I'm not the most creative person in the world but I think I've started something and I'm pretty proud of it, I must say. Last night, some friends and I celebrated the Second Annual New Year's Eve Do-Over (NYEDO). (For those friends who missed out due to sickness, family circumstances, prior engagements, and Saturday afternoon drunkenness, see you next year.)
Anyway, I had crafted the idea last year after finding myself crying in a public bathroom right after the clock struck twelve. It's not like anything awful had happened. In fact, I was with some of my favorite people on earth that night. However, like many moments in my life, it was just an emotional time and I remember thinking, Oh God...I cannot ring in a new year like this!
So shortly after, I announced to some friends that I wanted to do it all over. Being the awesome friends that they are, they were up for it. So last January 31st, we met for dinner and drinks and on the cusp of midnight, we had our very own little countdown (and yes, there were hats and horns) in the middle of a Brooklyn bar. It was one of the best "New Year's Eve" I had ever had.
This year, after a death in her family at the start of 2010, one of my dear friends of this group emailed me and said, "I need a re-do." So last night, despite the arctic conditions, a small group of us hunkered in around our dining room table, passing around meatballs, chicken wings, cookies, and whiskey and toasted 2010 all over again. And despite having a little headache at the moment, I feel pretty psyched for the new year. No huge resolutions. Just a general commitment to be truer to myself, to seize the day, and to follow what makes me happy. And in this moment, that means a big cup of coffee. I think I shall seize it.
Happy New Year's.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Number 4? Not Too Shabby
In two months, I will be happier than your standard American, but not as jolly as an Aussie. Still, three levels happier. Not bad. (Could have something to do with all of that cake).
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Decision Made! (Well, one out of about 387)
Ahh, can't quite get the pessimist outta me, I guess. Anyway...
Kids, I booked a flight to Berlin.
After tossing and turning in bed for the past month, after incessantly discussing this with friends and family since I touched down at JFK, after learning that there's a good chance that there will be an apartment along with a part-time job waiting for me in Deutschland come April, I decided the other night that just perhaps I would take a looksie at airfare to Germany. Yikes! I was shocked to discover that in just a few weeks, the fare had risen $150. Come April, it skyrockets!
Suddenly, I felt compelled to make a decision right then and there. Yet, there I was, sitting alone at my laptop, no one for me to plead with for advice. I stared at Baxter. He sniffed the air. A good reminder that no one can make your decisions but you. (And also a good reminder that you probably look a little crazy when you try to stare your cat down). So as I focused on what British Airways had to offer, I started thinking about some recent comments from friends.
New York is always gonna be here. Come back when you're all done with Berlin!
This is why you should do it, Rachael...because you CAN. GO!
No offense but what's really keeping you here? Anything?
Your whole face completely brightened as you were talking about Berlin. I think that means something...
And sitting at my desk, I silently agreed. It does mean something.
An hour later, I had purchased a round trip ticket (a one way just seemed far too dramatic), leaving at the end of March. Exhilarated and terrified, I left the house and practically skipped down the street, knowing that I had at least defined the next goal for myself. Ever since I left social work three years ago, I have found myself often saying to others, "I have no idea where I will be in six months" and it's absolutely true. Maybe I have commitment issues. Maybe it's a sign of discontent. Or maybe I was a nomad in a previous life. I really have no idea. But what I know in this moment is that I have two months to take advantage of New York City and to prepare for the adventure ahead. That's a lot to cram in but I think I'm up for it.
Kids, I booked a flight to Berlin.
After tossing and turning in bed for the past month, after incessantly discussing this with friends and family since I touched down at JFK, after learning that there's a good chance that there will be an apartment along with a part-time job waiting for me in Deutschland come April, I decided the other night that just perhaps I would take a looksie at airfare to Germany. Yikes! I was shocked to discover that in just a few weeks, the fare had risen $150. Come April, it skyrockets!
Suddenly, I felt compelled to make a decision right then and there. Yet, there I was, sitting alone at my laptop, no one for me to plead with for advice. I stared at Baxter. He sniffed the air. A good reminder that no one can make your decisions but you. (And also a good reminder that you probably look a little crazy when you try to stare your cat down). So as I focused on what British Airways had to offer, I started thinking about some recent comments from friends.
New York is always gonna be here. Come back when you're all done with Berlin!
This is why you should do it, Rachael...because you CAN. GO!
No offense but what's really keeping you here? Anything?
Your whole face completely brightened as you were talking about Berlin. I think that means something...
And sitting at my desk, I silently agreed. It does mean something.
An hour later, I had purchased a round trip ticket (a one way just seemed far too dramatic), leaving at the end of March. Exhilarated and terrified, I left the house and practically skipped down the street, knowing that I had at least defined the next goal for myself. Ever since I left social work three years ago, I have found myself often saying to others, "I have no idea where I will be in six months" and it's absolutely true. Maybe I have commitment issues. Maybe it's a sign of discontent. Or maybe I was a nomad in a previous life. I really have no idea. But what I know in this moment is that I have two months to take advantage of New York City and to prepare for the adventure ahead. That's a lot to cram in but I think I'm up for it.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Un Petit Rendez-Vous
I adore delicious dinners at dimly lit French cafes with crusty bread, peppy ragtime, and two fabulous friends. Undoubtedly, coziness and hilarity will ensue. Mark and Katie are good examples of people who like me, don't much care for BS. They often cut through the crap and jump to the heart of an issue before the appetizers have even gotten to the table. Whether it is a question like, "So are you going to Germany or what?" or "When are you gonna ask him out?", it's out there and I love it.
