Greek Tragedyhi

the stuff we're made of

I've always loved this idea: making a fiction collage of each character, complete with the actor prototype in mind. I'm doing it now for the television version of Straight Up and Dirty. I love this exercise, to know the contents of each character's desk drawer, nightstand, or handbag. To create a mood board, or inspiration board, to see visuals, to know of all the chairs in the world, the one they'd pick would look like this, that on a menu, they'd order that. I love the details and quirks, seeing each of their obsessions. Where they hope to travel next, their favorite accessory, a photo of their dog. It's what makes us who we are, all this stuff, or even the lack of stuff. I'm including the real photo of each person, along with an actor prototype, their interior design choices, obsessions, imperfections, things that help define them. Getting their quirks in. It's so much fun. I'll post my own collage later. But in the meanwhile, if you had to create a collage of objects and pictures that told someone who you were and what you liked, what would be tacked up on your collage? What are the telling little details?

scheduled days in so many ways

This is a list more for me than anyone else. It's a list that helps me punch things into order. Makes me feel like a good mother, even on days when the very last thing I want to do is mother. I obviously realize that what children want most is to spend time with you, doing any old thing. That they're happy in your lap, or even across the room, as long as you're paying attention to them. The last thing anyone has ever accused me of is being rigid. I just want to get it all down, to expose them to "new." Most of their time is spent with them free to explore and spend time engaged in what interests them most. But when they act bored, or out, or even like me, I pull out my list for ideas.

PSYCHO MAMA HISSY FIT TIME: Listen to clit rock and dance like fools singing along to lyrics about being "over it."

BUILDING TIME: Wooden Blocks, Legos, Stacking Rings (Talk about shapes, colors, sizes, and COUNT), Shot Glasses

FREE PLAY: Play with cars and trains (show how they can link and follow roads on play mat). Use dump truck and show how you can fill and empty it. Dolls and stuffed animals: put them to bed, feed them, nurture them, push in stroller, brush hair. Wear hippie clothes and bells on our toes, then see how many people we can stuff into a VW van.

SORTING TIME: Animal Hospital and Farm Play. Otherwise, it's time to reorganize mama's makeup drawer.

SIGNING TIME: Watch Signing Time Video as Lunch or Dinner is being prepared

MUSIC TIME: Play "music together CD" and take out musical instruments (Must be supervised, and I must be inebriated)

ALONE TIME: Can hide under table covered with blanket or in old cardboard box or in that playhouse we have. Or I can just lock myself into the bathroom and pretend I'm busy.

PHYSICAL TOYS: Tunnel time with pulling and pushing toys, ride on toys, tires, boxes. Otherwise, just wrestle them to the ground until they scream uncle.

SCARVES TIME: Play with different colored scarves, see how they float in air, talk about colors, play hide and seek with them, or go to Hermes and shop.

FOLLOW THE LEADER: A parade of follow the leader, and singing sequential songs like Hokey Pokey, If You're Happy And You Know It, Wheels on the Bus and Old MacDonald, helps them learn sequences.

STORY TIME: Read books in Spanish & English, read nursery rhymes (Ideally, turn on a story time lamp) like one of these to start this special ritual. Essential to teaching them how to lie properly. Yay, "fiction."

PUPPET SHOW TIME: Play with finger puppets & regular puppet show. Give Lucas and Abigail old socks with faces drawn on them and teach them how to do puppets. See Story Time for pointers.

PRETEND & PLAY BALL TIME: Catch, throw, roll, kick. When lose attention, teach how to imitate animals: hop like rabbit, tiptoe like birds, waddle like ducks, slither like a snake, do crab walk. Then pick up your self-respect. Do the ASL sign for each animal. Can also repeat or combine this with stories and songs that include animals.

new york holiday

It's official. After Halloween, the store windows stop. They skip right over Thanksgiving and already have me thinking of the December events, aside from the twin taters turning two. I realize money is tight, that it's hard, that people are losing their jobs, taking less pay, eating home a lot. I know I'll be making scrapbooks as gifts if there's time, but with all I have going on, it's been hard to find time for such arts & crafties. Instead, I procrastinate making fun lists, this one in particular dedicated to my love of New York. It's not finished, but it's a fun start. Except now all I want to do is listen to Christmas music and eat a toasted bialey with a touch of salted, melted butter. Lox are optional. But alas, I have a cold and should instead go watch television, wear socks, and drink salty soup.

 

See more of my NY NY Holiday

toddlers in toyland: that's one to grow on

I am all over the place--not just my clothes pulled from a suitcase, littering my closet floors, or the weave of words in this post, or even my travel schedule, or hair. I'm a blur of thoughts and to-do lists, and even as I type this, I know it won't come out right. There will be too much to say, that it will be more precise, cleaner, if it's all split into neat little sections, drip-fed throughout the week in a series of digestible little posts. So that's exactly what I'll do. I'll be palatable, and throughout the week there will be posts about interior design solutions (when I find them), friendship, travel, work schedule, the guilt of being a mother, insomnia, activities for two-year-olds, Moose paperback design, TV projects, and martinis... all packed in. But for now, it's a list. There's only one way to properly procrastinate, and I find it begins with a list designed to keep you from procrastinating. A "That's One To Grow On" list because when I feel craptastic I look for order and then make shipping orders. Which is what I've done here. I've done this before.

Because wouldn't you rather the magic markers be magically where they belong instead of between your sofa cushions? Organization, toys, and other necessities of a magical home life with toddlers. Now if only I knew where to put it all. How exactly does one go about dividing the space of a playroom into "spaces" for different activities? I know there's a science behind it. That a playground, for example, needs to be mindful of different heights, of including a water feature. There is a rhyme to all the design reasons and it has nothing to do with Little Boy Blue or a cow jumping over a moon. Where does one go about painting on an easel amid wall-to-wall cream-colored carpeting? Come kids, let's go hang out in the garage.

See more of my toddlers in toyland list >>

lists

He's making a list and checking it twice.  Children, naughty or nice, steadied their hands and licked their chops, fisted a Crayola to share their deepest wishes and wants in their finest penmanship.  Dear Santa.  Parents added, "Mail Dear Santa letter" to their holiday task list.  Come December everyone has a list. We still do, even the day after The Big Day.

The magazines had give good gift lists from the fantasy to the frugal. Mere mortals drafted to-do lists filled with busy. And now the lists have changed to returns, picking up dry cleaning, and something to wear for amateur night (aka New Year's Eve). "New thighs" someone might add, already thinking of her resolution list for the new year. The "lose weight" and "get in shape" commercials begin to air now, urging us to change for the better.  Add it to your list. It's no wonder people get depressed over the holidays. I wish the commercials sold you something else: something about contentment. Emphasizing how we should be thankful for all we already have, and most importantly, all we already are. Not, "lose the love-handles" but "learn to fucking love your love-handles. He clearly does, or he wouldn't have married you." Or at least, "learn to care less about the things you really shouldn't care so much about."

Your health is important. If your doctor says you're at a healthy weight, that should be enough. It just should. It shouldn't be about joining Weight Watchers. It should be about getting more life out of your life. If my days feel more free, or somehow give me a greater sense of clarity and accomplishment when I begin early, when I get to Town Lake for a walk with the double-jogger, then do it for that. For living freer, for feeling better, for feeling like you're making choices that matter. And on days you choose not to, on days you're too tired, or it's too cold, or you're just not motivated: here's a novel concept: say "good for you!" Because life's too short to regret things like that. It's too short to feel sorry about being too tired or lazy to move. Which seems strange, embracing not embracing everything life has to offer. But there's something to be said for the smaller moments, when we don't do much of anything. I think in a way it's what we all most have in common. Sweatpants living.

My list of wants is still silly, but it's mine. I want more time to play with photographs, to scrapbook and make baby food. I want more time to read, to decorate, to learn new automator techniques to make my love of Mac all the more. Sure, I'd like to fit into smaller jeans, but really, at the end of the day, I'd rather use my free time learning, reading, pasting things and playing with buttons--not the ones on my clothes. Sewing them onto things. Sewing, in general. Learning to make a proper quilt (two actually) from their special baby clothes, something they'll always have, maybe even incorporating photos, like in the movie Stepmom. Learning more about the Nikon D300 I'm about to purchase because my Nikon D100 shutter has officially crapped out (fixing it costs upward of $300, so I'm upgrading). I cannot wait to study the manual and learn even more fun ways to digitally process my life. See, I'd rather be creating keepsakes and new memories to keep than keeping up with the past. Life's too short for long lists.

season of delights

It's good to be home.  Especially when home is tied with order, where life is clean and bright, cozy and slightly inebriated, as it appears in the staged pages of food and decor magazines.  Where the dining table is always set, with bright table runners, fit with place mats and name cards, the silverware is polished, and all matches, the dishes--there are enough of one kind, and each type of wine has its proper glass, shining and clear of marks, prints, or dishwasher spots.  Cheeses are on a wooden board, netted in cheese cloth (oh, that's what it's for).  The music is piped in.  Clean socks, sheets, windows, and floors. There's new wine to try.  Cab Francs and white burgundy.  New silky cotton sheet sets, crisp cold bedding.  The tater tots tucked into warm jammies, with new toys, and books, a big chair, the three of us cuddling as I read to them a new journey.  Homemade parsnip puree.  Apple pie with cheddar crust.   

