Changing the gameplan

I've been away for awhile now, but, you'll be glad to know that i've used the time wisely. First off, I've gotten a job, a full time job. And the best part? IT'S IN WRITING!!! That's right folks, I am a WRITER! I now do the 9-5 thing (actually 10-5) for a website called Puckermob. Think buzzfeed, top ten lists etc, but nevertheless, it's a full time writing job! I'm still trying to figure out the Forensic Science side of things but, to that effect, i'm planning on going back to school. Sometimes I look at my life and think about how it doesn't look anything remotely like I thought it would; I'm seperated, soon to be divorced, one miscarriage down and two years shy of the high risk pregnancy zone, and to top it all off, i'm living in my parent's basement. But then I remind myself how much I have to be thankful for; living with my parents (rent free) has allowed me to take a job I really love that doesn't pay well. Day by day, I find myself slowly (very, very slowly) shedding my old persona and committing to a new gameplan.

Becoming who you are.

I'm a writer. I. am. a. writer. What I write is not important. What I write is not meaningful. What I write is strictly for entertainment purposes only, meant to fill the gaps between texts and reruns of How I met your mother. I know all this but the fact reamins that 3-4 days a week I get up at an obscene hour, trek to the bus stop, make my way downtown where, after grabbing my mandatory vanilla latte, I sit at a desk and get paid to write. Sigh. I have been waiting my whole life to say that. Normally I loathe self admiration but tonight i'm going to make an exception and post the links to the articles that i've been writing; have a look and let me know what you think: http://www.puckermob.com/fun/clever-sayings-as-seen-on-tshirt http://www.puckermob.com/fun/over-it-10-facebook-statuses-that-must-be-stopped

Waiting for right now

“I said remember this moment, in the back of my mind. The time I stood with my shaking hands……” The words of my girl Taylor run through my mind the night before I start my new job. I have just been hired as a writer at Puckermob. Let me say that again. I HAVE JUST BEEN HIRED AS A WRITER. A writer that gets to pick her topics EVERY SINGLE WEEK! This, my friends, is the dream. Well, if it were my own column in the Post it would be the dream, but this is pretty close. Puckermob is an awesome online publication that features current, informative, and fun articles on a variety of topics. And, as of tomorrow, some of those articles will be written by me! I wish I could express all that I’m feeling right now; All day ideas for articles have been flashing through my mind (Which is good considering that I have to pitch five article ideas tomorrow) but along with them, a steady current of apprehension. OMG, is this real? Can this actually be happening? What if I screw it up? This could possibly be the first step on my path to……everything. It’s like I landed this job and suddenly I can see my path lit before me…..the possibilities are endless. And yet, the possibilities for disaster are also endless. All I want is for this to work out, for this to become something…..real. And I know that’s up to me (for the most part), which scares the hell out of me.

Showing my Disney side.

I'm standing in front of the full length mirror critiquing my appearance. Blue dress with sparkly purple tulle peeking out from the bottom. Hair braided in a circlet framing my face and a jeweled headband that could totally pass for a tiara. Dress for the job you want right? And, what's wrong with wanting to be a princess? Seriously? Awhile back I listened to a radio program where they were discussing how the Disney Princess persona negatively affects girls. Really? That's what's wrong with society today? Cinderella? "Today's culture teaches women that their worth is more about beauty and less about their intelligence. The “princess effect” has taken a toll on how young girls grow into the mature emotionally developed women." This is from an article denoting the supposed negative effect Disney Princesses have on young girls. Um, I’m pretty sure this standard was established long before Walt starting producing stories about girls in long dresses that could talk to animals (Maybe that's the concept we should be exploring....). Another quote from this article is as follows "These princesses are teaching girls they have to have perfect light skin, the best jewelry, and the thinnest waist. To make all of this happen most people receive plastic surgery." Well there is another option: PARENT YOUR CHILDREN!!!! from the day they are born your daughters will be bombarded with thousands of images and ideals. Make sure yours is the loudest and remind them that THEIR opinion is what counts and they should be fine. Worked for me. And my sister. And all of my cousins (most of whom are girls). "Most Disney princesses act as a “damsel in distress” which portrays them to be taken care of in order to survive." I can rebuff this argument in three words: Merida, Elsa, and Anna. All three are strong, confidant women with awesome personalities. And, technically they're all single (Though the argument could be made that Anna is starting a relationship by the end of the movie). Okay, last one "Not only does our society look up to these Disney princesses and celebrities but also Royal princesses like Princess Kate. If we think about our childhood we all fell in love with at least one Disney princess, well things have not changed. Everyone has fell in love with Princess Kate as well. It is very interesting how things have not changed from one age to another. Knowing this is SCARY. Making sure that society is educated on how princesses are unrealistic and not everyone will have a happily ever after is realistic." So, you go out of your way to point out that princesses don't exist in the real world using a real princess as an example? Sigh. Maybe I just don't get it. Or perhaps I just really, really want to be a Disney Princess and this article rains on my glitter parade. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a star I'd like to wish on......

