to discover said channel, was “out of order”. In a fit of rage I grabbed my phone to call Time Warner, when it dawned on me that I was spending my Friday night folding laundry and watching Frasier. Or not watching as the case may be. Then I further realized I am actually a 98-year-old woman trapped in a 28-year-old body and I began to hyperventilate. But then decided to write this top 10 list explaining my elderly nature.

1. I love lace.
2. I also love aprons.
3. Teapots are also a favorite.
4. My affinity for Frasier is equivalent to my love of Golden Girls. 
5. I can’t stay awake past 11:30 on most nights.
6. I often find myself referring to kids these days, not in a bad way, but in an “I’m completely clueless about what’s cool way.”
7. I am deaf enough that I am constantly shouting, but also get mildly offended by how loud music is in restaurants.
8. Every day I grow a little more comfortable with the idea of multiple cats.
9. I have an unnatural love for BINGO.
10. I can’t remember the last item on the list.

So that it’s I am getting BJ a brother and a Life Alert ASAP. If you need me I’ll be finding a way to crochet seashells onto doilies. OR alternatively amping up my street cred with tats and aggressive nail art, I am undecided. I’ll keep you abreast of the situation. 

Weekend Discovery: The Bus

This is not a bus.

So I am ashamed to admit that in the recent past I have held judgmental feelings toward the bus. I don’t know if it is emotional scarring from the Yellow variety of my youth or if the bus just conjures up extremely negative connotations on its own, but I never gave it a fair shot. In my mind the bus was a place for the drudges of society. A place where the homeless hobnob with the criminal and so forth. I don’t know if I watched a lot of gang related bus entertainment in a past life because these assumptions have proven to be the furthest thing from reality I could ever imagine.

This past weekend I made this glorious discovery and it will forever be imprinted on my mind. Throughout the weekend I dabbled in numerous modes of transportation. Cabs in the city, driving in the suburbs, a train, a subway, some heavy walking, and the piece de resistance, the bus.  I literally cannot write enough good things about this glorious experience [Author’s Note: I can write 6 good things about said experience]. Here is why the bus is the best thing ever. OR at the very least, better than the subway.

1. You can’t fall into the tracks, which I guess never have done in a subway, but it seems super scary.
2. It is basically like riding a really fun ride in Disney World, and by this I mean it is fairly bouncy and fun to sit in the middle accordion-like section.
3. You can peruse the Internet the whole time and pin everything in sight. 
4.  It is not covered in trash and urine. Huge plus. 
5.  If it were to break down, I wouldn’t be stuck underground. Also never happened to me, but a major source of anxiety.
6. It is a normal temperature. I know I have heat regulation issues, but the temperature differential between the world and the subway is absolutely not normal. 

This discovery is a huge game changer.  If anyone needs me,  I’ll be cruising around town on the bus. It is now what I do.

 

My Year in Instagram

Many social networks of late trend towards aspirational. Meaning that what one's life appears to be on Pinterest/Instagram tends to be more indicative of the person one would like to be than in reality. I would like to think I am a bit more balanced, but based on the fact that this past year was one of my most challenging (read:absolutelyunbearablyterrible) I would hope what was represented to my social networks was slightly more favorable than reality. Hence, I have decided to pull the highlights of 2012 + early 2013 in the form of a top 10 list. Introducing, 2012 via Instagram.

1. This wasn't in the past year, but an adult trip to Disney World and the purchase of the pictured Minnie ears was one of the best decisions of my life. Sometimes acting 12 is the only way to survive early adulthood. (Late adulthood?? How old am I??!!? Slightly ambiguous...)

2. Of equal importance= my acquisition of retro paper mustache straws. Plus these sweet picnic cups. Picnics make me feel warm and happy. 

3. Oh W Vieques, let me count the ways... I love you, I love you, and I don't care who knows it! You are so beautiful and mellow and fabulous. 2012 was the year I nearly moved to Puerto Rico. Can't wait to be back. 

4. 2nd Avenue Deli came to to 1st Ave and thus made my life. Nothing better than a sweet tender ball and an overbearing elderly woman aggressively serving multiple courses of gluttony. 