The weather is cold enough for mittens and bulky cashmere sweaters, scented lingerie, warm and clingy.  I'm making homemade hot cocoa kits, fresh tomato soup with gougeres (light and airy cheese puffs made with gruyere-laced pastry).  I love that I can make these, pipe them onto a baking sheet, then freeze them for future use, as they're best eaten still warm.  Oh, how I'm enamored with this season of delights. I want to spend the next few days buying holiday ribbons and preparing the house for the season, a season of wreaths and homemade marshmallows.  I want to do prep work, so all that's left to do is light some candles, and reach for that handsome and well=placed throw... and brush up on some good tasty books.

Ah the recipe for Gougeres from Artisinal

Ingredients:
4 Tbl. unsalted butter
1/4 C. milk plus extra for brushing
1/2 tsp. each salt and ground white pepper
1/2 C. all-purpose flour, sifted
1/8 tsp. baking powder
1/2 C. grated Gruyere plus extra for garnish
2 eggs
Coarse sea salt

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

2. In a saucepan, bring the butter, 1/4 cup of milk, 1/4 cup of water, salt, and pepper to a boil.  Remove from the heat and add the sifted flour and baking powder.  Stir well and return to medium heat.  Cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture pulls away from the sides of the pan and forms a ball, about 2 to 3 minutes.

3.   Place the 1/2 cup of cheese and the milk mixture in the bowl of a mixer fitted with a paddle, and beat until just warm.  Add the eggs slowly as the mixer funs, until the dough is smooth and shiny.  (Alternatively, stir to cool by hand and beat in the eggs with a wooden spoon.)  Transfer to a pastry bag and pipe in 1-inch mounds using a No. 4 tip, or drop with a teaspoon on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper.  (At this stage, the gougeres can be frozen and then stored in a plastic bag.  They do not have to be thawed before baking, but 1 1/2 to 2 minutes should be added to the cooking time.)  Brush with milk and sprinkle with cheese and sea salt.

4.  Bake for 10 to 12 minutes; when the puffs are golden-brown, reduce the oven temperature to 375 degrees F and cook for 2 to 3 minutes more.  Serve hot or at room temperature.  May be reheated.  Yum... serve also as "croûtons" in any winter or autumn soup!

things that still bother me

The way I ignored my instinct not to trust him. He slept over, and in the morning, when I was off to work, I yanked him out of bed.  "Let's go," I said.  But he begged to sleep a little longer.  "I'll lock up," he promised.  And I didn't trust it.  I said okay, anyway.  When I came home, everything was the same.  Nothing was missing.  He continued to help me pack up my things.  I made up some boxes, turning them from flat boards into taped boxes, empty, stacked, each one on top of the next.  I had just finished sealing a loaded box and needed a new one.  When I reached for it, I thought it was strange there was a random DVD of mine tucked away.  Hmm.  I returned it to the unsealed box of my DVDs, the one I refused to close because I needed my movies, two new ones each night.  Once I unpacked at the new place, I realized half my DVDs were missing, and a box of my favorite boots.  A brown beaded bracelet.  And a miniature MP3 player I'd just spent $300 on, the one he'd said he was going to pack for me.  And the worst of it, when I confronted him, he denied it.  Brought me some second-rate Pump Up The Volume shit DVDs, "'cause I've seen how upset you've been over your missing DVDs."  And I confronted him again, and he denied it, quite shocked I had the nerve to accuse him when here he'd given me some of his own movies.  What's a guy doing with Crazy/Beautiful?  Who's DVDs did he give me anyway, and where had he put mine.  I still think about it, coming up with imaginary plans to bust him.  How I'll stalk him down in his neighborhood, "so funny bumping into you!  Do you mind if I just come in and get a sip of water.  So parched."  Cough.  Cough.  Then I'd ask for a tour, looking for my DVDs, the cops waiting outside.  Except I'll bet he doesn't live where he said he'd bought an apartment.  I bet he doesn't have a daughter.  I get sick to my stomach thinking how taken I got.  And the whole time, I just thought something was off about him because he didn't seem very bright.  Meanwhile, I was the idiot. I haven't forgiven him or myself, despite knowing I'll never again, I hope, ignore such an instinct. 

Old journal entries.  I'm bothered because they were written at the start, and I stayed anyway.  Ignoring signs.  The obvious.  Each time thinking something down the line would change.  All the things I complained about in the beginning have remained exactly the same. As I'm sure I have done.  Remained the same, same habits and fears, just older, with more lines, fat, and fewer good clothes.

Why they hated me.  They wouldn't say.  She still won't.  Girls at camp.  Friend number 1.
The pearl and diamond earrings in my jewelry box.  The diamonds from my first engagement ring.  The pearls from the trip you took with her.
The way we never gave us a real try.   
How I went into premature labor.
That man who picked me up from Sports of The Future.  Who was he, and why did you send him? You say you don't remember, but I don't believe you.  I don't know what bothers me more, not believing or the memory of you sending in a stranger to pick me up.  I was terrified I was going to be kidnapped.  So we devised a code word only we knew, and if someone was to pick me up, they'd need it.  You never sent anyone else.
The way I treated you.
What we did once we locked the door.
I wonder if when we die, if there is some montage tunnel, if we get to see all of our life's mysteries revealed: all the things that went missing shown.  My STEPHANIE nameplate with the diamond S, gone.  My diamond earrings.  I would like to know where everything I've ever lost has gone.  Except for love.  I don't need to see that. 

itchy nipple and all things annoying

Dad's got irritable bowel syndrome.  Lucas has irritable baby syndrome.  Just a little cranky pants lately, that is, when he's not smiling and giggling.  He no longer sleeps through the night.  He's up every two to three hours, wanting milk, wanting to be held, wanting to be anywhere but asleep in a crib.

We never went to New York.  You know, because all of those comments on the blog saying I shouldn't go, well, that's how I totally decided.   Lucas has another spinal MRI scheduled for this Friday, so we can check the progress of this cyst.  He still won't roll onto his stomach and cannot sit up alone, though he's close on the sitting.  He doesn't seem very frustrated about it. 

I'm frustrated by his progress, but it's his progress not mine.  He'll do things when he's ready, on his terms.  And when I remind myself of this, I feel better.  My body is a disaster area.  Forget for a second that I haven't had my period since Friday the 13th (July), the other day I realized my nipple itched.  Upon examination I realized, shit motherfucker, there's milk coming out.  Fluid.  Clear, and then white.  WTF?  I haven't breastfed since 6 months ago.  Maybe I have a tumor.

So I go upstairs and give myself a breast exam, and milk is coming from both nipples when I pinch them, not spray can nipples, but beads.  Exciting stuff, I know.  What can I tell you?  I'm frustrated and pissed off at the world right now.  I called my OBGYN, who said not to worry about it.  It's normal.  It's coming from both breasts, no worries.  So fine.  I stopped worrying. 

My face is going to fall off.  My lips are chapped.  My EYES are chapped.  The skin surrounding my eyes is RED and SWOLLEN and it itches.  I am completely stressed.  I need to see a dentist.  My teeth are yellow.  I'm afraid they're going to hurt me.  That pick scraping against my inner bottom teeth.  I need bleach and a thorough cleaning.

I just scheduled a derm appointment with Dr. Fox to check out my moles.  Nothing says fall quite like a naked pasty body in a dermatologist's office. And by the time I can actually see him, I'm hoping the skin around my eyes is better.  I've been lubing up on Aquaphor and it's done nothing.

I have so much more to write, and my book is due Oct. 1.  I'm completely stressed about it, at that point where I want to chuck the whole thing out a window, but then I'd have to call someone to fix my window and my computer.

I need to buy a battery operated black light, so I can find scorpions in the dark and know where those fuckers are lurking because in total now, I've found six--only one was alive. 

I need an outdoor wireless router so I can write outside.

Need to fill my goddamn eyeglass with a new prescription, because my eyes suck.

And need to figure out a 1 year wedding anniversary gift, you know, aside from intensive therapy.  Life is swell.  I just need a vacation from it.  I want to spend an entire day in an air conditioned movie theater watching nothing but chick flicks that make me cry and restore my hope.  To get my hair washed and blown, to have creams applied to my body, a massage, actual polish on my toes.  A new outfit.  Hair highlights.  I want to feel like a girl again, not a puckered pink lady with grease on her eyes.

mother's day gifts

A list of unusual and highly coveted gifts for your mother.  And of course, a list of things any mother, including the new ones (ahem) would love.  Though really, I'm not hinting.  I need to decorate this house!  That's my next list of ideas... home decor. 

i loved fat camp, even though it fucked me up but good

The signed pillowcases at the end of summer, S.W.A.K., morning lineup, shower caddies, running out of hot water, borrowing one another’s clothes, playing HA beneath a tree, tired from soccer drills.  Collecting mustard packets, dipping carrots into mustard, anything to make the calories go further.  Doing sign and backs, realizing I was near the end by the houses that punctuated the journey, looking down as I walked uphill because it made it easier.  Putting my face in the lake.  The schedules, our days planned, braiding hair and lanyards.  Secrets and mix tapes and workouts. 

