Just an Update

Me, horrified:  "We have a hole."

My living room, currently.

Billy, helpfully: "Well, one of your favorite bands is called Hole!"

I'm feeling overwhelmed this week. We're waiting for an insurance adjuster to come look at the big, soggy hole in our living room ceiling. The plumber said we may have to tear up our bathroom to get it fixed.

Our house has pretty much been under construction since June, which has been mentally and financially exhausting, making me miss the days when I just paid my rent and bought another designer handbag, without checking my bank balance. 

We celebrated our dog's second anniversary with us, and days later, came home to find her panting, trembling, and unable to walk. It looked like she was dying. Two vet appointments later, we found out her spine is dropping, or degenerating. She needs pain medicine every 12 hours and a new, gentle routine.

There are plenty of bigger, actual disasters to put things in perspective. Seeing those horrible headlines and heartbreaking photos is overwhelming, too.

In the mean time, here are some things I love right now:

• Downward Dog, which I didn't discover until after it was cancelled, but I am enjoying watching a TV show about a woman who lives in Pittsburgh and works in marketing and loves her dog. Just like me! The scenes when she walks him in Frick Park break my heart and make me long for Porter so badly, I ache. But the show still makes me happy.
  
  
  
•  Weekend dinners with my parents and husband. Today we went to Mindful Brewing.
  
• Big amethyst clusters like this one on my Instagram. I have 6 of these now and I can't stop buying them. I read that they have properties that help you sleep well so I put two next to my bed.
  
• Sending and receiving zine-style mail with my best girl, Madge. We've been packaging up treasure troves of collages, mini paintings, stickers, handmade booklets, and letters. A great mail day is a great day indeed.
  
• The butterflies in my yard. They are so beautiful, and inspired me to dust off my real cameras. I took this picture and hope to get to blown up some day for our walls! 
  
  
  
  
  

That's all I had to say for now.

Guy Smiley and Here is Your Life

Recently, I desperately needed to be cheered up.

I called my friend V because he can make me laugh, and so he did, immediately, when he referred to my Beagle as my little "Guy Smiley."

And here is your Here is Your Life host, Guy Smiley!

Instead of rehashing the horrors of my day, which never helps as much as you think it will, V and I launched right into recalling every detail that we could about Guy Smiley, the muppet, and his Sesame Street game show, "This is Your Life."

I remembered that Guy Smiley always got caught inside the stage curtain as he made his way out to the camera, and he would flail around in that distinctly Muppety way until he burst out (An early Kramer?). I also remembered an episode in which a tender-hearted loaf of bread was brought onto the game show (under the guise of being delivered to be made into a club sandwich) so she could be reunited with long-lost friends.

"Loaf of bread, here is your life!!"

I went home and YouTubed it, and realized then that the writers of 1980's Sesame Street were out of their minds.

Such a thought never even occurred to me when I was little.

In that episode, a loaf of bread with long eyelashes arrives on the set of the game show and asks how many slices of herself will be needed.

But Guy Smiley surprises her by, instead, bringing out the baker who baked her. (The studio audience coos when the baker shows a picture of the bread in her formative state, just an "adorable little recipe.")

Guy Smiley then promises to reveal the loaf of bread's best friend, another loaf who once sat on a grocery store shelf beside her. (Loaf of bread winces in anguish when she remembers the day that someone purchased that neighboring loaf and took her away.)

Guy Smiley then produces that long lost loaf... sort of. That loaf of bread has since been turned into two sandwiches and two plates of French toast, which, inexplicably, now have their very own personalities and even speak French!

But the best part might be when Guy Smiley announces that the show will be providing the loaf of bread with...a charm bracelet...so she'll always remember the day!

What? That's nuts!

But I remember watching the loaf of bread's show when I was little, and taking it perfectly seriously. I also remember the episode in which the oak tree is reunited with the cloud who rained on him, and when Guy Smiley visits a museum to surprise a painting of a bowl of fruit, which has eyeballs and is overcome with emotion when the paintbrush who painted him shows up.

I wonder if Sesame Street --and these very shows-- contributed to my steadfast belief that all things have feelings. When I was little, I believed that everything had feelings, and I thought that everything longed to do what it was meant to do. This is how I formed irrational attachments, and wept when my parents traded in our old car (I was sure it was devastated to be sent away), and wanted to rescue every garage-sale stuffed animal. I'd feel sorry for every lost and lonely glove, who surely felt useless and humiliated without its mate. I was convinced my first bicycle felt abandoned when I outgrew it.