The utter honesty between us is especially interesting when the conversation turns to relationships. And when the three of us haven't sat down together and talked in nearly four months, the topic inevitably goes in that direction. We generally try to convince one another of what we apparently deem to be the necessary tenets of a romantic relationship. How important is physical attraction? How misleading can it be? What is the likelihood of finding love with someone who is a total stranger versus a friend, someone you've known through similar circles and slowly transitioned with from friend to lover? How long does someone date before marriage is discussed? How important is it for your mate and your friends to get along? Which annoying qualities can be overlooked and which must be dealt with? Are we just too picky? Are we afraid? When does logic trump emotion? Does it ever? And how does one even appropriately meet people and date these days? Online? The safer route of friends (or friends or friends)? Or do we just lock ourselves up in monasteries and be done with it all?
We go through it all and we lay it all out for one another. This usually entails a whole lot of emphatic nodding, then furrowed brows, the occasional screech here and there ("You can't be serious!") and a whole lot of laughter. And at the end of the night when the wine is gone, our bellies are full, and hugs are passed around, we go our separate ways and I go home and think about some of these things that were said so nonchalantly. And I wonder what it is I really am looking for. Am I ready for much of anything these days? Hmm....I've got to chew on all of this a bit more, perhaps at another little cozy cafe. Interested in joining? Toss me some more bread and meet me next week.
The utter honesty between us is especially interesting when the conversation turns to relationships. And when the three of us haven't sat down together and talked in nearly four months, the topic inevitably goes in that direction. We generally try to convince one another of what we apparently deem to be the necessary tenets of a romantic relationship. How important is physical attraction? How misleading can it be? What is the likelihood of finding love with someone who is a total stranger versus a friend, someone you've known through similar circles and slowly transitioned with from friend to lover? How long does someone date before marriage is discussed? How important is it for your mate and your friends to get along? Which annoying qualities can be overlooked and which must be dealt with? Are we just too picky? Are we afraid? When does logic trump emotion? Does it ever? And how does one even appropriately meet people and date these days? Online? The safer route of friends (or friends or friends)? Or do we just lock ourselves up in monasteries and be done with it all?
We go through it all and we lay it all out for one another. This usually entails a whole lot of emphatic nodding, then furrowed brows, the occasional screech here and there ("You can't be serious!") and a whole lot of laughter. And at the end of the night when the wine is gone, our bellies are full, and hugs are passed around, we go our separate ways and I go home and think about some of these things that were said so nonchalantly. And I wonder what it is I really am looking for. Am I ready for much of anything these days? Hmm....I've got to chew on all of this a bit more, perhaps at another little cozy cafe. Interested in joining? Toss me some more bread and meet me next week.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
That's All, Folks
I absolutely cannot believe I am bragging about this but what can I say? It's a rainy Sunday afternoon and I'm not feeling too jazzed about anything. So bear with me.Yesterday, I felt compelled to take this photo to illustrate the very little that I own at age...(wait, I don't really need to go there, do I?)...at age, umm, thirtysomething. Yep, aside from some random stuff at my parent's (pots and pans, photo albums, and a little Christmas tree), this is it. Those three suitcases? All the clothes I own in the world after replenishing the shelves at the Salvation Army.
So it was the fastest move of my life. My buddy, Mark, came over at 1 o'clock. We were done by 3:30 and that was with a stop at his storage unit along the way. Even Baxter the Cat took the whole thing in stride. Of course, he fought me at first when it was time to go into the kitty carrier but after a few initial howls in the car, his disposition changed. He was like, Oh yeah...you're all about the moving. I almost forgot about that.
It feels strange though to know that many of my friends own houses, cars, stuff of actual monetary value. I don't even own furniture anymore. I'm not complaining. It's just crazy to think about sometimes, especially when I visit people who do own real stuff, like art. And sofas.
Even though I possess very little, it still took me several hours to organize myself today. I'm still not quite all the way there. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what to do with all the great photos of friends and family that I did make sure to cart over here, even if it is only for a brief time. Drooly babies, goofy friends, family portraits...I'd like to plaster my walls with their faces. And amidst it all, I found a calendar that a Berliner friend made for me before I left. Each month is a fantastic photo of a beautiful city scene or some quirkiness that is Berlin. Right now, I am staring at January's shot, a snow covered church at Herrfurthplatz. Gorgeous. Perhaps I will place the photos all around the calendar and then finally, everyone will be exactly where I want them.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Baby, What's MY Sign?
I know I've mentioned in the past that I can be a tad bit superstitious about things. I can get past the black cats and broken mirrors but I often wonder if certain occurrences are the universe's way of trying to communicate with me. You know, like, signs.