Learning how to use a punching bag.  Doing a chin up.  Seeing my collarbones.  Trips to the mall!  Calling everything but camp “civilization.”  Returning home to television, your own bathroom, privacy and wall-to-wall carpeting.  Getting ready for dinner, shower hour, passed notes between activities.  Walks back to the cabin just before curfew, standing, waiting beneath the trees for him to kiss me.  Reading those same sentences over and over, carrying his note in my pocket and smiling again and again knowing it’s there.  Trying harder on the field if I thought he might be watching.  Sore muscles.  Becoming red-faced and sweaty knowing “it’s working.” 

Sunday Brunches.  Capture the flag.  Mealtimes, bitching about the hills, the heat, and the bugs.  Skin So Soft.  Field trips.  The track.  Watching the boys play hockey.  Watching them watch us.  Co-ed softball.  Color war.  Crickets, movie nights, rainy days.  Mudslides and showering in the rain. 

Creating time capsules, thinking the only thing that mattered was that summer.  Insisting you saw a bat or heard a raccoon.  Variety shows, skit nights, choreography.  Singing into brush handles, blowing cabin fuses with too many hair dryers at once.  Being a girl, growing into my own, through letters home, in a summer, becoming someone no one else knew and living up to it. 

Tether ball, N.I.C.E.T.R.Y. that’s the way we spell nice try.  Side out and rotate in volleyball.  Snacks in the shade.  Flavored lipgloss, peach oil, and anklets.  Water shoes.  Never seeing any “nature” on the nature trail.  Growing into a woman, feeling wanted, flirting, the attention.  Walking on grass, following paths, the camaraderie, the raids, feeling independent.  Freshly mowed grass.  Living sans-parents.  Wooden floors, worn by years.  Seeing how many lengths of the pool I could hold my breath.  Camp songs.  Reuniting, wondering how people think you look.  His Fahrenheit cologne.

Going with a counselor to collect the mail after lunch.  Rest hour and letter writing, living for packages and mail.  The wet grass in the morning.  Double knotted sneakers.  Running caterpillar drills. Visiting day weekend.  Homesick.  Bunk beds and raids.  Flashlights and campfires, finding a good stick for your marshmallow (your 1 goddamn marshmallow). Eating with chopsticks.  Apache relays.  Getting to know you activities, sitting in circles beneath trees.  Water balloon fights on hot days.  Matty's Run.  Mosquitoes and windbreakers.  Gummy rain boots and ponchos.  Morning wake-up calls, always colder than you'd imagined.  Inter-camp competitions.  The black food market.  Kids sneaking smokes behind the cabin.  Learning that a counselor got fired for dating a camper. 

I loved camp, fat camp, despite all the bad habits I learned.  Despite how obsessed it might have made me, I'd go back in a second.

a nod to sunblock and vonnegut

Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday.  Kurt Vonnegut was in Back To School.  Kurt Vonnegut did not write that graduation speech.  Still, in his honor, I'm reposting my nod to sunblock, hoping you might find some words to add of your own...

I was sitting here wondering what would I say, if I could, to my younger self.  You know, if we went for drinks at a Mexican joint, and I began a sentence with, "Okay, there's something you should know..." what would follow?  See, it's easy to tent a blanket of "don't take life so seriously" on it, but that's like telling someone to "just relax." The words are there, we hear them, but they don't make us feel any differently.  It's too easy.  It's lazy advice.  Here's what's harder to say:

Keep a diary.  And when you write in it, try not to dot your i's with hearts or fat little circles.  Try to write about something other than the opposite sex or the fights you have with friends.  I wish I knew, when I was younger, to write about the good in my friendships and family, to document the loving moments.  Write about your relationship with your cousins, with your grandfather, with your parents.  I need to take this advise now, too.

Nobody cares if you bite your nails.  No guy is going to notice what shoes you're wearing, and if he does, he's the wrong guy. 

You actually look beautiful, and can leave the house, without makeup.

Learn how to keep track of your spending and realize no amount of shopping will give you real self-esteem.  Even the have-to-have handbag or shoes.  But, it's okay to like nice things.  Don't be too hard on yourself for buying into consumerism.  There are worse things.

Be kinder.  Try to treat people as if it's your last interaction, but at the same time, care less, a lot less, about what other people think. Read that again.  Stop caring what other people think.  How? Understand that this is your life, not theirs, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself if things don't work out the way you'd hoped.  At a certain point, you have to stop pointing fingers behind you toward your childhood. You cannot be walking around worried about what people will think of you.  At the end of the day, all that really matters is what YOU think of you.  Even if people say great things. Horrible things.  Their opinion shouldn't matter more than your own. 

Don't worry about appearing braggy or narcissistic.  It's called having self-esteem, valuing yourself enough to think people might care about what you have to say.  Don't be ashamed about anything because all our embarrassments are part of the human condition. 

Don't play music on your outgoing answering machine message.  I know you think it sounds good and everyone else does it.  Don't do that.

Rich relationships are a product of who you are, not where you are. You'll make friendships anywhere you go, so stop worrying about the right places, schools, cities, apartment complexes, neighborhoods. 

Whatever decision you're worried about, right now, whether you should do this or that, however important it feels to you, just stop.  Look Up. Remember, when you're feeling like shit, to just step away from it, for fifteen minutes and just try, TRY, to enjoy the view.  Yeah, the stars shine bright deep in the heart of Texas, but I've preached this before.  Now that I'm in, what I consider to be, the 'burbs, I never think, "I wish I were living in the city."  But when I lived in Manhattan, I always wished for stars, stairs, and a view.  So look up wherever you are and realize a world goes on outside your dramas. Really, all of it will pass, will be worked out.

Don't be afraid of making mistakes.  I'm not saying to discount the consequences of your actions, but try to worry less about choosing wrong.  We weigh ourselves down in it.  Second-guessing ourselves. Don't be afraid of making mistakes because, really, you learn so much when you risk.  So really, it's never a mistake.  Unless it involves wearing the color orange or anything to do with a hat.  These are usually mistakes best to avoid. 

Ditch negative people.  Don't keep them around because you feel guilty.  Hold onto your strong female friends, even if you've had a pissy fight.  They're really important.

I wouldn't tell my younger self to listen more, or to be compassionate as well as passionate.  I think I knew those things then.  Yeah, yeah, live in the moment, in the now.  I already knew that.  Heard and knew the words.  That's not something I needed to hear, and it's still not.  I would have liked to have known that the truly big moments aren't as important as the smaller quiet ones.  The sidelines matter more.  When traveling, I'm never impressed by the main attraction; I remember, more, the smaller moments, the little girl, when I was in Madrid, dressed in "her Sundays."  She saw me watching her walk by as I sat on a bench.  She kept turning to look at me.  I remember those moments most.  "Keep paying attention to the smaller things," I would say.  "That's where the good stuff is."

Don't be so damn hard on yourself.  Yeah, you screwed up.  You're not perfect, fine.  Learn from it.  But don't punish yourself.  Be kind to you, even when you screw up.  You'll bounce back eventually.  You'll make up for it. 

You are not fat.  You are within a healthy weight range.  As long as your doctor isn't talking to you about health risks, you are not fat. Even if your fat pants no longer fit.  Try, as hard as it is, to realize how good you look now.  Here's what I've learned.  When I'm a size four, I'm usually miserable and anxious.  Then, at a size ten, I'm happy in my life (miserable that I cannot fit into my wardrobe, but actually happy in my life), but as happy as I am, I long to be the miserable size four again.  It's lame-ass behavior.  Stop worrying about it.  Your weight issues aren't going away, so just deal and learn to love yourself at whateverthehell size you are.  Just deal. 

The man should love the woman just a smidge more.  Many wise woman I know have told me this (after the fact).  I wish someone had said it to me once upon a time.  I would have listened.  Life is too short to learn everything the hard way.  At some point, it helps to listen. Yes, you have to experience some things for yourself, but the things I'm saying here, and especially if I had a "back to the future moment," and it was coming from ME, I absolutely would have listened and reacted... at least while it was top of mind.  I hope to look back on this one day and just add to it.  I hope to keep this list top of mind, too.  Especially the bit about writing about the good.  As for the man loving the woman more bit, I've been in relationships where I just *knew* I loved him more... and in relationships where I totally just *knew* he loved me a little more... I still loved him completely, but knew, I guess, that he adored me and would never do anything to screw things up.

Don't cling to what you know.  Holy shit.  This would have saved me some therapy.  Push your boundaries, explore; don't rely on the familiar.  Move.  Make new friends.  Go out alone, and don't be afraid of what others think about it.  No one else is just like you, and you, just as you are, are important.  I wish I knew and believed that then. Much more important that sunblock.  Okay, just as important, anyway.

Compliment people.  When people receive a compliment studies have shown that their blood pressure is actually lowered.  People are immediately set at ease. 

Accept compliments graciously.  Don't pull the old, "oh stop," or "ew, no I don't."  Don't roll your eyes.  Take it in, and really accept it.  Shake your head and respond with a heartfelt, "thank you."