5. Yeah this happened. On a beautiful summer day I met an idol, Ina Garten, The Barefoot Contessa, Wife to Jeffery, owner of my dream life. Was glorious.

6. The adoption of a new signature cocktail is always an exciting time. A time of change and progress. A time to be enjoyed with a Hendricks martinis with a twist. So sweet and refreshing, I don't know if I'll ever change it up again!

7. I have wanted tea cups, I have searched for tea cups, I have pinned tea cups. I guess it was only natural to purchase tea cups. It counts as a tea party even if you only drink champagne out of them right?

8. Once I saw something on Pinterest and it was a sock bun. It took me a few weeks to digest what this meant. This was my first attempt at creating one and apparently exciting enough for me to Instagram and now blog about. This is totally going viral. 

9. Dessert terrariums oh how I love you. Sand, seashells, weird plants, and trinkets. So many wonderful things to adore. 

10. This one time when I bought hydrangeas and these cabbage flowers and I accidently dropped a starfish in the center made me feel super crafty. So crafty I needed to immediately photograph it. I am awesome. 

So lets just pretend this is all that happened last year. Good year 2012, good year. Watch out 2013...

*** Okay I had to add an 11. My life before nail art is essentially irrelevant.

Won't you be my valentine?

It started as a dream really. Just a few college kids with a love for a good themed party.  Our first Valentine’s Day celebration was in 2007 and the tradition has continued, somewhat sporadically, into the present day. Valentine’s Day might be the ultimate date night for most American couples, however for me it symbolizes much more than that. Valentine’s Day epitomizes life essentials including champagne, crafts involving doilies, candy, heart shaped baked goods, the color pink, and themed cocktails. For the past several years I have had the great pleasure of celebrating this fabulous holiday with the best of friends and each year it gets better with age.

Beyond the joy of hosting a themed party, I really enjoy any holiday that celebrates love in a tangible way. When we are children, each child brings a valentine for all of the other classmates. Some might find that this cheapens the sentiment or find the practice insulting, but I think it is a) adorable and b) valuable. What better a lesson that to teach others to appreciate all of their peers? Yes we should share the love 365, but I am all for crafting and affection with glitter is simply more meaningful. :)  I just hope that by the time I have children it is not entirely politically incorrect to send valentines. Cross that bridge when I get there.

In sum, I hope to never have to resign myself to pre-fixe dinners and a sense of obligation. I hope that for  each following year I will continue to recognize how lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life in a festive way. And there had better be jello shots. J

Courtship, shmortship.

Everyone’s been sharing, posting, tweeting, and talking about this article in the New York Times speaking to the end of courtship. I don’t know if this is such colossal news, but I found it to be quite depressing nonetheless. I enjoyed it like one might enjoy watching a train wreck or perhaps how individuals used to view men being mauled by lions as entertainment.  Read here or check out my brief synopsis below.

The article essentially outlines modern dating. Today, couples meet via the web, meet up in larger groups, and primarily communicate via text. It discussed how traditional “courtship” no longer takes place. Meaning men do not court women by taking them out to dinner or even drinks for that matter.  One of the reasons this could be the case, the article surmises is based on the decline of men’s careers as women become more financially successful. Meh- none of this really shocks or bothers me. What really gets my goat is the negative association surrounding men in general in the present day.

Dating is one of my all time favorite topics, however I realized of late that as much as I relish the details of each of my girlfriends’ new flames and first dates, it seems that ultimately more time is spent on the let down, the realization he isn't “the one”,  provides. I will admit there are many times when my girlfriends, acquaintances, and even I (shockingly) over invest in casual dating scenarios and ultimately believe it to have the potential to be more than it ever could. Women tend to be dreamers, however what I have come to realize is there is a good chunk of time when men truly are just jerks. 

They say what they think you want to hear, they lie, they tell you every thought from every crevice of their mind, you hold them, you comfort them, advise them, apparently pay for their dinner, only to be told you are expecting too much from them or alternatively never hear from them again.  And there you are just thinking you were getting to know someone, utterly confused about what your expectations ever were to begin with. So anyway boo hoo, courtship is dead and seemingly all age appropriate men are truly either gay, married, or crazy. Despite all of this, I don’t know if I fully believe that.