These past few months, I've been begging the universe to give me a goddamn sign, to tell me what to do with my life. My married parent friends sometimes get so bogged down in their own stuff that my life seems very appealing to them. "You're so free! You can do whatever you want!" they might say to me. Then I remind them of my meager, inconsistent wage which does not quite allow me to do whatever I please. And those adventurous actions of mine that look so spontaneous to them? They are generally very calculated and often quite anxiety producing.
Sometimes, I yearn for a partner, not even for the romantic wonderfulness that is love but just so there would be another factor in my life which could serve as some sort of parameter. When you are "free" to do anything, the world can feel pretty damn overwhelming. However, if your partner is working his dream job in Portland, you've got a starting point.
Without parameters to help reign me in, I now find myself looking for signs.
As I was packing up a few days ago, I was digging through the pockets of an old suitcase when suddenly, a ten euro bill fell out of it. I stuck my hand in further and found a collection of old maps and train schedules. They were from my backpacking trip through Europe seven years ago. I smiled, thinking about my adventures back then. I had backpacked solo for four weeks through Spain, France, Belgium, Germany, the Czech Republic, and Austria before meeting my (then) boyfriend in Italy. Remembering how independent I felt, roaming from country to country, hopping trains, constantly orienting myself to new cultures and languages all on my own, I felt proud. But then I thought, Why in the world am I acting like I can't get myself back to Europe? I've done such more difficult things in the past! I got dumped in the hills of Austria on a snowy night, following the train tracks back to town, for God's sake! I can DO this!
And almost like that, I thought, Decision made. Berlin, here I come. Again.
For the rest of the day, I felt more relaxed. I felt even a teeny bit happy.
That night, after hours of packing and tons of email catch up, I plopped myself into bed and decided to treat myself to some light reading. Cozy and warm, I opened my book to find my niece's sweet face staring at me. (I typically use her photos as my bookmarks). My eyes instantly began to water and I thought, But can I really?
I barely slept that night. I tossed and turned and had awful dreams. I woke up the next day, once again feeling discouraged and confused. Today, I saw Jack for the first time since Berlin. When I arrived at his day care to take him home, he ran to me with a huge grin on his face. He kept coming to me all night for hugs and cuddles. It felt so good. Yet, as we played with his toys from our Berlin days, I ached inside. I remembered which little play things I had stuffed into his stroller the day I took him to the top of the Reichstag. I thought about feeding him a warm pretzel from the bakery down the street on a blustery day. I recalled many nights of saying goodnight to him and his mother before throwing on some lipstick and hitting the cobblestone streets.
So here I am again. Tired, confused, staring at my niece's picture across the room. Universe, I think I know what I need to do but I really need a much bigger sign from you. I can wait til this weekend but please don't make me wait much longer. I'm tired.
These past few months, I've been begging the universe to give me a goddamn sign, to tell me what to do with my life. My married parent friends sometimes get so bogged down in their own stuff that my life seems very appealing to them. "You're so free! You can do whatever you want!" they might say to me. Then I remind them of my meager, inconsistent wage which does not quite allow me to do whatever I please. And those adventurous actions of mine that look so spontaneous to them? They are generally very calculated and often quite anxiety producing.
Sometimes, I yearn for a partner, not even for the romantic wonderfulness that is love but just so there would be another factor in my life which could serve as some sort of parameter. When you are "free" to do anything, the world can feel pretty damn overwhelming. However, if your partner is working his dream job in Portland, you've got a starting point.
Without parameters to help reign me in, I now find myself looking for signs.
As I was packing up a few days ago, I was digging through the pockets of an old suitcase when suddenly, a ten euro bill fell out of it. I stuck my hand in further and found a collection of old maps and train schedules. They were from my backpacking trip through Europe seven years ago. I smiled, thinking about my adventures back then. I had backpacked solo for four weeks through Spain, France, Belgium, Germany, the Czech Republic, and Austria before meeting my (then) boyfriend in Italy. Remembering how independent I felt, roaming from country to country, hopping trains, constantly orienting myself to new cultures and languages all on my own, I felt proud. But then I thought, Why in the world am I acting like I can't get myself back to Europe? I've done such more difficult things in the past! I got dumped in the hills of Austria on a snowy night, following the train tracks back to town, for God's sake! I can DO this!
And almost like that, I thought, Decision made. Berlin, here I come. Again.
For the rest of the day, I felt more relaxed. I felt even a teeny bit happy.
That night, after hours of packing and tons of email catch up, I plopped myself into bed and decided to treat myself to some light reading. Cozy and warm, I opened my book to find my niece's sweet face staring at me. (I typically use her photos as my bookmarks). My eyes instantly began to water and I thought, But can I really?
I barely slept that night. I tossed and turned and had awful dreams. I woke up the next day, once again feeling discouraged and confused. Today, I saw Jack for the first time since Berlin. When I arrived at his day care to take him home, he ran to me with a huge grin on his face. He kept coming to me all night for hugs and cuddles. It felt so good. Yet, as we played with his toys from our Berlin days, I ached inside. I remembered which little play things I had stuffed into his stroller the day I took him to the top of the Reichstag. I thought about feeding him a warm pretzel from the bakery down the street on a blustery day. I recalled many nights of saying goodnight to him and his mother before throwing on some lipstick and hitting the cobblestone streets.