Get a pet.  You live longer and happier when you can care for it properly.  When you're older, you tend to live longer if you have a pet.  It's an activity; something is relying on you.  You matter, even when the kids are too busy.  They also lower your blood pressure.

When you feel blue, have a "self-esteem" music mix at the ready to lift your mood.  Then force yourself to take a walk, wear the anxiety tired. 

Eat three meals a day.  Try not to snack.  I don't care what you've heard about grazing and blood sugar.  You know you and the way you can't stop once you start.  Stick to three hots.

Realize your life is not like the movies.  It's not supposed to be a Mark Ruffalo film.

Pointing out how the fake MIT Sunscreen speech of Vonnegut did it better?  Better re-read the title and figure out the author is doing more than "internalizing things;" she's tipping her proverbial hat. Not a case of sloppy seconds, thank you very much.  Again, try not to expect the worst from people.

things that are temporary

Soft-shell crabs.  The warm spot in the ocean, a broken heart, the lead in the school play.  Last licks.
Seahorses, your target heart rate, the jalapeño cornbread basket, and a bad hair day. 
Cherry blossoms, Marathon Sunday, sleep, and cabin fever. 
Your library book, veal, your magazine subscriptions, and the rain.
The miniature marshmallows in your instant hot chocolate, a fear of the dark, the previews at the movie theater.
Food coma, The U.S. Open, and the batteries in your remote. 
Pub lunches, crisp fries piled onto your burger, a bucket of golf balls, and the last set of lat pull-downs.  Ripe melons.
Sleep-away camp romances, lightening bugs, airings of It's a Wonderful Life, and long nails.
Root canal, comic-strips, and Saturday morning cartoons.
A rush of adrenaline, training bras, and feeling satiated after eating Chinese food.
Getting your ass kicked at Scrabble, candlelight, luminous copper pots, and sore feet.

A clean shave, virginity, parking meters, and some marriages.
My moods, our health, drinks with umbrellas, and the day.
His bad temper, a bad haircut, pimples, sunburn, and the heat.
A restraining order.
That job offer, your waistline, and Bush's term.
Free cone day at Ben & Jerry's, The Spice Girls, the flavor of your gum, and orgasms.
Beaujolais Nouveau, opportunity, friendships, pain, and infatuation.
Jersey tomatoes, the ozone layer, card games, and staring contests.
All baseball records (aside from Cal Ripken Jr.'s consecutive games and Pete Rose's hitting streak).
Perms, the mint that grows in your yard, and a hockey power play.
Trading hours, oil prices, Menudo, and baby teeth.
Snowfall, hiccups, an itch, and apple-picking season.
Dim sum Sunday, a cab ride from 82nd and Lex to Blue Ribbon Sushi, and winter according to the groundhog.

The lines at Thunder Mountain, the scent of Evelyn roses, the pre-show of the Academy Awards, and small talk.
A crackling fire, hangovers, history, and Stila lip glaze tubes.
L'oreal anti-frizz gel, light bulbs, and the summer.
Road construction on the L.I.E., a standing ovation, shoulder pads,  and my friendship with #6.
The spotlight, double-breasted suits, big hair, and names like Myrtle. 
The New Kids On The Block, mistakes, and Lent.
Hunger, a warm plate of cookies, dinosaurs, school, first impressions, and life.
Your mother-in-law's visit from out of town, the Cabbage Soup Diet, the honeymoon, and foreskin.

Things that are not:
a diamond is forever, scars, regrets, and our love for our children.

are you happy?

I have a word document on my desktop titled, "Thanksgiving."  It doesn't list all the things for which I'm thankful, though maybe it should.  Maybe Thanksgiving is the time of year for resolutions.  When we give thanks, even listing the obvious players to whom we're thankful, our lives suddenly seem richer.  We focus on the positive.  So my project, in the next coming days before Thanksgiving is to simply ask people, "Are you happy?"  The trick is, it can't just be friends.  I'm going to ask strangers.  The checkout girl at the grocery store.  The Starbucks barista.  Maybe a nurse at the doctor's office, though that seems a little invasive.  That's the strangest bit.  I'll let these people weigh me, draw blood from me, stand beside the doctor as he checks my cervix, yet I think it's too invasive asking if they're happy.  It's such a personal question, too.  And I think it will be interesting to see not only how people react to it, but to see how I'll react, what I'll learn about myself.  It's harder to ask the strangers we know we'll see again because it's initiating a certain level of intimacy, and they might just ask themselves, "who the hell is this girl, asking me this?"  But I don't care.  I also won't settle for a one word answer.  I think if you linger long enough and keep eye contact, people will give you more.  I think most of us like sharing our lives; it just takes some of us a while to open up. 

As for the document on my desktop, it's an instruction sheet for Thanksgiving.  This time last year, the night before Thanksgiving, Phil proposed marriage to me on bended knee.  Now it's our first Thanksgiving, away from "home," here in our new one, with new friends.  We'll be having his weather man friend stop by (the only person we knew in Austin before moving here), a reader friend of mine Jennifer whom I first met at my BookPeople reading, our new yet dear friends Wendy (also pregnant) and Wyc with their young daughter Harper, and their friend who's traveling in from Houston--correction!  In from Charleston, SC to be with them, and of course, my loudmouthed sister.  That makes 9 of us.  I love this kind of Thanksgiving, where there's no family drama, and it's young and fun, no have-to's.  Aside from the candied sweet potatoes.  Those are always a have-to.

So far, here's what I've decided to make:
Turkey is not on this list only because I've ordered a fresh (not frozen) free-range natural, hormone free, blah blah 12-16 lb. bird from Central Market.  We bought a vat for deep-frying the sucker in our backyard.  This is Phil's domain.  Though I did TiVo Alton Brown's special on frying turkeys.  I was going to make Paula's Country Fried Corn, but then decided the better of it.  It's just too much food and starch and animal fat.  So here's my to-do list, aside from asking strangers if they're happy in life:

SPICED PUMPKIN SOUP I totally made this for my neighbor and doubled the recipe, freezing the rest.  It's made with coconut milk and fresh banana.  I plan to serve this in demi cups, with a swirl of fresh cream and a sprinkle of fresh cinnamon with darling little spoons. 

CANDIED SWEET POTATOES dotted with butter, seasoned with fresh nutmeg, cinnamon, orange zest, bourbon, and orange juice.  A touch of almond extract.  If executed well, these will taste like dessert.

SOUR CREAM-HORSERADISH MASHED POTATOES WITH CHIVES because I can never serve anything plain.

BAKED MACARONI & CHEESE because Phil doesn't like sweet potatoes or mashed potatoes.  He doesn't like pumpkin pie or turkey, either.  It's why we got him a honey-baked ham.  Who doesn't like mashed potatoes?  I like my mac 'n' cheese drippy and wet, but Phil likes it like a dense piece of pie, insisting I use a can of cream of mushroom soup somewhere in the recipe.  There are some things I will do for love.  I will bake this bundle of love, but there will be no soup mix involved, thank you.  There will be Gruyere and sharp cheddar, panko breadcrumbs for the top.  Maybe, I'll think about adding the soup, but it scares me.

STEAMED HARICOTS VERTS because something has to be steamed.  I thought about adding brown lemon butter, but really, what's the point?  Or shitake mushrooms and white truffle oil.  I can eat a plate of these steamed and be perfectly content, so why add even more richness?

STEPHANIE’S SAUCY CRANBERRY COMPOTE I like the idea of using fresh cranberries, but everyone in my family ALWAYS prefers this recipe of questionable ingredients.  Frozen strawberries, mandarin oranges,  crushed pineapple, shaved apple, chopped walnuts, orange zest. 

STEPHANIE’S TRADITIONAL SAUSAGE COUNTRY STUFFING which consists of both country bread and cornbread, sausage, celery, onion, water chestnuts (not the mealy cousin), pine nuts, golden raisins, apples, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

STEPHANIE'S WILD RICE CRANBERRY DRESSING because I don't want to fight over the term "stuffing" or "dressing" and because I like variety. 

For Dessert:
STEPHANIE'S PUMPKIN BARS
DEEP DISH PECAN PIE
APPLE PIE

Now the question is, what are we missing?  I considered making a salad, but no one ever eats it.  I feel like I need starch-less veggies, not acorn squash or pumpkin puree.  Should I do glazed carrots or buttered brussel sprouts (though usually I prefer to do brussel sprouts with bacon and maple syrup).  I love consumption.  And I am happy.

Recipes:

Spiced Pumkin Soup, though I didn't use corriander or add cilantro because some people hate it.

SOUR CREAM-HORSERADISH MASHED POTATOES WITH CHIVES
1. Cutting board: Peel and cut 4 russet potatoes, chop chives.
2. Boiling pot: cover potatoes with salt and enough water to cover, then boil 10 min, until fork-tender.  Drain.  Return to pot and shake to get extra moisture out.
3. In bowl, combine 1 c. sour cream, 1/3 c. chopped chives and 1/4 cup white horseradish
4. Pass potatoes through potato ricer, over the serving bowl, then add 1/2 stick butter, then sour cream mixture.