Not to get all self help book, but I think maybe courtship or love for that matter is just rare and not dead after all. Maybe it’s that all of this nonsense and confusion just makes it clearer when true love is knocking on your door. Or maybe it just makes it easier to determine when you should call your friends and buy a big plot of land in the country and start a commune. I can go either way on this. But I will say this. Men. Be clear and stop blaming everything on women. You dudes love talking about your feelings way more than any female I know and it’s confusing. Women. Let's try to stop making something out of nothing and try to be a little more realistic with our expectations. And let’s all make a concerted effort to be nicer to each other.

Real resolution.

Well 2013, the holidays are over and I’ve had some time to reflect. One of the many traits I shared with my mom is our love for the holidays. She was the true spirit of any family gathering. She was always the first to raise a glass, prematurely present a gift, or send a card for any occasion large or small.  This was one of the most amazing things about her, she pretty much continually was thinking of ways to give to other people. I have boxes of notes she’d send me throughout college, Valentines, St. Patty’s day cards, Christmas, New Years, President’s Day, Happy Monday. Whatever the occasion, the woman knew how to celebrate.

So this holiday, as were the past two, was bitter sweet. A major guest/host was missing. There was a giant hole from which joy once emanated. I missed her in her red dress, which housed a favored pocket made sock puppet named Delmore. I missed her forcing our entire family, even those less verbose than herself, to give thanks for what gifts we had been given over the year. I missed her company in the kitchen, guiding me on what to chop or plate.

I missed her prodding me for information on my social life, my dating life, and gossip amongst my friends, as we would prepare the holiday meal. I missed her telling me she had cut back on the holiday menu, only to discover one dish out of twenty had been eliminated. (And then most likely added back on at the last minute in a faux panic). So for the third year I felt sad again this holiday season, versus the joy I used to feel over Christmases past. At the promise of a gingerbread house, flurry of wrapping paper, and the potential for carols. I was left in a state of confusion, uncertainty, and although much reflection and honoring was dedicated to my mom, a feeling of enormous loss. 

The only thing I know is that she is in a place where there is only the best champagne and foie gras all day long. Where she can listen to all of her favorite songs and be surrounded only by those that make her laugh.  I also know if she were here she would tell me to stop wallowing. She would most likely tell me to live my life and find my passion and dedicate myself to it fully. I hope that in the year to come I can follow her wise words even without her here to reinforce them. I hope that I can continue to represent all of the values she instilled. And I hope I can celebrate the joys of life with the vigor she once did.   Once again this one is for you woman, wishing you the best of everything there is and missing you every second. I love you always and forever. 

New Year, New Me

Every year, like most of the universe, I go about the resolution making process. I plot, diagram, meditate, and map out how I am going to get in shape, be nicer, more successful, and better in every way.

This year I am taking a different approach. By default, 2013 will be better than 2012. So I have that going for me.  Point for Marissa.  Beyond that, I am keeping it simple. I have one resolution and it is to go with my gut. The fact of the matter is I am pretty much always aware when I am doing something I shouldn’t; yet I continue to do it.

I know that ultimately one (or 4) of the 5 times I go to happy hour a week, I should probably go to the gym. Yet I continually choose happy hour and stay there until “I’ve done something wrong” feeling goes away, most often by continuing to indulge in the something wrong.

So that is it, henceforth I shall trust my gut, which will hopefully get smaller with said trust. The desired outcome is that I will say yes to productive activities and say no to excessive happy hours, overconsumption, men that are anything less than wonderful. As my mom used to say to me as a wee lass “Make good choices.” It’s as simple as that. Come on 2013. Meet me halfway? 

Storm musings.

Dear Sofa-

We have been through a lot these past couple of weeks.  With the hurricane and a snowstorm I have spent a lot of time with you, even more than the past. Reading, working, watching critically acclaimed films such as Magic Mike.

You comfort me. You support me. Sometimes I want to just spend the whole day and night snuggling with you. My cat adores you. You are machine washable.

Could this be?

Love?

