2008

“Think back one year.

What were the top 3 things you experienced? How did you grow? What did you learn? Who supported you? What did you transcend? What light came into your life?

Jon Kabat-Zinn wrote The Catastrophe of Full-on Living. His book basically says that if you are fully alive it’s going to be a gritty, shitty mess at times and you’re here to learn to embrace, forgive, transcend and transform everything that comes your way. Cry. Laugh. Stomp your feet. Ask for help.”

Jennifer Schelter

“Gimme Shelter”

I hope this woman doesn’t mind how frequently I quote her blog, but I thought it was an appropriate subject to throw around given the time of year. I have a feeling that Christmas is going to get so busy, between the gift buying, the decorating, the family, the 7-fish-eating, and the friends in town that I’ll forget to pause before the New Year.

If anything, each new year deserves a pause. Pause to remember, pause to look forward. Pause to mourn, to celebrate, to hope. Who have we lost, who have we gained? What have we accomplished, what was ignored?

Each year everything happens to quickly that I forget all the small, wonderful moments of 2008, but manage to find time to dwell on the minute negativity so much that it blows up into this overbearing white elephant. So to give 2008 proper credit, where credit is due, lets look back on some of the best of 08, and look forward to an interesting 09.

In 2008….

ex•pe•ri•ence [ik-speer-ee-uhns] –noun 1. a particular instance of personally encountering or undergoing something. 3. the observing, encountering, or undergoing of things generally as they occur in the course of time.4. knowledge or practical wisdom gained from what one has observed.

1. Isabeau told me she loved me, and now knows my name. Amazing.

2. Fisher and Puck still remember me after 6 months and 2000 miles of separation.

3. Love lost, love found, love tested.

learn [lurn] –verb 1.to acquire knowledge of or skill in by study, instruction, or experience.4. to gain (a habit, mannerism, etc.) by experience, exposure to example, or the like; acquire.

1. Life doesn’t have a rulebook.

2. I have the best friends in the whole wide world.

3. Without a doubt, my mom will always be my #1 fan.

4. Don’t ever sell your soul, you might not get it back.

sup•port [suh-pawrt, -pohrt] –verb (used with object) 1. to bear or hold up (a load, mass, structure, part, etc.); serve as a foundation for. 3. to undergo or endure, esp. with patience or submission; tolerate. 4. to sustain (a person, the mind, spirits, courage, etc.) under trial or affliction.

1. 3 cold wet noses attached to 3 fluffy darlings.

2. The only man crazy enough to put up with my highs & lows

3. My #1 fan. Followed by #2, & #3

tran•scend [tran-send] –verb (used with object) 1. to rise above or go beyond; overpass; exceed. 2. to outdo or exceed in excellence, elevation, extent, degree, etc. ; surpass, excel.

1. Fear.

2. Mountains.

3. My resume.

light¹ [lahyt] –noun 1. something that makes things visible or affords illumination. 7. daybreak or dawn. 13. the state of being visible, exposed to view, or revealed to public notice or knowledge; limelight. 18. spiritual illumination or awareness.

1. My best friend in the whole wide world made it through all the muck, found some light, and then shared it with me. Thanks love.

2. My silly ego.

3.. Oscar Pants (aka Oscar de la Grouch, aka Oscar d’Grouch, aka Oscar Wildly Racing Around)

4. Southern exposure.

I’m sure I missed some things, but I’d rather have something on paper than nothing. At the very least 2008 should have a page in my life, I’ll let you know when I’ve nailed down some tentative plans for 2009. I might need to stomp my feet, or ask for help.

10 updates from the desk of eosmith

just a few because I feel like my blog has been seriously slacking:

1) I'm going to salt lake for christmas and have yet to buy anyone a Christmas present (horrible guest).

2) I snapped last night because the sweetie suggested we split a sandwich, obviously there are larger problems at hand with my diet.

3) They are filming a freaking BOLLYWOOD movie at Johnny Brendas. Go eat some oyster crackers, grab a newly released Philly Brewing Co. Philly Navadad (delicious, dark brew with a delightful, but not overpowering nutty chocolate flava') and soak up the tinsel and glam.

4) For the first year in the history of yours truly, my mother picked out a Christmas tree SOLO. Yes, this is from the woman who has been known to visit 8 different locations, in 8 different counties...yes, please pause and consider the gravity of 8 different counties not neighborhoods....to find the perfect 9'10" tree. Dear baby jesus, I love you.