CANDIED SWEET POTATOES
1. Cutting board: Peel and cut 8 large sweet potatoes 
2. Boiling pot of salted water / strainer: boil 5 minutes.
3. Casserole Dish: add potatoes and dot with 6 tablespoons or 1 stick butter.
4. Mixing Bowl: combine these ingredients, then sprinkle over potatoes. If they don't combine well in bowl, melt together in saucepan with  OJ concentrate, then pour over potatoes.
3 cups light brown sugar
2 tsp. cinnamon
tsp. nutmeg
2 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. almond extract
1/4 cup bourbon
2 tsp. orange zest
5. Pour 1 cup orange juice (use the orange juice from concentrate, but don't add water!)
6. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes to 1 hour.

STEPHANIE’S SAUCY CRANBERRY COMPOTE
1 (20 ounce) can crushed pineapple, drained
3 (16 ounce) cans whole cranberry sauce (not jellied)
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1 (16 ounce) package frozen strawberries, thawed and drained
1 (6 ounce) can mandarin oranges
Shaved apples
Orange zest (not sure how much)

In a large bowl, mix together the pineapple, cranberry sauce, walnuts and strawberries. Mix in orange zest.  Cover and chill overnight before serving in glass serving bowl.  The truth is, you can't screw this up.  Just drain out the juice, or it will be too watery.  And if you want more mandarin oranges in it, just add them.  Everyone, EVERYONE, loves this, and it's so damn easy.  The shaved apple idea comes from my father's wife, Carol.  She uses McIntosh.  I'll use HoneyCrisp apples.

STEPHANIE’S TRADITIONAL SAUSAGE COUNTRY STUFFING (I found the base of this on the internet somewhere, from someone who wanted a LOT of stuffing, just like I do).
16  ounce bag stuffing cubes
16 ounces cornbread cubes (or use fresh, cube yourself and dry out in oven)
1 1/2 lb. sweet sausage, casings removed
4     cups celery, fine chop
3     cups onions, fine chop
1     cup water chestnuts, canned sliced
3     cups nuts (1 c. toasted walnuts, 2 c. pine nuts) coarsely chopped
1 1/2 cups golden raisins
2  apples, peeled and diced
1     bunch fresh parsley, chopped include stems
1     tablespoon dried sage, or 3 tbl. Fresh sage
1     tablespoon dried rosemary
2     teaspoons dried thyme
1     teaspoon fresh coarse ground black pepper
3     eggs
5     cups chicken broth
4     ounces butter, divided *keep in mind 1 ounce=2 tbl.)

1. In a BIG ASS bowl, add both bags of stuffing or bread mixtures.
2. Melt 4 tbl. butter in pan, add sausage, cook until it loses most of its pink color.  Add fat and broken up sausage to stuffing mix bowl.
3. Chop the onions, celery, water chestnuts (coarse chop), toasted pine nuts or walnuts, & parsley and add to pan with butter, cook until onions are soft.  Then combine with the stuffing mixes in the BIG ASS bowl. Toss with hands.
4. Add sage, rosemary, thyme, pepper & toss again.
5. Break eggs into a smaller bowl. Whisk to mix until uniformly yellow.
6. Add 2 cups of chicken broth to eggs & mix.
7. Melt 2 ounces of butter & mix into eggs & broth (do not melt butter too hot or it'll cook eggs).
8. Pour eggs & butter broth into BIG bowl of stuffing mix & gently mix with your hands (No Smushing, just lightly, lightly fluffing).
9. Add enough additional broth to get an evenly moistened (not drippy or gloppy) mix.
10. Place in lasagne pans (goal - no more than 2 inches thick in pan).
11. Melt remaining 2 ounces of butter & mix with an additional cup of broth. Drizzle over pan of stuffing. Cover pan with tight-fitting aluminum foil & bake at 325 degrees for 25 minutes covered & 15 minutes uncovered for a nice crust - adding more broth along the way to prevent drying out (but do not want mush either).  Serve in enormous silver bowl, warmed.

 

quirks

Each Thanksgiving he goes with his family to the racetrack.
She laughs, points, and makes others watch as her dog humps a stuffed animal.
He's creative cheap: he collected coupons from Wendy's by dumpster-diving with his girlfriend, for free airfare.
When she's about to fart, she announces it, even when she's alone.
He eats boxes of toothpicks.
Her favoirte foods are jerky and cotton candy.
He brings his glove to every baseball game.
She feels old now that she can no longer do splits all three ways.
He cannot sleep with his feet covered.
She has an abnormal obsession with drinking enough water.
He cannot leave his apartment without telling a lie. "Wow did you see last night's game or what?"  He never responds with "or what." 
She always wears a seat belt, even in the backseat of cabs.
He falls asleep each night listening to talk radio.
She's terrified of open bleachers, frightful that she'll slip and fall through.
He smells his dental floss when he's done.
She must have two large cups of coffee each morning and then won't do anything until she goes to the bathroom.   She'll even be late to work. 
You cannot enter his apartment unless you've removed your shoes.  He's obsessed with his Persian carpet.
She hates anything canned.
He cannot sleep on airplanes, even on a twelve-hour flight, with Ambien.
She scoops the pumpkin filling out of pies and never eats crusts.
He prefers going to the bathroom, in their house, with the door open.  He doesn't like to be alone.
She is obsessed with her ear wax and wants to see a doctor who will vacuum her ears. 
He sometimes puts his hands in the air and waits for her to quickly yank down his pants.  Then he laughs like a girl.
She obsesses over moisturizer and Chapstick and all they touch, unable to concentrate after moisturizing her hands if her fingers leave marks on her keyboard, or she sees her own lip-print on a glass.
If he's driving and sees roadkill, he pulls his own hair. 
She will not hand over the remote without having the other person repeat, "I will not violate the covenant of the remote," because she believes if you pick something horrible to watch on television, it ruins the quality of the television.
He can have fruit, but never in or with his dessert, not even a garnish.
She washes her hair last when she showers.
Each time he hands her a knife or scissors, he won't let go unless she says "got it."
Every time she goes through a toll-booth, she races all the other cars to the first road sign while singing the theme song to Raiders of The Lost Ark.
He covers his ears and pinches his eyes closed whenever anyone mentions anything medical. 
She prefers white asparagus and cherries.
He thinks it's vile when people remove their shoes on airplanes.
She rarely washes her hands after going to the bathroom.  She only does it when she's with people she knows.
He must, no matter where he is, run the water when he goes to the bathroom, even if it's just to pee.
She prefers a scalp massage to any other.
When his grandmother had Alzheimer's, she'd sometimes wake up and say, in an Indian accent, "Well, hello there,"  and she wasn't Indian.  It was like a restart button.
She insists on sitting on a rubber ball, instead of a chair, at work to strengthen her core.
When he's trying to save money, he eats sweetened condensed milk, even though he won't drink regular milk or have any dairy because he's obsessed with the fact that humans are the only animals who still consume dairy when they're no longer in their infancy.
When she's nervous, she opens her mouth and uses two fingers to check and wipe any mouth goops from her corners.  Even when there aren't any there.
When a new popular song comes out, he spends an evening learning all the lyrics so when he's around people he'll seem cooler.
When she puts on her deodorant, he shouts the name of his fourth grade teacher with his eyes pinched closed.  He refuses to watch her reenact exactly what Mrs. Lerman did in front of her students.
She likes the idea of peanut butter sandwiches, but she eats cream cheese and jelly sandwiches instead.  She's embarrassed that she doesn't like peanut butter.
He eats cheese doodles and ice cream sandwiches mostly to eat their remnants on his fingers.
She thinks pig-tails and overalls are adorable on other women, but she'd rather take a shit in a public bathroom than be seen in either.
He brings his own salad dressing to restaurants, a bottle of it, wrapped in a crinkled plastic shopping baggie. 
She lies to waitstaff, insisting she's allergic to butter. "So the chef cannot use even a drop."
He drinks five cans of diet coke before noon each day.
She pronounces beautiful as if Beauty is actually full.  "Oh, that's so Beauty.  Full."
He thinks books should never be used decoratively and once they've been read, they should be given away.
She collects miniature elephants, only if their trunks are up.  "Otherwise," she insists, "it's bad luck."
In his freshman face book, under "Thing that most disturbs you," he wrote, "getting splashed when you take a poop."
In her freshman face book, under "Thing that most disturbs you," she wrote, "men in leopard print, velvet, or Speedos.  And ceiling fans."

directory

So you'll have to ignore this post if you're not from Austin or not planning on a visit.  I need suggestions for the following:

An Honest Margarita: I want REAL mango puree (fresh) with a frozen margarita.  Please, help me here.  It's amazing.  Practically everywhere in New York, you can find this, fresh ingredients.  Yet in Texas, I can't find even one!  There's something really wrong about this.
An Eyebrow Threader: This is an ancient form (also known as khite), where thread is used to remove hair instead of wax.  The thread twists and pulls out rows of hair.  It's very precise, and far less expensive than waxing.  In New York, it costs $6 to get both eyebrows done. I learned of this, at first, by asking a transvestite where she got hers done.  I found this site, but I don't know if any of the salons listed are any good.  If someone screws up your eyebrows, it's as bad as gaining ten pounds.
A Thorough Bikini Waxer: someone who knows to spread your ass and dig in the cracks with a waxy stick.  Someone who takes out tweezers when she's done. 
A proper Manicure & Pedicure: I know Cuba Libre offers Martini's & Manicures for just $10, but I need a place (or person) who takes the time to really push back those cuticles before clipping them clean off.  Someone who digs into your big toe and makes your toes look like small jewels.
An Exceptional Shoe Store: please don't say Nordstrom's or Saks.  Think boutique (other than the one in Davenport Village... already hit that)
Tennis Lessons: I don't want the private kind. I'd like to meet other women at my level and all take the lesson together.  We're not ready to join a tennis club, because that's a major commitment monetarily, and we need to make sure we're staying in Austin first.