Today, I know that's absurd, but I still feel sorry when I, say, send one of my purses to the secondhand store. I wonder if it casts a sad glance back at my other purses and thinks, "But what did I do? Wasn't I pretty enough?" And I hope it has a nice life, with someone who likes it and takes it to lots of places.

See what you did to me, Guy Smiley?

.......................

In other news, here are my current favorite things:

Taking my dog everywhere. I'm going to be really, really sad when summer is over and I can no longer socialize by making my friends join me at parks, or restaurants, bars and coffee shops with patio seating. Right now, if you want to see me, you also see my Beagle.

I guess most people leave their dogs at home most of the time. My dog knows that unless I'm going to work, the sound of my keys jangling means that we're headed for adventure, and he gamely hops into my car's back seat. He even knows the sound of a Subaru being unlocked vs. the sound of any other kind of car.

He's up for anything, except staying home alone. And he is the most perfect, amiable little sidekick.

Let's go play!

Related: Food Trucks. The biggest summer food trend, especially for people with dogs, is getting delicious food out of the window of a truck! A different truck comes to my neighborhood every Monday and I am especially fond of the Pittsburgh Taco Truck, with its amazing avocado cream, and Oh My Grill, which serves gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches and dipping sauces.

I also love the crepe truck:

and I love that Porter can come along when I dine this way.

I would like to invent a salad truck, who would have a dazzling array of toppings on various lettuces. Things like chick peas, hard boiled eggs, avocado, artichokes, cheeses, slivered almonds, and homemade dressings.

Also, still, Pearl Jam, who played two wonderful shows in London, Ontario and Wrigley Field, Chicago, in July. I'll see those guys in Pittsburgh in October for a long-awaited hometown show.

The 4 Ingredients That Will Always Make Me Fall in Love with a Piece of Music

All of my favorite music has at least one of these four ingredients.

1. Lyrics that tell a story.
I think the best songs have some point to them besides being catchy. Don't give me a cheesy love song (or if you're going to, at least make me laugh). Sing me a story with characters, plots, and messages.

I look for lyrics that illuminate my own feelings. I'll award bonus points to songs that rally me, inspire me, pull me up, dust me off or convince me that I'm going to be okay.

When my (lousy) boyfriend of 11 years moved out, I felt confused and conflicted, but I played the subtly happy song "Tears Dry on Their Own" and wrote a music video in my head, starring me twirling around in my newly empty, sun-kissed apartment, finally unburdened with all the cobwebs of our misspent decade.  I appreciated how Amy Winehouse gave a name to the feeling of "inevitable withdrawal." I didn't love my ex anymore, but I still had to bear the withdrawal of our breakup as I learned how to be alone for the first time as an adult.

When Amy sings, "He walks away; the sun goes down," I don't picture darkness but rather the glorious glow of a blazing sunset.

Another example: One of the greatest stories I know is about a human being who is Given to Fly.  Here's what Eddie Vedder says about that beautiful song:

"[I imagined the song as] a 20-page cardboard children's book with a line on each page and a picture to go with it. It's a fable, that's all. The music almost gives you this feeling of flight, and I really love singing the part at the end, which is all about rising above anybody's comments about what you do and still giving your love away. You know? Not becoming bitter and reclusive, not condemning the whole world because of the actions of a few."

2. Grungy guitars that rock out.
I can't resist them. I feel them in my belly. They make me want to burst into a run. They make me want to shrug off my last board meeting and my last deadline and joyfully headbang like the mammal I am.  I can appreciate the perfectly-executed licks of a classical guitar song, but I'm not sure how long I could sit and watch someone coax them out. I want to watch a person grab their guitar and shred it like they're purging the demons within.

I know it's been overplayed, but to this day, I can't fathom how someone can hear the opening chords of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and not emphatically agree that the song is a cosmic gift from the universe. It's just perfect. Whether they were ready for it or not, something otherworldly just clicked the day Nirvana came up with that one.

Same thing, right here:

3. Beautiful vocals.
This one seems too easy but, oh well. I'll bliss out to Rob Zombie for Reason #2 but give me Eddie Vedder's soaring, honeyed baritone to soothe my troubled heart. It hits me like a Klonopin right in my soul.