5) Another first, I've bought my first personal, not family related, christmas tree. Weighing in at 10 pounds and 3.5 feet. The munchkin christmas tree has 100 lights, and 4 ornaments. Splendid.

6) I'm ready to admit to the world that I LOVE BRITTNEY SPEARS as evidenced by 1) me watching her MTV special and 2) constantly singing womanizer, womanizer, womanizer. Don't judge me, join me. you womanizer...

7) After replacing my battery 3 times and losing my antenna after nervous fidgeting, I've accepted that I need a new phone. I've also come to the conclusion that in order to get said new phone with my whopping available funds, I'm resigning a 2 year agreement with the devil....Verizon Wireless. Weep for my soul.

8) New Years plans are still up in the air. Devils Alley is having a shin dig, chock full o'open bar, DJ, champagne toast, and balloon drop. But get this, they're trying to CHARGE ME FOR A TICKET. Apparently blood, sweat and tears are no longer currency. Bastard economy.

9) Jimmy and I are celebrating our 10th anniversary as being badass, fabulous friends in the upcoming year. Amazing, blow out party details to come.

10) My recent transition from AmeriCorp VISTA to common citizen has drastically changed a few monetary area's of life that I fully support and concurrently loath. a) Pay increase was wonderful but b) my loan forbearance ended. c) acquiring Aenta health insurance is wonderful but d) now I pay for my prescriptions. Oh VISTA, how you managed to spoil me and give me a bi-monthly slap on the face at the same time. I'll miss you girl.


10 updates. My blog is slightly less lame.

almost forgot to tell you...

I normally don't post twice in one day, but I wanted to make sure I wrote this one down:

Mom: Guess what?
Em: What?
Mom: So you know how I thought I was turning 49?
Em: Yea...
Mom: I was WRONG, I'm only 48!!
Em: no comment...

Happy birthday mama, I'm glad you've been around for 49, ehem, I mean, 48 years :)

2 Days in Paris

"It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much.

When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that its over, that I'll never see him again like this...

well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely.

Almost.

Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well.

There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses ".

___

The sweetie and I watched 2 Days in Paris last night. It's been described as a Woodie-Allen-esque movie with similar banter and structure. I for one love this movie. Its real, it passionate, it's funny. When I initially saw the movie last year in theaters it made my insides hurt a little.

"love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses"

That's the line that really got me. We can all relate. Sometimes my mom drives me bat shit, my friends test my patience, the sweetie pushes my buttons, and the cat scratches my kitchen table. But..

I'm happy to have the most disobedient cat alive, because it means I get Oscar.
And I'm happy that my patience is tested, because it means I still have my mother with me.
And I'm happy that when we watch movies the sweetie falls asleep during the best part, because it means he's still beside me.

I'm accepting that I can't weed out the dysfunction and only keep the bliss. Gotta have both.

...well maybe only a little dysfunction anyhow ;)

(I love you)

Becoming Real

“What is real?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

“I suppose you are real?” said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

“The Boy’s Uncle made me Real,” he said. “That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.”

_____

Recently I've been obsessing over what makes us all real. What makes our feelings real, what makes our careers real, what makes our love real. Legitimizing my own concerns, what makes me think, what makes me happy, and why?

Are we real because we're told that we are? Is it real because we watch our hair fall and buttons go missing? Do the battle scars make it real? Does the salary make it real? Is it a heartbeat? Are you real because you have a leg or because you can feel it when you're kicked?

I would have to agree with the talking horse when he says that real happens to you, slowly, over time. That birth, while it makes you human, doesn't make you real. It only makes you exist. It has to be something more, something deeper. It couldn't possibly just be the "buzz" in your chest; we weep from pain and happiness, we laugh when we're entertained and uncomfortable, we long for the past and the future.

So I would ask, what makes YOU real?

I'm surrounded by family and friends that I admire, sights, sounds, smells, that make my world real. My brothers make me real, my puppies make me real, falling leaves make me real, cold gin on a hot day makes me real, my friends make me real.

And does it hurt?
You tell me.

If you've ever wept in a bathroom corner, scored a winning goal, sat next to your best friend in a hospital bed, traveled across the globe, held your mothers hand, or kissed someone goodnight, you must be real.