Things to do: So far, I still want to rent a boat on lake Travis, go to The Oasis.  Tube down Guadeloupe River.  Hit up Barton Springs.  Photograph the bats under the Congress bridge.  See Esther's Follies.  Tonight, I'm hitting Alamo Draft House for the Sinus Show (a live version of Mystery Science Theater).  I need to find a band that moves me like Ray LaMontagne does.  I don't know how to go about finding the kinds of live music I like here.  You know, music reviews.  I need some (know a good web site for such info?).  I don't want punk.  I want soulful music that makes me cry. I'm all about the lyrics!  I want to find a genius with words, not with drums.  That's just me.

a nod to sunblock and flossing

What would I say, if I could, to my younger self?  You know, if we went for drinks at a Mexican joint, and I began a sentence with, "Okay, there's something you should know..." what would follow?  It's easy to tent a blanket of "Don't take life so seriously" on it, but that's like telling someone to "just relax."  The words are there, we hear them, but they don't make us feel any differently.  It's too easy.  It's lazy advice.  Here's what's harder to say:

Keep a diary.  And when you write in it, try not to dot your i's with hearts or fat little circles.  Try to write about something other than the opposite sex or the fights you have with friends.  I wish I knew, when I was younger, to write about the good in my friendships and family, to document the loving moments.  Write about your relationship with your cousins, with your grandfather, with your parents.  I need to take this advise now, too.

Nobody cares if you bite your nails.  No guy is going to notice what shoes you're wearing, and if he does, he's the wrong guy. 

You actually look beautiful, and can leave the house, without makeup.

Learn how to keep track of your spending and realize no amount of shopping will give you real self-esteem.  Even the have-to-have handbag or shoes.  But, it's okay to like nice things.  Don't be too hard on yourself for buying into consumerism.  There are worse things.

Be kinder.  Try to treat people as if it's your last interaction, but at the same time, care less, a lot less, about what other people think.  Read that again.  Stop caring what other people think.  How?  Understand that this is your life, not theirs, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself if things don't work out the way you'd hoped.  At a certain point, you have to stop pointing fingers behind you toward your childhood. You cannot be walking around worried about what people will think of you.  At the end of the day, all that really matters is what YOU think of you.  Even if people say great things.  Horrible things.  Their opinion shouldn't matter more than your own. 

Don't worry about appearing braggy or narcissistic.  It's called having self-esteem, valuing yourself enough to think people might care about what you have to say.  Don't be ashamed about anything because all our embarrassments are part of the human condition. 

Don't play music on your outgoing answering machine message.  I know you think it sounds good and everyone else does it.  Don't do that.

Rich relationships are a product of who you are, not where you are.  You'll make friendships anywhere you go, so stop worrying about the right places, schools, cities, apartment complexes, neighborhoods. 

Whatever decision you're worried about, right now, whether you should do this or that, however important it feels to you, just stop.  Look Up. Remember, when you're feeling like shit, to just step away from it, for fifteen minutes and just try, TRY, to enjoy the view.  Yeah, the stars shine bright deep in the heart of Texas, but I've preached this before.  Now that I'm in, what I consider to be, the 'burbs, I never think, "I wish I were living in the city."  But when I lived in Manhattan, I always wished for stars, stairs, and a view.  So look up wherever you are and realize a world goes on outside your dramas. Really, all of it will pass, will be worked out.

Don't be afraid of making mistakes.  I'm not saying to discount the consequences of your actions, but try to worry less about choosing wrong.  We weigh ourselves down in it.  Second-guessing ourselves.  Don't be afraid of making mistakes because, really, you learn so much when you risk.  So really, it's never a mistake.  Unless it involves wearing the color orange or anything to do with a hat.  These are usually mistakes best to avoid. 

Ditch negative people.  Don't keep them around because you feel guilty.  Hold onto your strong female friends, even if you've had a pissy fight.  They're really important.

I wouldn't tell my younger self to listen more, or to be compassionate as well as passionate.  I think I knew those things then.  Yeah, yeah, live in the moment, in the now.  I already knew that.  Heard and knew the words.  That's not something I needed to hear, and it's still not.  I would have liked to have known that the truly big moments aren't as important as the smaller quiet ones.  The sidelines matter more.  When traveling, I'm never impressed by the main attraction; I remember, more, the smaller moments, the little girl, when I was in Madrid, dressed in "her Sundays."  She saw me watching her walk by as I sat on a bench.  She kept turning to look at me.  I remember those moments most.  "Keep paying attention to the smaller things," I would say.  "That's where the good stuff is."

Don't be so damn hard on yourself.  Yeah, you screwed up.  You're not perfect, fine.  Learn from it.  But don't punish yourself.  Be kind to you, even when you screw up.  You'll bounce back eventually.  You'll make up for it. 

You are not fat.  You are within a healthy weight range.  As long as your doctor isn't talking to you about health risks, you are not fat.  Even if your fat pants no longer fit.  Try, as hard as it is, to realize how good you look now.  Here's what I've learned.  When I'm a size four, I'm usually miserable and anxious.  Then, at a size ten, I'm happy in my life (miserable that I cannot fit into my wardrobe, but actually happy in my life), but as happy as I am, I long to be the miserable size four again.  It's lame-ass behavior.  Stop worrying about it.  Your weight issues aren't going away, so just deal and learn to love yourself at whateverthehell size you are.  Just deal. 

The man should love the woman just a smidge more.  Many wise woman I know have told me this (after the fact).  I wish someone had said it to me once upon a time.  I would have listened.  Life is too short to learn everything the hard way.  At some point, it helps to listen.  Yes, you have to experience some things for yourself, but the things I'm saying here, and especially if I had a "back to the future moment," and it was coming from ME, I absolutely would have listened and reacted... at least while it was top of mind.  I hope to look back on this one day and just add to it.  I hope to keep this list top of mind, too.  Especially the bit about writing about the good.  As for the man loving the woman more bit, I've been in relationships where I just *knew* I loved him more... and in relationships where I totally just *knew* he loved me a little more... I still loved him completely, but knew, I guess, that he adored me and would never do anything to screw things up.

Don't cling to what you know.  Holy shit.  This would have saved me some therapy.  Push your boundaries, explore; don't rely on the familiar.  Move.  Make new friends.  Go out alone, and don't be afraid of what others think about it.  No one else is just like you, and you, just as you are, are important.  I wish I knew and believed that then.  Much more important that sunblock.  Okay, just as important, anyway.

Compliment people.  When people receive a compliment studies have shown that their blood pressure is actually lowered.  People are immediately set at ease. 

Accept compliments graciously.  Don't pull the old, "oh stop," or "ew, no I don't."  Don't roll your eyes.  Take it in, and really accept it.  Shake your head and respond with a heartfelt, "thank you."

Get a pet.  You live longer and happier when you can care for it properly.  When you're older, you tend to live longer if you have a pet.  It's an activity; something is relying on you.  You matter, even when the kids are too busy.  They also lower your blood pressure.

When you feel blue, have a "self-esteem" music mix at the ready to lift your mood.  Then force yourself to take a walk, wear the anxiety tired. 

Eat three meals a day.  Try not to snack.  I don't care what you've heard about grazing and blood sugar.  You know you and the way you can't stop once you start.  Stick to three hots.

Realize your life is not like the movies.  It's not supposed to be a Mark Ruffalo film.

Pointing out how the fake MIT Sunscreen speech of Vonnegut did it better?  Better re-read the title and figure out the author is doing more than "internalizing things;" she's tipping her proverbial hat. Not a case of sloppy seconds, thank you very much.  Again, try not to expect the worst from people.

things to do in new york before you die... or move to austin, tx

I was eating dinner the other night with a dear friend who just quit her job and decided to take a month off.  She's been busy planning a list of all the New York things she'd like to do before going back to work, at a new job.  "Stephanie, you should make a list of all the things you want to do while you're still here.  Restaurants you want to go to, bars, museums.  Whatever."  She mentioned Brooklyn.  "Well, I've never been!" she said.  This I knew about a lot of my Manhattan friends.  My goal during this one month stretch is to make the list and write about each thing I want to do here--on the blog.  Photos optional.  If you've got any ideas, please let me know. And before I even take a stab at it, I'll warn you, 90% of the list, at least, will involve or be centered around food.  Maybe alcohol.  Mostly food.  I will continue to add to this list as I decide what to do.