So here I am again. Tired, confused, staring at my niece's picture across the room. Universe, I think I know what I need to do but I really need a much bigger sign from you. I can wait til this weekend but please don't make me wait much longer. I'm tired.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Lightness of My Being is Actually Quite Bearable
When I woke up this morning, I had one of those "Where the hell am I?" moments (and no, this does not mean I'm some kind of floozy). It took a few seconds for it to register that I was in my friend's guest bed. Right. Then I started calculating the many different beds I've slept in throughout the past month and when I thought of Berlin, Milwaukee, the north woods, and Brooklyn, I came up with ten different locations. Ten! No wonder my shoulders are so damn sore. I've been dragging my crap around, living the nomadic life for over a month!
As much as it has sucked not to have my own bedroom (though I will have one come this weekend), it has been a real eye opener to learn how very little I need to live. I went to Berlin with one suitcase and a carry-on. That got me through three months and I didn't even wear all of the clothes I brought. I even left some behind.
With another move on the horizon, I decided this past weekend that I was not going to once again drag a bunch of crap I know longer use/wear/like across town, only to haul it up yet another flight of stairs, never to look at it again. So before I dove into my closets, I made myself that promise...you know, that one golden rule that so many people try to abide by:
If I haven't worn it in the past year, it's gone.
Well, I did not entirely stick to this rule but that's mostly because I don't know what kind of job I will be in six months from now. (Plus, I'm a sucker for dresses). However, there was definitely enough in the clothes department that I simply couldn't stand to look at for one more season. A frugal girl, I tend to wear the crap out of my clothes. However, as I looked at one particular skirt and had flashes of an event I wore it to eight years ago, I gave myself permission to let it go. There are far too many pictures of me already wearing that damn thing.
Between the clothes, a whole lot of shoes I have found to be completely inappropriate for the pavement of NYC, and an array of other random stuff like velcro rollers and snowman decorations, I ended up with six garbage bags and four boxes full of stuff. A few things I sold but the majority ended up at the local Salvation Army. My wardrobe has easily been cut in half and somehow, this doesn't make me panic. I feel lighter than ever. More mobile. Freer to perhaps move overseas for a spell? Who knows?
So come Saturday, I will be moving clothes and a whole lot of paper products (books, magazines, stuff from writing classes) and that's about it. Oh, and Baxter the Cat. What else does a girl need aside from a few sweaters, a good read, and a snuggly cat?
I'm content.
As much as it has sucked not to have my own bedroom (though I will have one come this weekend), it has been a real eye opener to learn how very little I need to live. I went to Berlin with one suitcase and a carry-on. That got me through three months and I didn't even wear all of the clothes I brought. I even left some behind.
With another move on the horizon, I decided this past weekend that I was not going to once again drag a bunch of crap I know longer use/wear/like across town, only to haul it up yet another flight of stairs, never to look at it again. So before I dove into my closets, I made myself that promise...you know, that one golden rule that so many people try to abide by:
If I haven't worn it in the past year, it's gone.
Well, I did not entirely stick to this rule but that's mostly because I don't know what kind of job I will be in six months from now. (Plus, I'm a sucker for dresses). However, there was definitely enough in the clothes department that I simply couldn't stand to look at for one more season. A frugal girl, I tend to wear the crap out of my clothes. However, as I looked at one particular skirt and had flashes of an event I wore it to eight years ago, I gave myself permission to let it go. There are far too many pictures of me already wearing that damn thing.
Between the clothes, a whole lot of shoes I have found to be completely inappropriate for the pavement of NYC, and an array of other random stuff like velcro rollers and snowman decorations, I ended up with six garbage bags and four boxes full of stuff. A few things I sold but the majority ended up at the local Salvation Army. My wardrobe has easily been cut in half and somehow, this doesn't make me panic. I feel lighter than ever. More mobile. Freer to perhaps move overseas for a spell? Who knows?
So come Saturday, I will be moving clothes and a whole lot of paper products (books, magazines, stuff from writing classes) and that's about it. Oh, and Baxter the Cat. What else does a girl need aside from a few sweaters, a good read, and a snuggly cat?
I'm content.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Operation Release Shoulders
There's not much to do when it's eleven degrees and blowing except stay inside your parent's cozy house and eat yourself into a frenzy. Well, at least that's the conclusion I had come to last week. Per usual, my mom made a ridiculous amount of comfort food. Chicken noodle soup, hot beef sandwiches, chili, and all sorts of other wonderful things to warm my insides. And then there were all of the sweets....sugar cookies, caramel corn, peanut clusters, turtles, cheesecake, and on and on. Although I think most of us go a little overboard over the holidays, I knew that the comfort food could only comfort me so far. My niece, too, I realized was not responsible for making me smile (although she sure did a good job) and distracting me from the things that weigh on me. No, I needed to start taking steps to take care of myself which on the most basic level meant taking care of my body. So step one:
Take advantage of sister's position at optometrist office, utilize family discount, and get eyes checked for god's sake!