Marissa

Time

This is a long one, but it could never be long enough. It literally unbelievable to me that it’s been six months since I’ve lost my mom and over 2 years since she was diagnosed with Cancer. To say the recent past has been a hazy mess of a journey is the understatement of a century. It has felt like seconds, while also like an eternity. I feel like I haven’t spoken to her in years and simultaneously like I just hung up the phone with her a few seconds ago. I honestly don’t know what to feel most of the time other than cheated out of every second she isn’t here. But on the other hand I have to be fair and realize how lucky I am to have had her for as long as I did. I have thousands of memories of her that I relish daily.

I’ll never forget the time she thoughtfully told me it might be best if I revealed my personality slowly to my new colleagues once starting a new job. This statement was followed up with a lot of encouragement about my individuality and how everyone loves me, eventually. It was actually good advice that nobody else could give but a mom. Another time I received a call at work. Of course, it was my mom, as she is the subject of this post and also the only person that called me at work. She informed me she had picked out the name of my first child. It was Maclovin’.  I informed her she couldn’t steal a name from the movie Superbad for my unborn child.  We moved on.

I also used to love when I would call her at school and she was typically busy- since she was at work- so she would put me on the phone with her students while she gathered paperwork or answered other calls that came in while we were chatting. I knew all about little Harry, her triplets, Emily, and other little cherubs.  Some of her “regulars” needed daily medication, but many just wanted to talk. I totally get why.

My mom was also one to burst out into song at any given time. She was many things, but a strong singer she was not. My favorite tunes were from her camp days. There was one that went something like ”Chikum M sweet, hambone an fine.” I can almost hear her now singing in a key of her own and ending the tune with a little holler. She also had a quirky take on the pronunciation of certain words like karaoke (Kah-ray-oh-kay) and gigalo (Gigg-alo).  The discussion around Gigalos is a whole other story. 

Pronunciation aside, she was an excellent fake conversationalist. She could carry on a hypothetical scenario (one of my favorite activities) with me for impressive lengths of time. We once carried on a pretend interview with Oprah for our co-written novel for about an hour. We also drove from Cape Cod to Ithaca New York managing to surf the radio and listen exclusively to Pearl Jam’s remake of “Last Kiss” for the entirety of the ride. We could stretch things out.

I loved how she would invite herself to anything shamelessly.  Random Bar Mitzvah or wedding?  She was on that list faster than any other. She would have invited herself to any of my parties, if she weren’t the first person on my guest list already. I loved that she proposed a toast for every occasion and expected all to contribute. I loved that she preferred her food burnt, especially popcorn. I also loved that she stole Splenda from any single location that offered it. I found one in a purse pocket last night and felt the urge to both smile and cry. It was just so her. Splenda everywhere just in case she needed to sweeten something on the run.

In sum, I miss every thing about her. I know that had none of this ever happened we would argue and I would take her for granted, just like one does with the most precious people and things in life, unwilling to accept they could ever be gone. She was always the first to tell me. Life isn’t fair.  I just have to imagine that she is somewhere doing something great at some fabulous party she managed to sneak into. Or maybe just singing to her own tune with stolen Splenda. Wherever she is, those that are with her are lucky. Love you always woman. 

Ode to fall

Oh fall, how I love you so. I love your crisp air, and your autumnal glow. I love your crunchy leaves and the need for big sweaters. Pumpkin patches, apples, and red wine. What could be better? Not much I tell you, not much at all. It’s why I’m oh so happy to finally greet the fall.  

Not much makes me want to write poetry, but fall you make me want to write sonnets. I want to read them to you in candlelight. I want to take you on a horse drawn carriage rides. I want to take you on picnics, walks along the beach.  You make me believe in love, fall.

I love the way you make the air smell a little less like garbage and somehow… a little more like bacon. I love the feeling of change and the availability of miscellaneous gourds and miniature cornhusks. I love your haunted houses and your pumpkin lattes.  I love the presence of boots and black nail polish.  I love puffy vests and cashmere.

Basically fall, I love every single thing about you and will be relishing every second of you until it is time to transition into my next favorite season; Santacon. But until the season of Santa, I toast you fall. I raise my pumpkin ale in your honor and thank you for your perfection.

All my love,

Marissa

Break Up

The other day I decided to perform some routine browser history cleanup. I looked in horror as I saw a repeat website on the list that caused a serious flush. Like a woman who has caught her husband red handed with an unsavory computer habit I shut the laptop in a fury. Then I decided I must take action.