Dim Sum.  I don't particularly like Chinese food.  I'll eat it, of course, but it usually leaves me parched and still hungry.  I grew up eating it, like every other Jew, in a restaurant on Sunday evenings.  I stopped doing that once I got to college.  I never have it anymore, but P.F. Chang's (which they do have in Austin along with Cheesecake Factory) is not Chinese food; it's America's idea of what Chinese food should be.  I want the real deal.  The shit you find in Flushing, Queens.  And I want to go on a Sunday with a big group of our friends, where we point at the foods on the carts as they go by.  Eating those steamed shrimp in slippery pockets of glassy dough.  I don't know what they're called.  They look like Chinese blintz, but stuffed with shrimp in a chewy slippery dough.  Then they squirt it with a squeeze bottle of sauce.  They don't use dumpling sauce but something sweeter.  I need to get down to the bottom of this.  Phil needs Peking duck, the kind where they carve the duck at your table, make the pancakes for you, then take the carcass to the back and make a soup with the bones.  That is how that shit is done.  The other day he told me he'd never had Peking duck.  I gasped and simply hadn't heard anything as shocking.  Get thee to Peking House.  "Oh," he said after some explanation, "you mean the pancake with the scallions and hoisin sauce?  Well I've had that, but that's not Peking duck."  Yes, my friend, it is.  And we need some while we're still in New York.

A little Girl Day. I need one of those, the kind I had when I was growing up, in a dress coat, where we'd come into the city for a matinee then went to Serendipity III for a bowl of sesame bread sticks with butter and an equally big bowl of frozen peanut butter hot chocolate.  That place is just a New York moment to me.  But you have to walk there.  Build up a slight sweat for sweet.  You've got to work for it.  It might have involved FAO Schwartz, but I can live without another visit there.  I know the key now.  You have to learn something on days you go to Serendipity.  You have to have come from the Planetarium or Lincoln Center.  I'll have to do something cultural first.  Not Broadway.  Not your typical Museum.  Just something artistic or interesting.  I've got to work on this one.  I can live without Dylan's Candy Bar, a few doors away from Serendipity; I don't have a sweet tooth for by-the-pound items, mostly because of the name.  It's too much of a reminder of what happens when I eat it.

A Musical.  I love musicals, really love.  Like, I'm one of those people.  I buy all the music (read: sometimes just download) before I see it.  I don't know how anything will top Wicked for me. But my goal this month is to see two musicals.  I'll listen to the music beforehand.  I hear Alter Boys is a must.  Is Avenue Q still out?  I want to see Avenue Q!  And afterward, I want to walk a bit then head over to The Paramount Hotel and sit at the upstairs bar and drink their Sauvignon Blanc.  That, or some champagne.  I don't need dinner beforehand, because mostly, I don't care for the way they rush you in and out with the pre-theater crowd.  Besides, as much as I want to do cliche New York.  Dinner and a show is too-- I'm not going to finish that sentence.  You know what I'm saying.

Tea.  Big time tea, with crustless cucumber and sweet butter sandwiches.  Currant scones.  Clotted cream.  The Ritz.  The Plaza.  Anywhere with "The" in the title.  I don't want Takashimaya.  I want English Tea, something grand and completely over the top.  Maybe Fauchon, but I've heard it's a disappointment.  I've done Alice's Tea Cup (and loved it), done Lady Mendel's Tea Salon (also loved it) but I'm not looking for that.  I want a hotel tea time, followed by an artsy independent film that will make me cry and think and laugh. 

The Bronx Zoo.  But then I thought about it.  Austin has a zoo.  I don't need to go to the Bronx zoo again until I have children.  Some of my favorite memories happened at the zoo.  Isn't that weird?  How I think we can, most of us, remember something about the zoo and our childhood.  I think it's the age we're brought there, or the fact that it's one on one time with someone who cares enough to take us there.  I remember riding the tram.  Is it a tram?  It was a cart on a wire, in the air.  I don't know what it's called, and I'm too lazy to look it up.  But I remember riding on it with my family, sitting on my knees, pressing my hands to the windows looking down.  Zoos are wonderful for children; their minds have so much to eat there.

The Soup Nazi.  I used to live right near him, on 55th St. in La Premiere, where almost all New Yorkers have lived at some point.  Okay, not all, but it feels like all.  I lived there while in college, and I would routinely eat there, swing by when the lines were down to a scant three people.  Got eggplant parm soup.  Soup!  I need to get my fix.  Is it still open?  I'd go there, grab soup for lunch, then grab a few magazines at Universal News and walk to Columbus Circle, to eat it outside, near the horse and buggies (but not that near), maybe sit in the "statue garden" of the ugly black building Trump put in the circle. 

Tourist Trappings.  I've already done them all. Been to Yankee's Stadium.  Seen the Met's.  Been to The Garden for The Knicks.  Done Radio City Music Hall and hit Lincoln Center way too many times.  Done the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, and all the museums they tell you to see.  I've taken a red double-Decker around the city.  Heard the shpiel about Macy's and the rest of the city.  I don't need to do any of these things again.  Not for a while, anyway. 

Pizza Tour.  I'm not a huge pizza fan, but I'm thinking I've gotta take one for the team.  I'm hoping to go on a pizza tasting tour, with someone else, hopefully.  Where we share a slice at each "Original" must in this city.  John's Pizza.  Something on Bleeker.  A Ray's?  I need help with the musts here.  Don't say Grimaldi's.

Food Porn.  I need to get my fill of it.  And for me that means I have to make stops (with my camera and appetite) at the following places: Gray's Papaya for two dogs "all the way;"  Zabar's; Popover Cafe for their Pop Art sandwich (one of my favorite things); Balthazar for a French Martini and the goat cheese onion tart; eat at the bar of Union Square Cafe; take photos at the outdoor farmer's market; I have enough photos of Chinatown.

Brandy's Piano Bar.  I love this place.  Love.  I know Austin has dueling piano bars!  But I need to go to Brandy's with my New York friends who've never been there.  This is a must.  I am happier at Brandy's than probably anywhere else in the city.  Isn't that strange?  It's storytelling to music.  Gay storytelling, mostly, but it's warm and what memories are made of. 

A writer's life.  Get drunk with my notebook at the following places before I leave: Bemelman's Bar (where the walls were painted by Ludwig Bemelman, author and illustrator of the Madeline books, and where they have piano music), the Oak Room at the Algonquin, and the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis. I have no desire to return to Chumley's, McSorley's, or White Horse tavern, as good as they all are.  I'm over it.  Unless it's Sunday, and I have the paper and a hankering for a burger and homemade mustard, I can do without.

Museum crap.  Surprisingly, I've never been to the Museum of Television & Radio and would like to go.  I'd also like to--I know this is weird--go to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum.  Yes, I want to see the bodies exhibit too.  And I want to go back to Hayden Planetarium to make out in the dark.  Something magical also happens in the mineral room of The Museum of Natural History.  Last time I was there, I agreed to my book deal over the phone, but I won't go back.  That museum is quite dull.  The Frick is fun, but mostly when there's an event involving champagne.  I recently visited the MOMA, but it has been a while since I've visited the statue garden at The Met with my drawing pencils.  If there's time, I will do that.

A girls night.  A girls night in Manhattan is very different from a girls night in the hampton's.  It just is.  There are different kinds of girls nights, too, even within Manhattan.  Sometimes we have our Sunday Sip, where we meet at Angelo & Maxies for wine and raw tuna, or in the summer, outdoors, in the garden with a bottle of white, artichokes, and grilled fish.  Relaxed nights.  Then there are what my friend Amy calls our "velvet blazer nights," where we get a little decked and hit the latest "it."  For me, it never involves a club or dancing, as that's just not my thing.  But one will definitely be had at 212 restaurant before I leave (as I've only ever had a memorable night there with my girls).  Girls nights always involve alcohol and usually involve something we shouldn't be eating at a very late hour.

A tasting Party.  I love this idea.  My parents, growing up, had a Chinese New Year's party, where they got their favorite dish from each of their favorite restaurants, and brought it in.  So chicken from Hunan Balcony, Duck from some Orchid restaurant.  You get the idea.  I did the burger date.  Now I want the pizza tour, yes.  But it would still be fun to pick a theme and host a party where everyone brings one dish, their favorite dish from their favorite restaurant, and we all chow on one another's favorites.

Traveling Dessert. I did this once.  Went to different fancy restaurants and only ordered dessert!  I love this idea because you get to go to a fantastic restaurant, get the experience of the place, and then eat only a dessert.  Then, onto the next place.  It's sinful but a must. I'm going to have to figure out where to go, and please, don't say "chikalicious" because that takes the fun out of the hop. 