4. Music that has heart.
I need to feel like music is sincere, like it was born because the artist had to write it whether anyone would like it or not. I like music that is confessed. I like songs that purge anguish as a means to finding light.

I think that's why I like Jill Sobule so much. I go see her every time she comes to town, and Jill has a way of making the entire room fall in love with her. She's cute and funny, yes, but also, Jill's heart is present in every one of her songs.

I always felt like Kurt Cobain's lyrics, as flippant and bitter as they seemed on the surface, were painfully self-aware and of brimming with heart.

.........................................

A piece of music doesn't have to have all of these ingredients, but if I love it, chances are it will have at least one.

Pearl Jam corners the market with all four, which is why seeing them live takes me to staggering heights of sheer bliss.

I'm going to close with a song that has Ingredients #1, #3 and #4. This is a song that put four whole years into perspective for me, and makes me cry every single time.

My Beagle's Favorite Things

• Walks, of course.

• Other dogs. Even if they're on the opposite side of the street, he'll pounce and skip along like they're playing together. 

• People. He is baffled every time we pass someone and they don't want to say hi and pet him.

• Tennis balls. He has even mastered playing solo, and will toss and roll the ball himself and then bound after it. 

• Ice cubes. I just gave him one in the kitchen and he happily ran into the living room, head and ice cube held high, to roll around with it.

• Me! I feel so happy when I take him to my parents' house and he loves everyone there, but likes to keep me in his line of sight. 

• Going for rides in the car. He's a good little commuter. He immediately settles and watches the world go by.

• When I wipe his muddy legs and paws with a warm towel. He won't step out of the foyer until I wipe his muddy feet.

• Garbage. He gets so excited when he spots garbage. He has tried to wrap his whole mouth around garbage bags.

Half of me is ocean, half of me is sky

I'm pretty sure that my iPod has the uncanny ability to choose which song I need to hear. Not necessarily what I think I want to hear. It will always shuffle to a song with a lesson or lyric that I need to apply to my day. My iPod will choose the right--yet seemingly random--song to cheer me up, console me, or rally me. It will dust off songs I don't even remember downloading. It will tuck my hair behind my ear and say, "Sssh, it's alright. You're okay. Let me put it this way...." 

Sometimes you're happy
Sometimes you cry
Half of me is ocean
Half of me is sky

But you got a heart so big
It could crush this town
And i can't hold out forever
Even walls fall down

Here's to all the souls with the crushingly big hearts. :)

...

My big dumb heart is feeling pretty happy today, though. As we all know, I had my heart broken in December--yes, blah, blah, blah.

I fell apart--not so much over the guy, who wasn't that attractive, fun or even nice--but more over the sudden realization that I didn't get the life I wanted.  And I thought I deserved it. I'm nice, dammit. I work, so hard, for a non-profit. I'm a good daughter and a good friend. Bitchier and dumber and boring-er girls than me are married and have cute babies, so how much longer am I supposed to wait? And most of all, why?! What did I do wrong?

But today, as I walked my impossibly cute dog down my beautiful city street, I got to thinking of all the things that I do have. I love my parents, who are both still alive and love me back. I love my friends, and my gorgeous apartment (which is freshly scrubbed and sparkling so that my dog walker will be tricked into thinking I'm a good housekeeper). I love my cat and dog, my clothes, especially my new purple Kate Spade jeans, and the fact that I can buy myself Kate Spade jeans when not too long ago, I had to suffer till payday just to replace a dingy sponge.

And every bad or beautiful moment in life is just a snapshot in time. Anything could change in a moment. So I'm not going to lament this lovely little slice of my life. This is a good life. It's not exactly the one I pictured, but it's really not bad.

Speaking of good things, these are a few of my favorite things today:

Holy crap, kneesocks. This morning I was feeling pretty good, and then I put this outfit together and suddenly I felt great. I wanted to go feel great everywhere, with other people.

Also, I'm always too hot, so kneesocks have a perfect cool-air zone right across the knees. 

My new Beagle, and there are two things I want to say about that. One is that he discovered a tennis ball for the first time tonight, and he even figured out how to play with it by himself! He'd toss the ball with his mouth, merrily chase after it, pounce on it, and repeat.

Also, I love taking my dog for walks in the morning. I didn't realize how refreshing it would be to plunge from my cozy bed into the crisp morning and explore my town with him. I love looking at the houses, giving my brain some oxygen, watching the season change and seeing his regal Beagle butt wiggle down the street. All these cliche things I've been saying all these years as a PR person for pet adoption are true. Those little creatures will get you out of bed and you will like it. 