After three years, I knew it was time. The doctor very pleasantly informed me that I should be wearing glasses all of the time due to the astigmatism in my left eye (which I just found out upon writing this post is "astigmatism," not, "I have a stigmatism." How very interesting!) Anyway, my sis and her coworker helped me pick out some fun frames and I silently reminded myself that even though I hate wearing glasses, it will be nice to no longer squint when I order a burger.
Step two:
Take advantage of lovely Christmas present from smarty pants mother who knew that her daughter could use a nice massage. Yipee!!
If I were infinitely wealthy, here's where I would blow gobs of cash. I would pay someone to rub me down at least once a day. Therefore, when I was presented with a gift certificate to Integrative Massage and Bodyworks, I happily scampered off for my hour long massage. I knew I was in bad shape a few days before when my uncle simply rested his hands on my shoulder and I practically turned into a puddle. Yikes.
I asked the masseuse to work on my back, shoulders, and neck and she did a terrrrrrrific job. She used the perfect amount of pressure and worked out all sorts of knots, mostly in my shoulders (go figure). At one point, she thought that I had flinched from discomfort but I had actually been drifting off to sleep and did one of those weird twitchy moves instead. Now that's a sign of a good massage in my book. When the hour was up, I wanted to cry. (Another good sign). I finally had reached a level of much needed relaxation. When I left, I could actually breathe deeply and unclench my jaw.
So I'm working on it. Self-care seems like such a no-brainer; yet I, among many others, throw it to the wayside in order to make room for more "important" things. Stupid. Everyone, ditch work for a few hours and get a massage. Or get a physical. Or go to the gym. Just do something good for your body.
Oh, and that masseuse? Yeah...if you live in the Fox Valley, check her out! Totally reasonable rates and a peaceful, soothing atmosphere.
Integrative Massage and Bodywork, 1314 W. College Avenue, Suite 6, Appleton, WI
920-733-9999 or 920-450-0044
(And no, I did not receive any money to plug her services).
Take advantage of sister's position at optometrist office, utilize family discount, and get eyes checked for god's sake!
After three years, I knew it was time. The doctor very pleasantly informed me that I should be wearing glasses all of the time due to the astigmatism in my left eye (which I just found out upon writing this post is "astigmatism," not, "I have a stigmatism." How very interesting!) Anyway, my sis and her coworker helped me pick out some fun frames and I silently reminded myself that even though I hate wearing glasses, it will be nice to no longer squint when I order a burger.
Step two:
Take advantage of lovely Christmas present from smarty pants mother who knew that her daughter could use a nice massage. Yipee!!
If I were infinitely wealthy, here's where I would blow gobs of cash. I would pay someone to rub me down at least once a day. Therefore, when I was presented with a gift certificate to Integrative Massage and Bodyworks, I happily scampered off for my hour long massage. I knew I was in bad shape a few days before when my uncle simply rested his hands on my shoulder and I practically turned into a puddle. Yikes.
I asked the masseuse to work on my back, shoulders, and neck and she did a terrrrrrrific job. She used the perfect amount of pressure and worked out all sorts of knots, mostly in my shoulders (go figure). At one point, she thought that I had flinched from discomfort but I had actually been drifting off to sleep and did one of those weird twitchy moves instead. Now that's a sign of a good massage in my book. When the hour was up, I wanted to cry. (Another good sign). I finally had reached a level of much needed relaxation. When I left, I could actually breathe deeply and unclench my jaw.
So I'm working on it. Self-care seems like such a no-brainer; yet I, among many others, throw it to the wayside in order to make room for more "important" things. Stupid. Everyone, ditch work for a few hours and get a massage. Or get a physical. Or go to the gym. Just do something good for your body.
Oh, and that masseuse? Yeah...if you live in the Fox Valley, check her out! Totally reasonable rates and a peaceful, soothing atmosphere.
Integrative Massage and Bodywork, 1314 W. College Avenue, Suite 6, Appleton, WI
920-733-9999 or 920-450-0044
(And no, I did not receive any money to plug her services).
Sunday, January 10, 2010
@(*%&# MTA!
So it's pretty clear that I am struggling with the decision of where to plant myself for a while, right? NYC or Berlin. Well, if last night, I was forced to have made a choice, I would've said "SCREW YOU, NYC! I'm outta here!"
Oh wow, was I crabby. And all due to stupid JFK International and the always frustrating MTA.
For you non-New Yorkers, MTA stands for the "Metropolitan Transportation Authority." They really do not appear to be an authority of much. They definitely do not receive much love from New Yorkers, due to their unreliable schedules and general shitty service. Being a fan of mass transit, I typically defend the MTA because I think how difficult it must be to serve eight million people. However, even I have my limits.
Anyway, as if I wasn't already depressed leaving my family, I had to deal with stupid air travel issues. I detest the current security measures (really, taking my boots off is going to save the world?) but what I hate even more is the way JFK seems to perpetually overbook flights. I'm not sure if this is really the case but every time I fly, I end up landing ahead of schedule and then sitting on the runway for fifteen minutes or so because there are 600 other planes ahead, waiting for a gate.