 

INFJ

Your actions are frequently influenced by emotions.
Yes.  I rarely do anything I don’t want to do, unless someone dies.  Then I go to funerals because you have to.  I attend the important holidays because it makes old people happy.  For the most part, though, everything I do is guided by my emotions.
You often contemplate about the complexity of life.
I don’t know about the complexity of it.  I think about how unfair it can be.  How I wish there were more Audrey Hepburn movies with singing.  I believe in the power of the universe and being just a part of it.  I don’t think of it often, but when I do, I imagine it’s when I’m going through a hard time.  It’s when we rely on faith.  N.
You often do jobs in a hurry.
I don’t like the way this is phrased.  It implies hastily.  I get the job done quickly, but I don’t do jobs in a hurry.  N.
You find it difficult to speak loudly.
My grandfather, while alive, called me “The Mouth.”
You get bored if you have to read theoretical books.
I think people who think and pick at things tend to rely on circular logic, but I always play along.  Though, if it were just theory without proof, I wouldn’t enjoy it. I like psychology because there’s proof in it, statistically relevant proof.   A book of all theory is like dating a guy who’s all talk.  It’s exciting for a while, but then you just have to masturbate to get through it.  Y.
You value justice higher than mercy.
Tough call.  I hate to say it, but as feeling as I am, I’m a stickler for fair. Y.
The more people with whom you speak, the better you feel.
Depends on the people.  Usually if I speak with my father and one other friend, I’m good.  Speaking to more than that usually only confuses me.  Though it does help me feel better when I get to express myself , repeatedly.  As if talking it out, or writing it, helps me understand more.   So, no, the MORE people with whom I speak, I don’t feel better.  It’s with whom I’m speaking that really matters. N.
You like to keep a check on how things are progressing.
Oh yes.  I can’t leave a cake in the oven without checking on it.  I step on the scale mid-week.  I live for the relationship, “next step,” talks. Y.
You easily empathize with the concerns of other people.
Yes.
You are more inclined to experiment than to follow familiar approaches.
I don’t know anyone who would answer “no” to this.  Who answers that they always like to color in the lines?  I don’t even follow recipes! Y.
You avoid being bound by obligations.
Does anyone enjoy obligations?  I avoid them at all costs.  I’m the queen of, “let’s see how we’re feeling then, okay?”   It’s a lazy mood thing.  I hate having to commit to plans.  HATE.
You prefer to isolate yourself from outside noises.
“Outside noises” seems very ominous.  I think of car alarms, sirens, and the noises I like to keep out of my home by closing the window, even if it does mean it’s hot.  At least it’s hot and quiet.  But what about iPod noises, or the television or radio.  I suppose that’s not noise.  Well who likes noise?  I guess I prefer to isolate myself.  Weird question. Y.
It's essential for you to try things with your own hands.
Absolutely.  I can’t just watch.  I have to do it.
You think that almost everything can be analyzed.
I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.
You are usually the first to react to a sudden event: the telephone ringing or unexpected question.
No.  Never.  I’m lazy, and I need to think and weigh things before acting on them.
You take pleasure in putting things in order.
Yes.  I love organizing.  Especially closets.  I’m at my best when everything is where it belongs.  It just so happens that my shoes belong anywhere I see fit.
You feel involved when watching TV soaps.
I don’t watch them anymore.  I used to.  I got sucked in.  Really, though, I was seriously sucked in by Temptation Island.  That show fed on my biggest insecurities.  I mean, I could get mad at the MID if some guy on the show did something horrible.  “You’d do that too, wouldn’t you?”  I was that kind of girl.  I still am, to a point.  I still ask those questions.  “Would you still love me if I only had one arm?”
“Which arm?” 
“I hate you.”
“Could I call you stump?”
We’d laugh, but secretly, I’d wonder if he would.  I play the “would you still love me if” game often.  Except no one really wants to play with me.  N.
You easily understand new theoretical principles.
Yes.  I don’t know why.  I just do.
The process of searching for solution is more important to you than the solution itself.
Yes.  I’m a girl.  I like to talk and connect.  It’s how we get there that matters. 
You usually place yourself nearer to the side than in the center of the room.
I’ve struggled with this question for a while.  I really don’t know.  Like, if we’re talking about a movie theatre, then I stick to the middle.  But if we’re talking about a bar, I’m a wall clinger.  I prefer to observe what’s going on.  But when I have my camera, I’m everywhere, trying to capture it all.  I don’t know where I place myself.  I guess to the side.  Y.
When solving a problem you would rather follow a familiar approach than seek a new one. 
I like the familiar if it works.  I seek a new one when the familiar stops working for me. Y.
You try to stand firmly by your principles.
Who answers no to this? Yes, I'm stubborn and sometimes too self-righteous.
It is easy for you to communicate in social situations. Y
You are consistent in your habits.
Isn’t a habit, by definition, something you do consistently?  Yes.
You willingly involve yourself in matters which engage your sympathies.
Oooh, another tough call.  Am I the one who gives advice regularly to friends?  Yes, and I put myself there.  But do I talk to strangers about their lives?  Well, yes.  Not a tough call, then, now is it?
You easily perceive various ways in which events could develop. 
Oh yes, it’s why it takes me forever to make up my mind.
A thirst for adventure is close to your heart.
No.  I like to learn every day, but “adventure” isn’t what I need. 
You prefer meeting in small groups to interaction with lots of people.
Absolutely.  Big birthday parties are torture.  I like to connect intimately.
When considering a situation you pay more attention to the current situation and less to a possible sequence of events.
Ugh.  I do both.  I’m a libra.  I don’t think I worry about the possible sequence of events.  When speaking with friends, they bring up consequences and walk me through them.  Usually, I get stuck on what I’m in and how I’ll act before even considering all the consequences.  I’m usually in the now.  Y.
You consider the scientific approach to be the best. 
I don’t know what the scientific approach is.  Being neat and orderly.  Keeping a control.  I don’t bother with any of it.  I go by my gut.  N.
You enjoy having a wide circle of acquaintances.
No.  I prefer a few close friends who are meaningful. 
You are almost never late for your appointments.
Almost always late.
You readily help people while asking nothing in return.
Surprisingly, yes. I didn't think this was true, but I surveyed my most recent behavior, and it's true.
You often spend time thinking of how things could be improved. 
Yes.  There’s another way to say this.  It goes something like, “you’re never really satisfied.”  Or, “you always want things to be as close to perfect as they can be, without being perfect, because perfect is sterile.”  Yes.
Your decisions are based more on the feelings of a moment than on the careful planning.  Y.
You prefer to spend your leisure time alone or relaxing in a tranquil family atmosphere.  Yes
You feel more comfortable sticking to conventional ways.
No.  I know it makes others more comfortable when I stick with convention, but I really don’t give a shit.
Objective criticism is always useful in any activity.
I don’t think it’s useful during sex.  It’s usually better to compliment strengths while approaching constructive criticism.  There is a time and place for it, but I wouldn’t say it’s ALWAYS useful in any activity.  Sometimes people learn with time.  I don’t think a new mother needs to hear any of it.  N.
You enjoy being at the center of events in which other people are directly involved.
I don’t understand this question.  Why wouldn’t  it just say, “you enjoy being the center of attention?”  In which other people are directly involved?  What does that mean?  I really don’t know.  Like, you want to be the casino dealer?  I don’t get it.  Someone explain.  Does it mean, you’d enjoy having a big wedding?  God, no.  But I like birthday parties, until I worry that no one will show up.  I will write Y.
You know how to put every minute of your time to good purpose.
No.  I sit around mostly.  But when I do, I’m thinking.  I don’t sit in front of the TV.  I am interested in many things, so I’m often busy with some project.  I’ll draw or write or read, or shower.  I guess so.  Y.
You are easily affected by strong emotions. Y.
You are always looking for opportunities. 
Yes and no.  I used to be, but now I’m so busy, that I’ve stopped to focus on what I’m up against now.  But for the most part, yes. 
Deadlines seem to you to be of relative, rather than absolute, importance.  N. 
After prolonged socializing you feel you need to get away and be alone. Y.
Your desk, workbench etc. is usually neat and orderly. Y.
You tend to be unbiased even if this might endanger your good relations with people.
Yes.  I’m straight up.
You like to be engaged in an active and fast-paced job. 
No.  I like things that take thought and stewing.  Research.  I love research.
You have good control over your desires and temptations. 
Good control, yes.  Great control, no.  I would never cheat in a relationship, but I’d cheat on a diet.  Does that qualify as yes or no?  I’ll say no based off the fact that I tend to follow what’s familiar and wanted, even if it’s not good for me.  I know it’s not the right thing to do, but it’s me.  For now.  And I’m okay with that, so back off.
You tend to sympathize with other people.  I guess so.
You easily see the general principle behind specific occurrences.  Yes.
You are inclined to rely more on improvisation than on careful planning.  Yes.  I hate plans.
You get pleasure from solitary walks.
No.  I don’t like just taking walks for the sake of it.  If however, I have a camera in hand, then yes, I prefer to be alone.  I’ll put down N.

Click MORE for my score and analysis.

Reminder: Last year, I was INTP. 
Introverted 11%
Intuitive 56%
Thinking 22%
Perceiving 11%

This year: INFJ                     
Introverted  33%
Intuitive  25%
Feeling 38%
Judging 1%

"Beneath the quiet exterior, INFJs hold deep convictions about the weightier matters of life. Those who are activists -- INFJs gravitate toward such a role -- are