Sometimes you'll see someone and you'll wonder if they know something about themselves, like..."Do they know they have spinach in their teeth?" "Do they know their shirt is on backwards?" "I wonder if they know how large their nose is?" And sometimes we feel compelled to make them aware of the situation, so we might say something like "You have a little something..." while we gesture to our mouths. I suppose we do this to alert the person so they can avoid a possibly embarrassing situation, which is a noble and friendly gesture.
I write all this to say that if you've ever looked at me and felt compelled to tell me, "You're short!" I want to assure you that I am very well aware of my height. There is no need to point this out or make me aware. You are doing no service to me or yourself, and you are not saving me from potential embarrassment. First of all, there is nothing that I can do about my height. Taking a look at my family, it's quite apparent that nothing anyone could have done would have changed how tall I am. Second of all, I really have no problem with my height. I mean, sure, I have trouble finding proper length jeans and shirts sometimes, but overall I'm pretty comfortable with myself. And...you know...I'm sorry if there's something about my height that may bother you. Perhaps it reminds you of your own colossal height (or lack thereof), but these are your own inadequacies with which to deal. My height and me really have nothing to do with your height and you. Thank you, though, for I am sure your intentions are of the purest of heart, and your concern is only of my welfare. But again, I assure that I know of the situation and am well in control of it.
It's called a vagina, not a va-jay-jay!
]]>Six years ago today, I was asleep in my small, upper west side apartment unaware of the tragedy that would soon befall New York City. I had only arrived three days previous on September 8th, excited to live in a place I had dreamed of living since I was a little girl. I was wide-eyed and full of anticipation of where my adventures would lead.
Then my (not yet) husband woke me up to tell me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I jumped out of bed (which for those who know me, is quite a feat), to sit it in front of the television for the rest of the day and night to see the horror unfold before my eyes - as did most of the country. My husband and I watched in complete and utter shock. We called loved ones to assure them of our safety, and I remember talking to my mom before the second plane had hit. I assumed it was just an accident, even though in all my years of having lived in New Jersey I had never heard of such a thing happening. My mother hadn't either, and the conspiracy theorist in her dreaded the worst. I wish she had been wrong.
This day has brought mixed emotions ever since, and will probably do so for the rest of my life. I can still feel the shock I felt - on hearing the news, on watching that second plane come in from the side of the screen to hit the other building, on watching the towers that I had seen in that very specific New York skyline fall, on knowing that so many people had just died, on knowing I was only about five miles away from what was happening. And oddly enough I feel guilty. I feel guilty for feeling so affected by something that had actually little impact on my life compared to the victims and their families. I didn't know anyone in those towers. I didn't even really know anyone who was supposed to be in those towers. I didn't walk blocks in complete shock, covered in ash and soot. Hell, I didn't even have a plume of smoke floating over my building - couldn't even see it from my apartment. Everything went up the east side, not the west.
Nope. I just sat in my small, but luxurious Trump apartment, with its marble tiled bathroom - its twenty-four hour security - its concierge - its elevator - glued to my television set. Sure, I was afraid living in the city where this event occurred. I woke up at night when the jet fighters would fly over, fearing that another plane was going to hit another building. I woke up to turn on the radio or television to make sure something else tragic didn't happen. But, even though I was close, I was still far away. I watched everything unfold on television like the rest of the world. I was somewhat removed, even though it was happening mere miles from my doorstep. I wasn't directly affected - not in the same way lower Manhattan was or the victims or their families. So, I feel a little guilty for feeling so affected.
I know the thought is irrational. I know I have the right to feel this way. To feel sad, to feel angry, to still feel shocked by what happened. Just like any other New Yorker...or American...or hell, human being does. I know that living in the city at that time, was tragic, whether you were downtown or not. While the rest of the country moved on, we walked around our beloved city in a sort of daze, with a plume of smoke that hung over us as a constant reminder. We all walked passed the fire and police stations with the memorials for the courageous people who tried to save as many as they could. We all walked past the walls covered in photos and flyers asking - begging - for information on lost loved ones. We walked, and tried to continue on with our lives with these constant reminders all around us. We were all affected and hurt and damaged.
Still, I sometimes feel guilty.
I just had to blurt out that I LOVE Ella Fitzgerald's voice. Her vibrato is so light and beautiful, and the way she hits those high notes with such ease. Gah! I just love it!
]]>I've been going through old photo albums lately trying to rescue precious memories from those evil magnetic albums that turn pictures into poo after sitting in them for too long. While doing this, I've been coming across pictures of my dad, which, in turn gets me thinking about him. Something that my dad would often talk about was regret, and how I should live my life so that I regret nothing. He always said how he didn't want to be on his death bed racked with regret, and wanted to die knowing he lived the life he wanted to live. Obviously there were things he did regret, as I don't think there are many people who can live their lives regret free, but I'd like to think that he died knowing that he achieved his personal goal fairly well.