Dear Seamless Web-

It has come to my attention that my love for you is inappropriate.  This thing we have feels so good, but I know in my heart it is wrong. And pardon the cliché but it really isn’t you- it’s me. You were there for me these past few months in a way for which I can never thank you enough. Whenever I logged in, jonesing for a noodle or Pho you were there with a plethora of options.  You were efficient, fast, and consistent.

I am the one with the problem. I relied on you too heavily, called on you too often. A girl only needs so many noodles and I, have had more than my share. I wish I could just see you on occasion; it might hurt a little less. But, I don’t trust myself around you so I think this is goodbye. Maybe not for long, maybe not forever, but for now I bid you adieu.

And Seamless web. You’ll be just fine.  I was a steady source of income for you, but I am no fool. I know others call on you maybe just as frequently. And they most likely feel the same warm feelings as I.  You will continue to grow with more restaurants, app enhancements and whatever the future might hold. And I will be cheering you on every step of the way. And I am sure, one cold winter’s eve I will be back.

Until then with love,

Marissa

Things I learned on vacation

1. Apparently I have been pigeon toed my whole life and nobody told me- thanks Dad.

2. It is also seemingly far too common for 60-year-old men to date women less than half their age. If one more person thought my Dad and I were a couple I was going to rent the Goodyear blimp to announce this was in fact not the case.

3.  After 28 years of effort and pain- it is abundantly clear, I do not tan.

4. Wild horses are pretty neat, but mini horses are still the cutest.

5.  I will never be on island time. This lifestyle works if I am ever running late, but me waiting for anything, especially a cocktail is not the prettiest site.

6. If anyone recommends you got to a place called the Cash and Carry- I would advise against this plan.  Our mission was wine; this establishment offers a can of Goya Black beans, a slot machine, and the stench of desperation.

7. If you ever need a bug repellent stronger than Deet, bring me. I think an inch of my skin is uneaten, my Dad, unscathed.  I am available for sunsets, jungle tours, and beach combing missions.

8. Keeping that in mind, nature is amazing and inspiring and infinite, but my one true love will always be A/C.

9. All that said, the people of Vieques seem pretty happy. If you haven’t heard from me in a while I may have purchased the shell truck for sale on the side of the road. I may or may not have left my resume with its owner and I am clearly qualified.

Love is all you need.

This Labor Day weekend was one of much introspection. While attending a wedding of dear friends hosted in our College town, there was much nostalgia and reflection. There was also a lot of commentary on the fact that apparently college females no longer wear clothing, but alas mostly the former. We laughed, visited some favorite haunts, and danced to the songs we have for years.

It was one of those crossroads where the past was very present. Through photos, favored stories, and inside jokes we revisited the moments that have forever impacted our lives. The weekend was about love, but to me of course it was also about friendship. Walking down College Ave was a unique moment, for it wasn’t one that was filled with desire to go back in time. It was one where I was grateful for all of the moments I have had and friends I have made, but it reconfirmed my position in the present.  Thankfully this position is one with many of those that I was with back in College by my side.

Additionally, I am grateful to greet fall: my favorite season. Fall is the time when NYC begins to smell less like sewage and more like air. It is when said air is filled with possibility, perhaps because it becomes dry enough to actually perform daily tasks without profuse sweating. And where I can once again pretend I will go apple picking. One thing that wasn’t left behind once my schooling ended is the school year calendar.  I am happy to take with me the things from the past I favor most and say goodbye to summer.  Cheers to love and cheers to friendship. And here is to a school year that outperforms the last. 

Oh Portland

As a sporadic symptom of ongoing anxiety, I tend to over prepare for the possibility of becoming homeless. I often times will think to myself or comment aloud when I see suitable shelter, food options, or places I would shower if I am ever in need. In fact I had  recently selected the perfect alcove within some scaffolding across the street from my office to be my homeless nook, which has since been removed, but I digress. My newest discovery in the art of being sans home is Portland, Oregon.

During a recent business trip I have discovered this would be the perfect haven for those finding themselves dwelling within the streets. First and foremost: climate. I was only there for 3 days, but it was perfectly warm and dry, which is a plus when you are sleeping outside and don’t have regular access to an ice bath. Secondly, there are lots of trees and grass. I would just need to invest in a tent and I am pretty sure I could sustain myself on many a grassy knoll throughout the city. Other important factors include; a multitude of eating and drinking establishments and affable residents leaving said establishments, which favorably influence the possibility for leftovers and friendly banter.