So even though we landed at 7:45pm last night, I didn't get out of that plane til 8:10 or something. Then, unless you've got a taxi waiting for you, JFK makes you pay to leave their damn airport. I always think of that line from Hotel California..."You can check out any time you'd like but you can never leave." So I take the stupid little AirTrain and pay $5 just go be released. Ugh.
Now it's on to the A train. Freezing cold, I wait and wait. Finally, as I'm wrapping on a phone conversation with my mom, it arrives. After a 20 minute ride, the conductor announces that it is going to stop service at the next stop and that we all have to take a shuttle bus if we want to continue on the A route. Did I mention that I was hauling a forty pound bag filled with Christmas presents?
So I haul my shit up the stairs, wait again in the cold, squeeze onto the shuttle bus, take it to the Jay Street stop, walk a few blocks to Lawrence Street so I can catch the R only to realize that now it is late enough that only the N runs from there to 59th Street so I must take another train, wait and wait and wait at 59th (we are talking about the R here), get out a few stops later, find only one glove in my pocket, get stuck behind the slowest moving pack of teenagers on earth on the sidewalk, start crying because I'm cold, hungry, and tired, and then fumble with my keys for a few minutes before I finally haul my shit up to my third floor apartment.
It was almost 11pm when I walked in the door. My journey from JFK was only one hour less than my whole trip from Wisconsin (which included an hour layover in Detroit.) Seriously?
So NYC, I'm hating you HARD CORE today. Why do you gotta go and make my life so miserable sometimes? I know you'll do something awesome soon enough to change my mind, like allowing some crazy Danish artist to install artificial waterfalls along the East River or something like that. But at the moment, we are not speaking. Got it??
Oh wow, was I crabby. And all due to stupid JFK International and the always frustrating MTA.
For you non-New Yorkers, MTA stands for the "Metropolitan Transportation Authority." They really do not appear to be an authority of much. They definitely do not receive much love from New Yorkers, due to their unreliable schedules and general shitty service. Being a fan of mass transit, I typically defend the MTA because I think how difficult it must be to serve eight million people. However, even I have my limits.
Anyway, as if I wasn't already depressed leaving my family, I had to deal with stupid air travel issues. I detest the current security measures (really, taking my boots off is going to save the world?) but what I hate even more is the way JFK seems to perpetually overbook flights. I'm not sure if this is really the case but every time I fly, I end up landing ahead of schedule and then sitting on the runway for fifteen minutes or so because there are 600 other planes ahead, waiting for a gate.
So even though we landed at 7:45pm last night, I didn't get out of that plane til 8:10 or something. Then, unless you've got a taxi waiting for you, JFK makes you pay to leave their damn airport. I always think of that line from Hotel California..."You can check out any time you'd like but you can never leave." So I take the stupid little AirTrain and pay $5 just go be released. Ugh.
Now it's on to the A train. Freezing cold, I wait and wait. Finally, as I'm wrapping on a phone conversation with my mom, it arrives. After a 20 minute ride, the conductor announces that it is going to stop service at the next stop and that we all have to take a shuttle bus if we want to continue on the A route. Did I mention that I was hauling a forty pound bag filled with Christmas presents?
So I haul my shit up the stairs, wait again in the cold, squeeze onto the shuttle bus, take it to the Jay Street stop, walk a few blocks to Lawrence Street so I can catch the R only to realize that now it is late enough that only the N runs from there to 59th Street so I must take another train, wait and wait and wait at 59th (we are talking about the R here), get out a few stops later, find only one glove in my pocket, get stuck behind the slowest moving pack of teenagers on earth on the sidewalk, start crying because I'm cold, hungry, and tired, and then fumble with my keys for a few minutes before I finally haul my shit up to my third floor apartment.
It was almost 11pm when I walked in the door. My journey from JFK was only one hour less than my whole trip from Wisconsin (which included an hour layover in Detroit.) Seriously?
So NYC, I'm hating you HARD CORE today. Why do you gotta go and make my life so miserable sometimes? I know you'll do something awesome soon enough to change my mind, like allowing some crazy Danish artist to install artificial waterfalls along the East River or something like that. But at the moment, we are not speaking. Got it??
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Rollin' Along the Highway
So I learned something during my two hour drive to and from Milwaukee last weekend. Although I hate to admit it because I'm mass transit's number one fan, I really miss driving.
Yeah, I love to go flying down the highway but what I really miss, I've realized, is singing at the top of my lungs. When you live in an apartment where the construction folks apparently forgot that little detail of insulation, blasting the tunes and belting out the lyrics to My Sharona isn't really an option (although the dude below seems to think otherwise).
Anyway, it was absolutely liberating to crank up the music in my mom's little wagon and sing to my heart's content. The funniest part of it all, though, was that I didn't have any of my own music with me so I had to make do with the radio. I don't know if any of you are familiar with northern Wisconsin radio but like many other remote areas, the DJs seem to have trouble embracing anything that isn't pop or classic rock. Oh, and they love the 80s, which quite frankly, I'm not gonna complain about. Give me Duran Duran and New Order any day. Regardless, my whole life seemed to flash before my eyes on the highway, starting with...