And once you've felt real, you can't ever go back, the horse (again) is right. You can't settle for anything less. Although I'm not as bold to say that I don't mind being hurt for the sake of reality, I can say without hesitation that I much prefer the ability to be real, to feel, and to love, than to forgo emotion and leave this world without a single bruise.

Thank you to all of my friends that came back to Philly to visit. You are part of what makes me whole. Come back soon.

catching up..

After a month of neglect it's high time I update this blog. Noteworthy events have gone down:

10/25/08: AbsofuckingLUKEly (aka, Ulana and Luke get married)

"Will you take Luke to be your husband for the rest of your sweet married life?"

"FUCK YEA!"

Or at least that's how it went in my mind. In reality the entire ceremony was in Ukrainian and half the time I didn't know what the priest was saying. But I must say, despite the language barrier I've never shed that many tears o' joy in my life. I think half of the crowd may have been a little confused (is that girl okay?).

Lana was gorgeous. And I must say I'll remember helping her put on her dress for the rest of my life. They're so in love it's pleasantly nauseating. And I can list the times during the wedding process that I cried (to the point of whimpering) in front of a crowd of people.

1. speech at the rehearsal dinner

2. buttoning the dress

3. Lana getting her pictures taken

4. blessing

5. blessing

6. church blessing

7. Lana looking at Luke half way through the ceremony ("hey".."what?".."we're married".."yea, I know :)")

8. blessing

9. down the isle

10. first dance

11. speech

12. speech

13. speech...

Needless to say, lots of tears but also a killer time. Kara and I really showed them how Irish girls dance...poorly, and the event included a surprise Ukrainian dance off. I know. Amazing.

I couldn't be happier for them both, I still giggle when I hear Lana say "my husband" and can't wait to see them grow together, celebrating anniversaries, holidays, and one day, baby showers :)

10/27/08: "Em, where are you" "My kitchen, where are you?" "The airport"

Surprise visit from Nancy & Amy?! Hella what? Apparently Nancy was tired of being the only one belting out "lets go Phillies" at her local Alabama bar (ya'all aren't from aroounnd her erya?), so she packed her bags and headed home for the week. Very nice surprise!

Out to Bar Ferdinand for catching up and delicious bev's.

10/29/08: Philadelphia is on FIRE (aka, the Phillies win the World Series)

If you weren't in the city you don't know how serious I am that there were LITERALLY FIRES on Broad Street. Cars were flipped and burned, newsstands went through multiple windows, the iron statue outside of the Prince Theater was uprooted from cement...shockingly, if you'll remember back to the Eagles Superbowl (when we lost like pansies), nothing happened. Not a thrown trashcan, or a good, old fashioned riot. The city was silent. I'm not the only one that thought of the irony.

I myself watched the end of game 5 at Johnny Brenda's with the sweetie. Every pitch jumping out of my seat. It was amazing to be in a room with that kinda of energy, in a room with that much joy, to watch an eruption of voice in perfect, unrehearsed , unison.

This is Philadelphia. A city that is if nothing else, beyond explanation or comparison. We're a city that slapped our sovereign in the wig. We flip cars when we're happy. Defiance is in our blood. I've never been happier to be a Philadelphian, through and through.

*If anyone is feeling generous, there's a fund online where you can donate $$ to repair the cars flipped during the riot.
**Photo taken by Kara McGrorty

10/31/08: Cold PBR cans at Noon never tasted better ( aka, Phillies Parade)

There are very few occasions when cops will let you drink PBR cans at Broad and South Street in the middle of the day. And if there ever was an occasion, damn it, it should be the first Phillies parade in decades!

I had incredible time screaming at the top of my lungs with Jesse and John. Jesse was nice enough to help me stay on the top of a fence so I could see all of the action.

The highlights:
Pat Burrell behind Clydesdale's fist pumping
Michael Nutter holding the trophy
Chase Utley looking damn sexy
Random girl peeing in a bush on church property at Broad and South (honestly...)
Buying an overpriced, but damn official pennant
The sea of red on Broad Street
Cold beers at noon :)

10/31/08: Part II: "No I'm not 6 years old" (aka, Halloween as a Lady Bug)

Devils Alley hosted its 3rd annual Halloween party, and I must say, it was bigger and better than ever! Annie was the best looking Sarah Palin I've seen, and Amy was in town from Salt Lake City so we got to catch up. Why a lady bug you ask? I blame Ashlee. I was told that she would arrive as a Bumble Bee, and that we would be insects together. No such costume materialized.