Also... trying to get Pearl Jam's attention via Instagram. A super-fun thing about social media is being just a couple shout-outs away from your idols. I keep tagging Pearl Jam under the hopeful delusion that they'll be so taken with my photography, they'll ask me to come on stage and photograph their show in Chicago this summer.

I wish I was being sarcastic. The thing about being a big-hearted girl is that we are rarely sarcastic. We say what we mean. In other words, I'm really waiting for this to happen.

Last night I got stuck inside a dream

Last night, for the first time, I was fully aware of being trapped inside a dream.

I kept waking up all through the night, and getting frustrated about it because I wanted to be able to wake up to meet my friend Line early in the morning. But then, suddenly, it was Monday and I was in my office. 

i was here

It was a stressful work day because people kept coming in and interrupting my train of thought, and my phone kept ringing with work calls, and I kept trying to keep up with my emails. Then, all of a sudden, I thought, "Wait, what happened to Sunday?"

And I thought back, and I realized that the last thing I remembered was trying to fall back to sleep in my bed. I realized then that I was dreaming, but I didn't know how to stop. I thought, "Usually the dream ends when you realize you're dreaming." But I kept looking around my office, and the dream wouldn't dissolve. 

Then I thought, "This is weird, because there's nothing bizarre about this dream." I looked at my paperwork, and it was all my real, actual paperwork. I spun around in my chair and saw all my binders and books lined up. Nothing was out of place or dreamlike. And it just kept going on like that, every dreadfully realistic detail about being at work on a Monday.

I really wanted to stop dreaming, though, so I kept doing things, like jumping up and down, and trying to scream. But I was still stuck there. Meanwhile, I was worried that it might not be a dream and I was just going crazy. I was worried that if it wasn't a dream, someone would see me doing those crazy things. 

Then I lay down on my floor and told myself, "I'm really in my bed. My dresser is on my right. My bedroom window is on my left. There are pillows and blankets." But instead I could just feel the floor and carpet in my office. I was starting to panic. 

Then my office phone rang. I picked it up and it was my best friend, Madge. Madge told me not to worry because she was sending help. Then I looked up and I saw that there was someone standing in the hall outside my office wearing a white gown. I went out and there was an angel, with wings, with her eyes closed, and she took me in her arms and we started to float. 

And then, I found myself back in my bed.

Yeah for real.


............

In other news, these are a few of my favorite things today:

Scrabble, NOT Words with Friends, although I'm stuck slumming it in Words with Friends because that's what everyone else plays. Why?

Apples to Apples, which I played for the first time last night. The game starts with a green card -- a descriptor. Then you have to play a card in your hand that matches, however bizarrely, that descriptor. Each player takes turns judging the answers and picking the winner of the round. I played poorly at first because I was playing with some people I had just met. Then, I started to figure out how everyone ticks, and I knew that Caitlin would think that wine tastings are "cosmopolitan" and Matt would think that Stonehenge is "fancy."  

Matt and I get along, incidentally, because we both thought "pigeons" were best described as "intense," even more intense than "tornadoes." 

Sea foam green nail polish that matches my iPhone. Okay really my iPhone; I succumb!!!

This.

Holy crap Porter the Beagle is totally grinning at me. You can't even say he's not. 

Feelings, wo-o-o feelings

Mother effing feelings!

It's physically exhausting going around with all these stupid feelings all the time.

Men don't seem to be so burdened by feelings. I think that's because
a) some men are completely heartless and
b) the rest learn, early on, to put their feelings somewhere that's not right up on the surface.

I noticed that when [a lot of] guys talk on the phone with their friends, it sounds something like this:

"Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah. Fuckin' right. It's like, yeah, you know what I'm saying? Yeah. Yep. Naw. Okay dude. Later."

And when I say, "Oh, what's new with your buddy?" the guy will respond, inexplicably, "I don't know, we didn't talk about it."

But when girls talk to each other, we go straight to feelings. Are you happy? Is your relationship going well? Are you succeeding at work? How is your family? Are your hobbies fulfilling? Is this where you thought you'd be at your age? Is your elderly cat still eating? Is she responding well to the probiotics? etc. etc. etc.

At least, that's how my girlfriends and I talk to each other. I hope it's not just because of me.