Just a small town girl, living in a LONELY world. She took a midnight train, going anywhere...
(I detest Journey; yet always feel compelled to scream the lyrics to this song).
You ask if I love you. What can I say? You know that I do and that this is just one of these games that we play... (The sweetest memories of my sister and I quietly waiting for the DJ to stop his jabbering over the intro so we could tape this song off the radio with her crappy Panasonic).
She's got eyes of the bluest skies as if they thought of rain. I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain. (This, to be sung particularly loud and Axl Rose-y-ish...homage to my middle school, big hair days).
And perhaps even louder, in honor of my UWM days...
AND I'M HERE TO REMIND YOU OF THE MESS YOU MADE WHEN YOU WENT AWAY. IT'S NOT FAIR TO DENY ME OF THE CROSS I BEAR THAT YOU GAVE TO ME..YOU, YOU, YOU, OUTTA KNOW!
And then when the radio really sucks, I turn it off and sing to myself. Really, really loud. One of the best driving songs?
Well, I'm rollin' along the highway, living the life I'm used to. I thought about you alllllllll the way from Little Rock to Houston. But I can't seem to get you off my mind cuz you're tied to somebody else. I think about you all the time and I just can't help myself...
Surprisingly I am not hoarse but damn, what a good release that was, kinda like the way I used to feel after banging on the piano for a few hours after school. Speaking of, maybe it's time to dig out the ole' Chopin and give it a whirl. I shall call it Operation Release Shoulders. Actually, there are a whole lot of steps to that. Step one is actually:
Play with adorable 2-year-old niece as much as possible.
And that reminds me, I should really go. I told my sister and brother-in-law that I would take little Miss Autumn for myself today. And here I sit in my pajamas, without coffee (WHAT?!?!) and she is going to wake up any second. So I shall bid you adieu.
Oh, but before I go, if anyone has great stress relief tips (I'm totally serious here), please post! (Mass quantities of Jameson do not count either).
Yeah, I love to go flying down the highway but what I really miss, I've realized, is singing at the top of my lungs. When you live in an apartment where the construction folks apparently forgot that little detail of insulation, blasting the tunes and belting out the lyrics to My Sharona isn't really an option (although the dude below seems to think otherwise).
Anyway, it was absolutely liberating to crank up the music in my mom's little wagon and sing to my heart's content. The funniest part of it all, though, was that I didn't have any of my own music with me so I had to make do with the radio. I don't know if any of you are familiar with northern Wisconsin radio but like many other remote areas, the DJs seem to have trouble embracing anything that isn't pop or classic rock. Oh, and they love the 80s, which quite frankly, I'm not gonna complain about. Give me Duran Duran and New Order any day. Regardless, my whole life seemed to flash before my eyes on the highway, starting with...
Just a small town girl, living in a LONELY world. She took a midnight train, going anywhere...
(I detest Journey; yet always feel compelled to scream the lyrics to this song).
You ask if I love you. What can I say? You know that I do and that this is just one of these games that we play... (The sweetest memories of my sister and I quietly waiting for the DJ to stop his jabbering over the intro so we could tape this song off the radio with her crappy Panasonic).
She's got eyes of the bluest skies as if they thought of rain. I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain. (This, to be sung particularly loud and Axl Rose-y-ish...homage to my middle school, big hair days).
And perhaps even louder, in honor of my UWM days...
AND I'M HERE TO REMIND YOU OF THE MESS YOU MADE WHEN YOU WENT AWAY. IT'S NOT FAIR TO DENY ME OF THE CROSS I BEAR THAT YOU GAVE TO ME..YOU, YOU, YOU, OUTTA KNOW!
And then when the radio really sucks, I turn it off and sing to myself. Really, really loud. One of the best driving songs?
Well, I'm rollin' along the highway, living the life I'm used to. I thought about you alllllllll the way from Little Rock to Houston. But I can't seem to get you off my mind cuz you're tied to somebody else. I think about you all the time and I just can't help myself...
Surprisingly I am not hoarse but damn, what a good release that was, kinda like the way I used to feel after banging on the piano for a few hours after school. Speaking of, maybe it's time to dig out the ole' Chopin and give it a whirl. I shall call it Operation Release Shoulders. Actually, there are a whole lot of steps to that. Step one is actually:
Play with adorable 2-year-old niece as much as possible.
And that reminds me, I should really go. I told my sister and brother-in-law that I would take little Miss Autumn for myself today. And here I sit in my pajamas, without coffee (WHAT?!?!) and she is going to wake up any second. So I shall bid you adieu.
Oh, but before I go, if anyone has great stress relief tips (I'm totally serious here), please post! (Mass quantities of Jameson do not count either).
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Congrats, J & J
I'm gonna get a little Golden Girls on you here:
Picture it, Milwaukee, 1998...