So what question did I get to answer the entire night? What horrible pick up line did every guy try to play off"?!

"So how old are you? Six?"
"While I'm impressed that you can count dots, NO, I'm not six leave me the $%*&@%#$^ ALONE!"

Lots of dancing, too much rum punch, good time had by all! If you missed it this year, block off your calendar for 2009!

11/4/08: Philadelphia Broad Street Riot of the Month #2 (aka, President-Elect Barack Obama)

My stomach was flipping all day. I was nervous, I was excited, I was moved. Jesse and I have the same polling station so I found him in the city (incidentally at my house, helping my roommate move in), forced him into the car and proceeded to the pole.

I was dancing in the poling booth. Jesse laughed.
I teared when I voted. The sweetie did too.

We watched the numbers roll in from Jose Pistolas. Good bar, great draft list, killer nachos. The bar was roaring every time a state turned blue, and blew up when they announced our new president. One back-handed but moving concession speech later and we were out on Broad Street, rioting again. Stopping traffic, chanting, and smiling.

It was a completely invigorating experience participating in such a momentous election. I value my civil liberties. I mourn the loss of those objectified and marginalized, especially those within our own country. But I remain hopeful that as a country we will progress towards tolerance and understanding. One step at a time.

Remember, remember the 4th of November. I will.

11/17/08: No longer involved in federal slave labor (aka, VISTA is over)

Holy hell it's true. I'm no longer a slave to the federal government. My "year of service", my serious pay cut, my "year to grow", my VISTA term is finally over. And not only is it over. But my host organization decided to hire me. Same job, but better. I don't know how to say this without sounding greedy, but in December, I'll be able to pay my phone bill and my electric on time.

It's the simple things, isn't it?


Sorry for the longest post ever. I promise shorter posts in the future!

Say what? NO WAY!

I know, I felt the SAME WAY when I found out that October is national Scrabble month! Time to reinstate a Sunday tradition of roaming the city with Scrabble board, bottle and wine key in tow. Cate and I played the other day and I got a whopping 36 points on 'chef'. Oh yea, scrabble bliss :)

If you ever want to celebrate October in a uniquely scrabblishous way, you know who to call!

keep in mind...

Some excerpts from one of my favorite blogs, Gimme Schelter...

If you were all alone in the universe with no one to talk to, no one with which to share the beauty of the stars, to laugh with, to touch, what would be your purpose in life? It is other life, it is love, which gives your life meaning. This is harmony. We must discover the joy of each other, the joy of challenge, the joy of growth.

-Mitsugi Saotome

“The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.”

-M. Scott Peck

Age makes the stakes higher. I’ve grown wise enough to know that 'Life', what the ancient yogi’s call 'Shakti', is like a great journalist, she doesn’t permit candy coated lies, game playing or masks, but seeks to expose genuine truth, no matter what. I guess that’s called wisdom. Wisdom knocks on doors until they open. Wisdom knows when to keep knocking and when to walk away.

- Jennifer Schelter

Need some cleansing? Space to exhale? I recommend the Yoga Schelter. Check it out, let me know what you think.

Did the world run out of elbow room?

It’s getting harder and harder to find space in this wide open world. Half the problem is that it isn’t as wide open as we’d like to think. In a city with over 1.5 million people, you still run into the same faces. You have to avoid entire zip codes, bars, shows, and sub cars to really steer clear of the unwanted.

I’m wondering if there’s space for us all to stretch out and have…well, space. Space to feel safe, feel loved, feel adventurous, feel understood and fulfilled. It’s hard to imagine that all of this space needs equal room to stretch out either. That isn’t clear.

Maybe a model of a house would be a better visual. I, for one, need a big spacious living room, and a small comfortable, but safe bedroom. While some may need more space to be adventurous and understood, others may lack the space they need to feel safe and loved. To continue the thought, some need something baking in the oven while others would prefer a larger garden.

Here’s the question that leaves me stumped. If we don’t create a space where people can join us, can we really feel loved, understood and fulfilled? Or can we do it solo? Can we feel loved without someone holding us on a shitty day, understood unless we explain ourselves, or fulfilled if we exist in an empty room?

Recently I’ve been trying to cope with this stinging sensation in my chest. I’ve had some space revoked recently. It feels like I finally got my green card to my favorite private island with unlimited mojitos, only to find, upon arrival, deportation paperwork. Or like I’ve been patiently applying Neosporin to a cut only to break down and pick the scab.