Lucille Ball apparently once said, "I'd rather regret the things that I have done than the things that I have not." And I have to say this is closer to how I feel. When I think back on the things I've done in my life, I've begun to realize that there isn't a whole bunch I've done that I have truly regretted. In fact the things that I have regretted doing are things that have happened years in the past and not in my recent history. However, there are things I've regretted not doing - people and relationships that have slipped through my fingers, missed opportunities, not indulging in that ice cream cone the other day ;) - and those to me are a larger crime. The fact that there are things left undone or opportunities that I missed are a bigger concern to me, because it means a missed experience...a different life.
Experiences are what make us who we are. I think most times if we make the jump to do something, we'll find in the end that we will have no regret, but if we let the thing pass us by, we may end up regretting not taking that opportunity. Living life in fear of the unknown is no way to live. Grasping life and running with the wind in your hair is a infinitely more exciting.
P.S. It seems like I'm a roll with blog posts lately. One about every 7 days or so. Woot!
Naked vs Nekkid:
Naked is when you have no clothes on.
Nekkid is when you have no clothes on AND you're up to somethin'.
You should be forewarned that the only purpose of this post is to rant about things that are currently pissing me off. So, if you don't want to read a rant, then you may want to go elsewhere, or in the very least skip this post.
1. Harry Potter
I love the Harry Potter books as much as the next person, but I'm not going to spend $250 to get the book TWO DAYS before it's supposed to arrive on my doorstep!
If you can't wait 2 days to get a book, perhaps you need to step back and reevaluate your priorities in life. IT'S JUST A BOOK!From the article: "That's right -- I've got one copy of Harry Potter 7, on July 17, and it can be yours as soon as July 19. Hurry! Confirmed payment by 6:30PM on July 18 will ensure delivery on July 19 by FedEx Priority Overnight!" read a message from a seller identified as "willpc" and based in Atlanta.
2. The iPhone
3. My apartment complex management.
I realize that you have work to do on the roof, and I'm all for fixing things that need to be fixed. However, perhaps you could give me more then three days notice to get all the shit off my deck. If I had a smaller deck it wouldn't be a big deal, but I don't. I have a two ton grill, two tables, two chairs, a bench, and various pots, etc. Not to mention the fact that my husband is out of town. If you had let us know last friday (which is a week's notice, mind you, and a little more realisitic), we could have taken care of everything over the weekend. But no. You decide to let me know three days before, for something that you have known about for some time. Thanks, assholes.
4. The bats outside my window at 3am.
Yes, you have to go and eat...whatever. Do you really have to do it at 3am right outside my window! Have some respect for the non-nocturnal creatures!
And there you have it. My insane rant for the moment. Hope you enjoyed it.
/goes off to yell at the neighborhood kids to get off her damn lawn.
In a recent discussion with a friend, it was suggested to me to write about what I am passionate. I think for most people that this question is somewhat easily answered, at least on a superficial level. "I love video games!" "I love music!" "I love my job!" All are very appropriate answers to the question. However, I am never so simple. "What am I passionate about?" I asked him. Because I truly haven't a clue.
I'm not sure there is anything that I feel so strongly about that I would call the emotion passion. For example, I'm a graphic designer currently, and whereas I enjoy it, I don't know that I'm "passionate" about it. There are definitely things within the design community that I feel passion for. I love typography and happen to be a type purist. When I'm working with type, I try not to alter the type too dramatically if at all, and it urks me when I see my favorite font twisted into a former shell of it's beauty by some ignorant or egotistic designer. I am very interested in information design and get angered when the design of a piece hinders it's communication - because for me, that is what design is about - communication. Even though I have strong opinions on these subjects, I don't know that I have it in me to write about them. Or at least not enough to give voice to it in blog form. Perhaps an essay here and there...but a blog? Nah.
I suppose you could say I'm passionate for video games as well. I mean while, I was in school I designed a whole magazine targeted to women gamers. Then again, I don't feel like writing about it. I just don't care that much.
The only thing that I can think of that I might be passionate enough to write about would be music...but do I really? Is there enough in me to warrant a blog on music? Do I have anything to add really to what's already written about music? Sadly, I don't think I do. And even if I did, what I would write about would be for such a niche audience that I don't even know that it would be worth my time. Especially, since I don't know nearly as much as the experts (self-proclaimed or otherwise).
I'm not sure where any of this leaves me though. I'm back at square one, wondering what I'm passionate about, and what I should focus my blog on. Writing this has given me a few inklings of ideas, but I doubt this blog will be focused on any specific aspect.
Perhaps I'm just passionate about writing...the way words work together... Or maybe I'm just boring. ;) That is always a definite possibility.
I thought it was time to customize the banner on the blog. It's something I've been dabbling with for a while now, but haven't figured out what exactly to do. I didn't want to change the name of the blog, because it's something that has made me giggle since the first time the words were uttered from my husband's mouth..."I'm just a bug on the windshield of life, baby." (Ok, perhaps he didn't say the baby part, but if fits, doesn't it?)
So, here are the fruits of my labor...although it wasn't much labor. Anywho, it's fun and it works and makes me happy. Hope everyone else enjoys it too. :)