#firstworldproblems

I’m sitting in my living room watching the antics of the housewives (Beverly Hills) eating pizza and margaritas while watching my sister try on the Louboutins she got for Christmas. These pursuits are only interrupted to challenge each other, or her non-romantic life partner (don’t ask) Bryan in Trivia Crack, a phone game that is aptly named. Kylie (my sister) and Bryan are not even supposed to be here; they are supposed to be in Utah at the Sundance Film Festival but yesterday, the East Coast got blasted with major snow, shutting down all airports from here to Ohio. Which means they’re stuck with us till tomorrow. This also means that this morning was spent on the phone, frantically trying to switch out tickets and worrying about vouchers. Well, as least we’re not worrying about Kylie’s fertility issues (She found out yesterday that she might not be able to have children). Or mine (to recap: miscarriage, heading for divorce, approaching high risk pregnancy age range). Or the fact that my mother feels like a failure of a parent. Or the fact that I have the job of a 14-year-old. Or the myriad of other things that usually fill up the space in our minds and keep my therapist employed. All day, every day we worry; Will I find someone I can actually spend the rest of my life with? Will I be able to have children? How can I advance my career? Where am I going to be in ten years? Hell, in 5 years! I find myself starting the day exhausted and I am almost certain my mother and sister feel the same. Still, we are blessed with so much, I try to always be very thankful that our lives are together enough to pay attention to nonsensical things; for example, what the hell is wrong with Brandy Glanville??

An Urban (love) Legend

“So you’ll never guess who’s getting married.” My sister exclaimed as we headed for Stew Leonard’s (Think a farm fresh version of Costco). “Who?” My cousin replied. “David!” My sister replied. “No way!, my cousin said, to whom?” “Remember that crazy night we had in the city back in October? The one where David ditched us for that blonde with the ridiculous boots?” my sister asked. My cousin drew in a deep breath “OMG!, she exclaimed, those tacky pleather snakeskin boots? And wasn’t she wearing a matching dress….wait! He’s marrying her?!” “Yup!” my sister said. “I totally thought that was a one night stand!” my cousin said. “Well I’m sure it started out that way…..my sister said. “Wait, wait, wait!, I exclaimed, so you’re saying, your friend had a one night stand? And now he’s going to marry her?? Yeah, I’ve heard that one before; it’s the relationship urban legend. Girl goes home with guy one drunken night, next thing you know; she’s sporting a 5 carrot ring. Notice how it always happens to a friend of a friend?” “But we actually know this guy Mar, my sister said, it’s totally happening.” “Please, I said returning to my trivia game, it never happens.” But then it occurred to me, I actually know someone who met their husband that way! And I was actually there when it happened! The scene: a dark, almost creepy bar. The crew: Two women (myself and the aforementioned friend) and two gay men. The guy: Tall, dark and snarky. He sauntered up to us and said something quippy. (I honestly couldn’t tell you what it was as I was betraying my pinstripe loyalty by cozing up to a former Red Sox). Whatever he said, it was obvious he was into Christina. So after (quite) a few drinks we were shoed out into the foggy night where Gene, Wes, and I got a cab and headed for the beach (We were roommates living in a beach house in San Francisco) while Christina took Nate up on his offer of a nightcap. Well, I thought after Christina assuring me she was fine and she really wanted to spend the night with him, this will become an interesting story, and boy was I right; A year later they are happily living in Texas. Wow! Dreams do come true. So there you have it. Christina and Mr. Big (Nate’s a hedge fund manager). My sister’s friend David and his snakeskin hottie. And me. Hanging out on the sidelines.

Surviving the Landminds

A message from a very close friend saw an already emotional evening descend into a blizzard of melancholy, anger, and confusion. Marlena and her husband have been trying for years to have a child, resulting in several miscarriages. In May they finally conceived and their angel Alexander was born on January 5th, 2015. Unfortunately, Alexander was born with Potter's Syndrome and lived less than a minute after birth. Upon hearing this news I became physically sick and dissolved into a torrent of tears (Which I think I’d been holding back all week). My heart is beyond crushed over this tragedy. Marlena is an incredibly kind, sweet, generous, all around wonderful person; I literally cannot think of a person less deserving of this tragedy (Not that anyone is deserving). And why I'm beside myself with grief over Marlena's loss it's made all the more heart wrenching by thoughts of my own reproductive future. I suffered a miscarriage of my own back in April and am now very preoccupied with pregnancy stats for older women (I'm 32 but high risk pregnancies start at 35 as previously mentioned I’m divorced) and the likelihood of future miscarriages. It never occurred to me that if I carried a child to term I'd lose them to the myriad of genetic disorders out there (Of course, it was promptly added to my list of things to worry about). Now, I in no way want to claim Marlena's tragedy and grief for my own but I honestly can't help drawing parallels. I feel like I am trying so hard to 'right the ship' so to speak, to fix my life but the more I try to plan, the more I'm reminded that I can't plan for everything and while I know that this is just how it goes I find it very difficult to deal with.