When I was younger I feel on the steps of the rec center on the way to a gymnastics meet and tore my knee open. Sure it hurt like hell at the time, and was gushing blood, but I had adrenaline to help me cope. But when I picked that big ‘ol scab off it hurt more. Even the wind grazing the area hurt. Aren’t we told that if we pick at a scab it takes longer to heal?

We’d all like to believe that we don’t need emotions and the space to express them for functioning life. That all we need are the basics; food, water, shelter, air. But really, is our emotional life that disconnected from our physical life? Is it possible to have a muscle completely unscathed after a life of mixed emotions?

From what I’ve heard from the medicals in my life, it looks just like the pictures. But I’m sure if I ever stood above my exposed beating heart, it would probably look something similar to my right knee when I fell. Chock full of scraps and bruises, with a freshly picked scab.


Maybe it’s a life long dilemma, changes daily, or maintains consistency. I’m sure what fills and completes us will change as our needs change. Because sure, sometimes the proverbial pint of Ben and Jerry’s is the cure, and sometimes you want someone to hear you cry, but then there are unique moments when it’s just enough to hear yourself admit that you’re okay.

Without the shoulder, ice cream, or Neosporin. Alone, in your own space, with your very own scabbed, exposed, perfect heart.

notes in a bar

And in that moment
I heard my favorite song
(the one that makes my heart jump)
coincide with your voice,
and it made me love you more,
made me miss you,
made my heart and soul connect.

Can YOU type with 7 fingers?

I learned how to type when I was in the second grade. The computer teacher at my school was a nun, and all she taught was computers. If I had a brother in the room I could recall the name, but something that will always burn in the brain was this nuns thumbs...that and her old school Catholic teacher rhetoric (thou who disrespects thine nun computer lab shall be beaten with large wooden object).

So this nun. Back to her thumbs. I was sitting with friends today looking at dogs and their owners. After an owner has been with a dog for a while they start to look alike, and vice versa. I can see the logic in that argument; you spend enough time with anything, you become just like it..right? RIGHT. This nun had two thumbs in the shape of a space bar. I kid you not. The woman looked like a keyboard, and had a soul that mirrored cold plastic.

I mean, look at your thumb. Do you see your joint? Now imagine, rather than it pointing up, rotate that puppy 90 degrees. This was the hand of an evil nun. I digress...

We were told to pretend that we had oranges under our palms while we were typing. We also had typing tests where we had to close our eyes and type the alphabet (cruel and unusual punishment). Ironically my piano teacher, also a nun, told me the same thing. Obsession with citrus in the nunnery? I was thinking about these nuns today because I managed, in a moment of severe frustration, to give myself two papercuts, one on two consecutive fingers, with a postcard(holyshit ouch, that stuff isn't thin).

Papercuts really aren't supposed to make you think this much, honest. But I think we all become more aware of the functions of our body parts when they're injured. Like how you only really notice the top of your foot when you get a blister from new fipflops, and your scalp isn't really on the top of your priority list until you've dyed it an unnatural shade of purple. Again, I digress. I've spent the afternoon trying to type with 7 fingers, thinking about how Sister Mary IWillMAIMYouWithARulerIfYouFuckWithMyKeyboard would react to my poor typing skills.

Sometimes it takes a vice for us to appreciate normal operations, or to lose something, before we become aware of how wonderful it was. As I'm sitting here I'm getting frustrated as Fisher keeps kicking me with his back right foot. Both he and his brother are dreaming at the same time. Many times I've come home just too damn tired to take them out, annoyed that they're so filled with energy and I'm so filled with...not energy, but know that if I came home without their cold noses to greet me I would be beside myself.

Thanksgiving is coming right? Before we know it the leaves will be a huge heap on the ground, the trees will be bare and Philadelphia will be filled with ghosts walking around in black suits and hoodies. I want to get ready for Thanksgiving in a new way. Not by stalking and buying the largest frozen turkey that ACME will sell me, but really appreciating what I'm thankful for- like 10 fingers, and 10 toes, all in working order. I've got time to figure out the rest. In theory...

"It's my happy-birthday-bergerac, -bononi, - budini!!"

At 12:30am a celebratory glass of Bergerac morphed into multiple glasses of (delicious) red wine in the rear mezz, as we lovingly refer to it, at Devils Alley with all of my fav's from the Alley crew.