Six young women start jobs at a child welfare agency in Milwaukee's inner city. The stress of the job along with their giant hearts quickly bond them. As the years go by, they leave the agency, one by one, to pursue other endeavors. However, the six of them remain tight, meeting at least twice a year for dinner, drinks, and even the occasional slumber party. As jobs change, moves are made, babies are born, these six ladies with their hearts of gold amazingly remain single. In fact, despite all of them giving past clients advice about the tenets of a healthy relationship, each of the six have at least one experience with a complete, utter loser.
Then the year 2009 rolls around. One night, over tacos and margaritas, one of the ladies announces that she has found her "Prince Charming." Her dreamy smile tells the others that this is no joke. The other five are ecstatic and not entirely surprised to learn six months later that their good friend is engaged. Soon after, one of the six flies in from New York for the Christmas holiday and spends an evening with her good friend and new fiance'. While grilling them both about a wedding date, it becomes evident that both are eager to finalize this thing as soon as possible. After numerous logistical questions, it becomes even more obvious that it would be feasible to make this wedding happen by the following week. Within two hours, two old friends and one very excited fiance' banged out the details for a lovely little wedding.
So last night, amongst a few dozen others, six good friends met at a romantic little reception at the Coquette Cafe, clinked glasses, and wished their new married friend the best of luck. One friend is certain, though, that no luck is needed. It is clear that these two are meant to be and that 2010 is off to a beautiful start.
Picture it, Milwaukee, 1998...
Six young women start jobs at a child welfare agency in Milwaukee's inner city. The stress of the job along with their giant hearts quickly bond them. As the years go by, they leave the agency, one by one, to pursue other endeavors. However, the six of them remain tight, meeting at least twice a year for dinner, drinks, and even the occasional slumber party. As jobs change, moves are made, babies are born, these six ladies with their hearts of gold amazingly remain single. In fact, despite all of them giving past clients advice about the tenets of a healthy relationship, each of the six have at least one experience with a complete, utter loser.
Then the year 2009 rolls around. One night, over tacos and margaritas, one of the ladies announces that she has found her "Prince Charming." Her dreamy smile tells the others that this is no joke. The other five are ecstatic and not entirely surprised to learn six months later that their good friend is engaged. Soon after, one of the six flies in from New York for the Christmas holiday and spends an evening with her good friend and new fiance'. While grilling them both about a wedding date, it becomes evident that both are eager to finalize this thing as soon as possible. After numerous logistical questions, it becomes even more obvious that it would be feasible to make this wedding happen by the following week. Within two hours, two old friends and one very excited fiance' banged out the details for a lovely little wedding.
So last night, amongst a few dozen others, six good friends met at a romantic little reception at the Coquette Cafe, clinked glasses, and wished their new married friend the best of luck. One friend is certain, though, that no luck is needed. It is clear that these two are meant to be and that 2010 is off to a beautiful start.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Accidental Traditions
I don't exactly have a New Year's Eve tradition; however, throughout the past five years, I seem to often find myself having a lovely dinner with old Milwaukee friends at their home. Before their son came into the picture, these two would be the first ones to be out on the town, whooping up the new year. However, that swiftly changed once they started looking for child care for December 31st. No worries, though. They just decided to change their tradition to a quiet night in and I, as the regular nomadic singleton, have generally been invited to join in.
So once again, due to the graciousness of my friends, I stuffed myself with a delicious dinner (this year, it was crab legs) and once again, after the table was cleared, the tunes were cranked and their four-year-old son and I tore around the house, shrieking, this time with foam bullet guns. After I staged death in their foyer, we put the guns away and let Mr. Four-Year-Old take reign of the Ipod. He chose his favorite, Jack Johnson, and the four us commenced our very typical dance party next to the Christmas tree in the living room. As I looked around at the four of us, I had to laugh. What a funny little tradition we seem to have.
I am single, per usual, but this year, I am completely content with my status. I was thrilled to have a little sticky, rosy cheeked dance partner who refers to me as "Auntie Rachael" instead. It's fun to be adored as much as you love another human being. And it's absolutely wonderful to know that despite thousands of miles, you can just fall back in with certain people, as if you've never left.
Although this morning, I raise my coffee only, I can still say, "Prost!" Happy New Year, all. Hope it started off as a good one.
So once again, due to the graciousness of my friends, I stuffed myself with a delicious dinner (this year, it was crab legs) and once again, after the table was cleared, the tunes were cranked and their four-year-old son and I tore around the house, shrieking, this time with foam bullet guns. After I staged death in their foyer, we put the guns away and let Mr. Four-Year-Old take reign of the Ipod. He chose his favorite, Jack Johnson, and the four us commenced our very typical dance party next to the Christmas tree in the living room. As I looked around at the four of us, I had to laugh. What a funny little tradition we seem to have.
I am single, per usual, but this year, I am completely content with my status. I was thrilled to have a little sticky, rosy cheeked dance partner who refers to me as "Auntie Rachael" instead. It's fun to be adored as much as you love another human being. And it's absolutely wonderful to know that despite thousands of miles, you can just fall back in with certain people, as if you've never left.
Although this morning, I raise my coffee only, I can still say, "Prost!" Happy New Year, all. Hope it started off as a good one.
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