Knowing the signs

Normally I would go on and on about how little I know about life but, just for a change of pace, I thought I’d talk about what I DO know: I know how to find a deal on almost anything (seriously; I purchased a cruise for four for $567). I know the importance of getting along with your co-workers (even if you don’t like them). And I know the warning signs of a dangerous relationship. A few days ago my cousin had to work late (she’s a teacher and it was parent/teacher conference night). Normally she would leave her one year old daughter, Julia, with either her parents or her boyfriend’s parents but for some reason, on this particular night, she left Julia at home with her dad. Makes sense right? Well, naturally, Julia got sick at some point in the evening. Nothing serious, merely an upset tummy. And what does good ol’ dad do? Call my cousin and proceed to scream at her; for not answering her phone quickly enough (Again, she was working), for not being home when her child needed her. For choosing to work in general (recently, he suggested she quit her job and stay home). Hello, I’m a red flag. Now, to give Johnny (her boyfriend) the benefit of the doubt, this was the first time he was home alone with Julia (which might be a problem in itself) and I’m sure a sick child would terrify every new parent but making your girlfriend feel like an inadequate parent is not the way to handle it. In fact, making the mother of your child feel inadequate period is not okay. I think it’s a good rule of thumb that if your significant other attempts to dictate if/where/how often you work you might want to think about ditching them. This also applies if they attempt to control clothing, friends, contact with family, or, anything really. Now, if only I’d taken my own advice.

Moving on

“Remembering comes in flashbacks and echoes, tell myself it’s time now, gotta let it go, but moving on is impossible when I still see it all in my head….” I’m sitting at work, fighting my latest anxiety attack; the frustration starting in my toes and rising steadily, the inexplicable rage causing me to hyperventilate, and the exhaustion that will inevitably follow make certain that tonight’s shift will be especially long. Sigh. Tonight’s trip to frantic-vill wasn’t triggered by anything in particular. Except perhaps a conversation with my mother about a car. For a woman who loves me so much it’s amazing how a simple conversation with her can leave me in emotional upheaval (this goes double for my sister). Yesterday, after months of research, planning, negotiating, test driving, budgeting, and LOTS of thinking, I purchased a car. A 1996 Mazda Miata. A bit of a fixer upper, to quote the rock trolls but for $750, it’s the deal of the century. I knew my family (with the exception of Jay, my twin cousin) wouldn’t approve, mostly because it wasn’t their idea, but I did it anyway. Running through the rain, empowered by a couple of drinks, I cheerfully told my sister, who reacted more positively than expected. My mother’s reaction however, went exactly as I expected. “That money could have been put to better use”. Such as? “Don’t you think you should have run this past me first?” Actually, no. “I don’t think you really think things through.” Seriously?! I feel as if my entire life has been dictated by something other than my actual needs and desires. Loyalty. Obligation. Obsessive people pleasing. Outright fear. Now, for the first time, I am trying to make decisions based on MY needs and what’s best for ME. This is not as easy as it sounds; every step is shadowed by past false starts. Every move eclipsed by failed endeavors. I’m haunted by things in my past; things that I’ve had to do. Things that make me question who I am on an hourly basis. How am I supposed to move forward if my memories keep trying to drag me back? I’ll tell you one thing; My family second guessing the few decisions I have the courage to make certainly isn’t helping.

Knowing who your friends are (and who’s just trying to scam you).