"It's my happy birthday! It's my happy birthday bergerac, my happy birthday bonini, my happy birthday budini!!" In all honesty, by the time I got to the budini, things were full swing, impromptu birthday celebration.

I don't know if it was the wine or the fresh air, but after alley drinks, I really wanted to bike across town to my friend Johns roof deck. So off we went, on a very-much-WAY too tall Schwinn to 21st and South.

What a beautiful deck! Drinks were had, and Cate convinced a passerby to sing me happy birthday from the street. Not exactly Marylin or Barry, but sincere and wonderful. After walking two blocks not only was the celebration in full swing, but so were the spins. Somehow threw myself in the shower and crawled into bed.

The sweetie tells me that I didn't get home until 4....suspect?

I really do have the best friends in the world. And I don't just say that because they buy me great wine instead of shots of SoCo and Lime. It just works, without work. For instance, my best friend sent me a beautiful red pie plate and instant crust recipe this weekend. She's never forgotten my birthday, and to boot, she found a pie plate with my high school nickname (Emile, Emile, Smmmiillleeee!). What a perfect present!

I'm so lucky to have such great friends to celebrate the good times, and work through the sketchy times. Considering I'm always a half hour late, consistently forget to send belated birthday cards to friends, go Christmas shopping during "after Christmas sales", and notoriously forget to return voice mails, it's crazy to think that my friends stick around.

I think this calls for a 24th birthday resolution. Rather than a cane and pair of reading glasses to accompany my aging bones, I think I'll opt out for a calendar for my kitchen. Important dates will include birthdays, bills due, flee meds for all the boys in the arc, and of course, time for my partners in crime, Bergerac, Bonini, and Budini.

Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes; for unconditional, unfaltering love.

Trading Breakfast

Yes, it's true. There comes a time in every womans life where you just have to count calories, exercise, and not become a blob of useless cellulite as you enter your 30's.

Okay, well maybe I'm not entering my 30's, but in a few days I will be in my mid 20s. Yes, you heard right, I'm switching over to the next age bracket, letting go of my early 20's charm, and taking hold of the gripping reality that is 24.

I'm starting with my diet. Mostly inspired by the up and coming nuptials of two very dear friends, Lana and Luke. They're both gorgeous, naturally, however, recently Lana has been doing crazy amazing things with her body, and (not that she was anything but drop dead gorgeous before), has become this leggy, long brown haired, tall, super model-person that makes me feel a little uncomfortable and blushy. All to prepare for the wedding.

So I've decided, rather than looking at her wedding photos for the rest of our lives (because, no, I'm not going anywhere), I would rather get in shape and look my best for her big day.

The beginning-

Naturally, I think the beginning of my diet should start with the beginning of my day. Tongue twister huh? I did some thinking about what it is that I'm eating when I'm half asleep, and let me tell you, sleep-eating is NOT good for you.

My favorite morning time treat (because anyone that has to be at an office at 8AM deserves a morning time treat just for waking up...right?) is an egg and cheese sandwich. There's this little cafe at the top of my street that makes killer sandwiches, always with extra cheese. Then I warm up next to a piping cup of coffee, with half and half, and sugar. Scrumptulecent.

So math. Is NOT our friend. I was adding things up, and found out that my egg and cheese sandwich, on the conservative side, totals 340 calories, and my cup of coffee, 75 calories. Making my breakfast treat, a wapping 415 calories. Holy shit!

I would like to introduce you to my new breakfast treat. I found it while shopping at Whole Foods and let me tell you my former breakfast treat has met.its.match!

I bring you "Rachel's Yogurt in Exotic Kiwi, Passion Fruit, Lime." So delicious, so tangy, so perfectly creamy, and only 150 calories and 2.5 grams of fat. Paired with my cup o'joe, sans cream and suger, weighing in at 5 calories, brings me to a new morning total of 155 calories :)

Dear Rachel, I love you. And so does my ass.

"...and I may always be just a little bit fat"

I think we all feel that way, or at least all of the normal ones, but I'm having a moment...a severe Bridget Jones moment.

Or feeling like I'm not playing with a full deck? as my brother would say, but not in the mentally way, but in the always a step behind, always trying to avoid uncertain embarrassment, always hoping that no one will find out that I am in fact the Sarah Palin of the group.