I think my big feelings are something that people (who like me) like about me. I love large. My good moods are euphoric. But the pitfalls are that people who can't handle me can't handle those big feelings, and when those feelings are hurt, they are debilitating.

Right now, I'm working on nurturing good feelings. I'm trying to sleep more, manage stress, eat fresh and natural foods, read for pleasure, get massages, exercise well and spend time with positive people.

In related news: these are a few of my favorite things today:

My office dog, Porter. Porter came to the shelter when the other dog he lived with was beaten to death. Porter is now recovering from lots of anxiety and heart worm, so I'm honored to welcome him into the peace and quiet of my office during the work days. For the first time in I have no idea how long, I genuinely can not wait to get to my office tomorrow.

Porter, I need the budget analysis for the Henderson report, stat!

The movie Singles. Get ready for a blog about that. I was just no where near your neighborhood.

"I miss you. The way you used to look at me."

The chocolate chip cookies my mom made me yesterday with caramelized butter. Here is the recipe. You're welcome.

And this guy, always. I'm having a frenaissance with Eddie Vedder --like I needed one, I know!--after my dad soothed me by putting on PJ Twenty when I visited them yesterday. Pearl Jam exhilarates and delights me like nothing else. It's such a reliable source of comfort.

What a different life, had I not found this love with you.

Stop wielding my name like that

I've been Googling around, trying to figure out whether:

- using a person's name is a known act of passive aggression
- or maybe I'm just oversensitive.

When I was little, my mom and dad never called me by my first name unless I was in trouble. It's worth noting that I rarely got in trouble, but I was always called "Poodle" or "Boo," until I, say, forgot to pull the shower curtain inside the bath tub when I showered, and my dad would discover the flooded bathroom and bellow my first name through the house in a terrifying tenor.

"Hey, sweetie," meant that dinner was ready, or that maybe cookies were done cooling and ready to eat. But when my first name echoed through our home, I knew I had done something wrong.

Years later, when I started dating, my boyfriends and I never called each other by our first names...unless we were fighting. One man knew I was upset with him when I addressed him by name instead of the sweet nickname that usually bounced off my tongue. The last man I dated called me things like "Baby" or "Cupcake" until our relationship ended in a series of mean-spirited emails, in which he explained to me, using my first name, comma, just how absurd I was being. I knew he was using my name to convey his condescension via the written word.

My best friend Madge says my name, but always adds a sweet suffix or substitutes the word "Munkin," (which she once blurted out, hilariously and accidentally, when she was thinking of both "Monkey" and "Pumpkin"). I don't say her name, either, unless I'm addressing her as "My Madge" or "Hey Madgey."

Then there was the especially passive aggressive woman I worked with who always overused my first name. I'd get emails from her that read something like: "Just wondering if you had time to finish that report, YOU, since I haven't seen it yet. Did I miss an email, YOU? Let me know as I'm still waiting for it. Thanks, YOU." It was enough to make my own name read like an accusation.

I've even noticed it when I communicate. As a manager, I try to use people's names when I'm praising them, not correcting them. I'll say "Great job, Ted!" but not "This is full of typos, Ted."

But...I've been Googling around and I can't find any evidence that lots of other people feel like someone can wield your first name in an act of aggression. (This person does call it a "douchey business tactic.") Maybe I just need to find someone who whispers my name like a sweet nothing.

If you've ever winced at the sound of your own name, let me know.

...

In other news, these are a few of my favorite things today:

My new couch, which I bought for myself on impulse. I like this picture of it, because it looks like it was just delivered and moved in by a helpful cat.

Knee socks. I wan't quite sure how to pull an outfit together with them, because when you Google-image search "knee socks" what you mostly get is girls wearing knee socks and underpants. That was not helpful as I dressed to go to Trader Joe's with my mom. But I think they looked okay today.

Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon, which is a selection of personal reflections, regrets, discoveries and memories. This is a great book for a Michael Chabon fan to have around when you're feeling a little uneasy, because it's got all of the dazzling turns of phrase you can expect from Michael Chabon, but in light, heartfelt, easy-to-read and bite-sized bits. 

I was going to take a photo of the book for you but it is apparently lost in the folds of my bed (along with the following: iPad, iPhone, Lucky magazine, necklace that was strangling me, hairclip, laptop sleeve, shoebox, teddy bear, and life-sized stuffed dog--which is embarrassing), so all I could find was its discarded dust jacket on my night stand. 

Happy Sunday!