Overall I think I would enjoy living on the streets of Portland more than most cities. The overarching plus is definitely the cleanliness factor. It appears that composting, free range hipsters keep a clean city and although I would prefer my heavenly bed, if I were forced to the streets, for now I would choose Portland’s.

Not to get political but...

It's been a while. I was going to blog about what makes Portland, Oregon so great. Or why music is so important. Until suddenly, I was under political attack by my Parents’ (now my Dad’s) friends. Why would I be voting for whom I plan to vote in November? Not surprisingly, I had an answer and they did not. I do not need to get into for whom I plan to vote. It is obvious since everyone who reads this knows me. The thing that scares me is that so many people do not plan to vote.

I beg of you. Please vote. I clearly would love for you to vote on my side, but mostly I want people to stand behind his or her beliefs. Tonight I was asked why I planned to vote for my candidate. And sadly it was in an aggressive versus a conversational manner. I have an interesting stance. I have been given a lot.  I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth by any means, but I have not had to ask for much. I have received an Ivy League education and a summer home, luxuries most do not receive. And my parents worked extremely hard, from the ground up to give them to me.

Did they give their blood, sweat, and tears to make this happen? Definitely. Were there government programs in place to help them along the way to help them? Absolutely. I am for the people. I have always been for the people. And I will always be for the people. I will never agree that American citizens do not need assistance to help them sustain themselves. Of course I believe in Capitalism. If you work hard you should be able to get ahead. But everyone is not given a level playing field and I believe our government is what can help America make us the country that everyone talks about. The place where you can achieve the American Dream.

I believe in America. I don’t believe in hypocrisy. Please think about what matters most to you and who you truly think can make that happen.  And most of all remember cocktail party etiquette and leave the politics, religion, and money behind.

C'est la vie. C'est la guerre.

In an effort to reintegrate our Catholic faith into our lives, my family has built a bond with a priest in CT. He has offered much solace during an otherwise hectic and tumultuous time. One statement he made that has provided much comfort is that we should look for signs of my mom’s spirit around us. I have found her to be present in many ways from rainbows to constellations and  acts of coincidence and fate.  I realized I took it a bit too far when I became convinced her spirit ate my bacon on Sunday. But I miss her, I can’t help it. And maybe that means I am looking to hard, but  I am starting to realize that she won’t be around to do the things that used to make me laugh or maybe even cause annoyance.

I’ll never forget the time my mom helped me move into an apt in Florida and then we decided to check out a local hotel bar with an alleged amazing rotating view of the city. However, when we arrived it became evident this was now event space and longer a functioning bar. We discovered this as an employee informed us of such upon our entrance, however of course my mom wanted to check it out. It turned out to be a Native American tribal reunion at which each attendee was fully decked out in traditional dress and clearly of Native American descent. Although we were two pale white ladies in shorts and Capri pants,  she was convinced we could just blend in and “enjoy the music”. Of course I was humiliated, but humored the same and secretly had a blast jamming out to  a super zealous flautist. I loved that she was up for anything. As always, she was flexible where I was tentative.

She would often say “c’est la vie, c’est la guerre”, amongst several other random sporadic French statements, left over from the French nuns of her childhood. I believe the loose meaning is “such is life such is war.” She rolled with the punches, even the final punch in the most graceful possible way. Flexibility was always her way,  where I am unwillingly ruffled by the twists and turns life invariably produces.

Another amazing trait possessed by my mom was her desire to listen. I am not saying she always succeeded, there were times when she would inevitably have to tune out the 10^th time in a row I called crying about a rodent or pest or the in depth description of a mundane task performed at work. However, mostly she had the rare desire to hear about your day, savor it, and most likely ask you to repeat it to her friends later if she found it amusing. This would drive me crazy, as I would fear the joy she received from my tales wouldn’t carry over to others and often times I would balk at her request. Needless to say I wouldn’t mind repeating things a few more times. I miss you and love you, these hydrangeas are for you woman.