I went out to lunch once with two coworkers. One of which was my boss. We slid into the booth, myself on one side, and my boss and co worker on the other side. So there were these lights in the table, literally IN THE TABLE. I know! Crazy right?! So without hesitation I throw my head under the table to investigate the light situation when I realize, with my head under the table, that my head is a foot away from my bosses crotch.

Another example; tripping has always been a problem for me. It seems that in the most insecure moment I can always count on my feet to make it a little worse. Its gotten to the point where I write notes to myself.

Yellow post it="Em, don't fucking trip. If you can do ONE THING tonight, just walk in a straight, uninterrupted line." Of course tonight was no exception.

Ever feel like middle school never ended? It's because it hasn't. I was told recently that people can't be up unless someone else is down. At first I tried to argue, but can you? If you've ever put someone else down to make yourself feel better, or laughed when you should have been empathetic you'll understand that you're trapped in a middle school world. As long as bad things aren't happening to you, it's fine...right?

We need to find ways to either break the cycle, or just put up with the people we've become. I may always be just a little bit clumsy, a little chubbier than I was in college, a little less worldly, a little detached from Oxfords dictionary, not quick with math, and a whole lot less than a doctoral student.

But I can say that I'll always be me. The me that says the wrong thing at the right time (or is it the right thing at the wrong time?), that falls on her face in front of the cool girls, that forgets to take the underwear out of her pants before she washes them.

Me.

And even if it makes me so frustrated that I want to cry, makes me want to run away in shame, or stick my head in the sand, I have to accept that these things won't make or break me. Even if it breaks my ego, my shoes, my toe, or my nose at the time.

I may always just be a little bit of something, but need to work towards becoming a whole lot of something that makes me feel like I'm okay. Something that's a whole lot of me. Even if that whole-lot-of-something is a well placed embarrassing moment.

I think that I enjoy that movie so much because the character has her own realization that she isn't the person that she thinks everyone wants her to be, she's just her, and even better, that the person she thought she had to change for, doesn't really care about all of the little things.

Maybe we can all learn a thing or two from pop culture. In the meantime, I'm burning the flops that tripped me tonight. I don't need footwear that isn't on my side ;)

Be Still 6.17.08

I saw the first firefly of the season tonight. Sitting in the front room looking out to the backyard...I saw that distinct flash. Then another. TWO fireflies. It's like gold. Summer gold.

Fireflies have always made me nervous over the years (I imagine after all of those 'indicator species' lectures?). Mostly because I've lived long enough to watch their numbers dwindle, populations decrease to the point where I believe in my lifetime I will witness their extinction.

In fact, in the time that it took me to grab my journal and pen, Oscar killed one of my summer wonders. Now the poor thing is reduced to a pale flickering of the light it used to be.

I worry that Beau won't know what they are by the time she's my age. That she will never cruelly collect fireflies in mason jars to light her path to the ice cream store.

I fear for the June that fireflies don't return. Just another light extinguished by an overbearing world, ruled by stronger Oscar-the-Grouch like powers.

In the same moment that I see the familiar flash, I'm reminded of my own light. Of similar feelings when I witness a truly unique flash of strength, self love and personal knowing.

The same flash of light lives in me and is above and beyond extinction. As long as my flash, so to speak, lives, the firefly will always be with us. As is the summer breeze, my love for my family and my hope for a better future. Always burning, even if its only outwardly visible seasonally.

"I love you Beau" "I know"

Ever hear something and say "I should really write that down." I've had those moments in my life more often than not, and I'm sad to say that I've failed to follow through on many occasions.

After reading active blogs about friends near and far, I've decided that I need to start following through, if for nothing else, out of a fear that if I don't write it down I may forget. Although I pride myself on some attributes, I am horrified to say that my short term memory is non existent which makes me fear for my long term.

Hanging out with Beau this weekend gave me a new sense of urgency. Well that and my fleeting internet connection. Two thoughts come to mind- God after a year and a half babies get big...really big, and secondly, people who are new to the neighborhood quickly...very quickly, put a security code on their internet connection when they realize that the poor neighbor is mooching.

Alas...

"I love you Beau"
"I know"
"I know you know Bodi, but really, I love you"
"I know, I love"

From now on I hope to record similar conversations, as well as feature some of my favorite journal entries that never made the paper, and some that have, but have been hidden under my bed, and under my ego.

I'm ecstatic that my beautiful brother brought something equally wonderful into the world. I've never been so proud of him. His daughter loves. And knows it.