Last week I saw what looked like an innocent Facebook post. An old acquaintance (I’m talking elementary school) posted that her goal was to get in shape in time for the holidays and inquired if there were any like minded people out there. For those of you following along at home, you know that ‘lose weight’ is on my (rather long) to-do list so I clicked on her status and commented as such. What resulted was a tiresome game of keep away centered around yet another ponzi scheme. You know the drill, ‘Oh, you’re looking to lose weight? You should check out this awesome program I found. I just joined yesterday and already I’ve lost 100 pounds! By the way, their hosting this awesome party on Saturday, it’s in North Dakota but everyone there is amazing, the head guru is going to personally transform the lives of everyone there. Totally worth giving up your entire weekend.’ Sigh. Really? People my age are still doing this? Seriously?? The ‘get rich by scamming your friends’ thing is for your late teens, when your only options are retail, food service, or cut-co. By 30 you should have a real job. Or at least pretend you have a real job. When people ask what you do it SHOULD NOT involve the buzz words ‘life changing’, ‘mentor’, or ‘low introductory rate.’ In fact, the only ‘buzz words’ you should be using at 30 are ‘lifestyle’, starter home’, or ‘family planning’. And if you are re-connecting on facebook you should probably avoid topics that involve attempting to talk people out of their hard earned money. There are a wealth of theories on how to make friends and influence people; but doing your impression of a snake oil salesmen? Dislike.

Having my cake.....and my waistlne too

So last week my sister and I went dress shopping for an upcoming event. First of all, I’d like to offer a bit of advice: never go shopping with someone who is a size 2, it will make you hate yourself. It doesn’t help that I have been a size four most of my adult life and suddenly I find myself fitting into a size six (or occasionally an eight). Now, I can hear you all already; OMG, is she really whining about being a size six (or eight)? Yes, and I’ll tell you why. Because I don’t like it. Plain and simple. I don’t like the idea of getting fat. Superficial? Perhaps but there is it is, another problem to solve. So, rather than whine I am jumping right in; I got on the scale last week and noted my weight (don’t you dare ask!), then I thought about my diet. I’m not a believer in traditional dieting, I think it makes the dieter hungry and grumpy and I’m grumpy enough as it is. I decided to start by trimming my lunches, since it’s my least favorite meal. Instead of eating leftovers or pizza for lunch, I have resolved to eat salads. Also, I am trying to eat yogurt and almonds for breakfast (I am not cutting out the coffee, priorities people!). And, of course I’ve started exercising. 65 sit ups a night to start, with the goal of making it 100. We have a treadmill and an elliptical which I also plan to use (eventually). My phone now has an app that allows me to track my calorie intake and exercise. I will re-weigh myself every month and note my progress. Stay tuned….size four here I come!

Dancing to the beat of my own violin.

I’m 2/3rds of the way through project runway, the part of the show where they critique the outfits. As I’m listening to the judges’ comments I’m drawing a comparison between the show and me fitting in (or not) with the rest of my family; rarely a day goes by around here that someone doesn’t comment on some part of me. Now, in my family’s defense I give them a lot of material. At any given moment I’m likely to waltz into the room wearing a tiara, I own more hair bows then the law should allow, and I’m obsesses with Disney princesses, like really obsessed. So, I get it, I’m weird. I delight in my weirdness. Trouble is, so does my family, just not in a way I’d like. “Who even owns a petticoat anymore?” my sister asks as I come in from work. Obviously I do as I’m clearly wearing one.

A 4G network......with perks!

A 4G network….with perks! You know what my life needs? Aside from a career, my own apartment, and perhaps a new pair of shoes (you know, for interviews)? A man. Scratch that. Men are a penny a dozen. What I need is a husband. Someone I enjoy coming home to every day. Someone I can raise a family with. Someone stable (read: good with money) and easy going, someone who’s got his priorities in order (read: doesn’t spend all his time getting drunk). I liken finding a life partner to finding a good phone; both must be easy to deal with, perform a variety of useful functions, and keep me entertained. Also, I feel like I am good at picking both, yet, after awhile, I always seem to end up looking for a new one. Now, as I mentioned before, I had a husband and as you might have guessed, I did not just describe him. My first model actually wasn’t all bad; Jealous, controlling, immature, but overall not a bad guy. We were together on and off since high school and we did a long distance thing for a year after I moved to San Francisco so it seemed like it made sense to get married. After we got married however, nothing did. For anyone who saw The Break up you know what I went through. “I don’t want you to do the dishes; I want you to want to do the dishes!” Exactly. I’m definitely ready for an upgrade. And this time around I know exactly what I want, or at the very least, what I don’t want. The problem is finding him. I think my problem is choosing based on aesthetics, I like purple phones and red hair and while these might well be good atritubutes they clearly don’t make for a lasting match so I decided I needed a new approach. Like so many before me I decided to try my hand at online dating. I figured a website would allow me to pick the precise traits I want in a man while ruling out the ones I didn’t, you know, like choosing a data plan. Turns out, it’s a bit more complicated than that. First I tried Zoosk. I created a profile and was matched with a few decent seeming people. Unfortunately, it seems that Zoosk only allows you to send one message for free and then insists you pony up for more. Really really irritating! So it was on to Okcupid! Where I met the guy who asked me to send him naked pics by way of greeting and the gem who stopped messaging me after, at his request, I sent him a recent pic. (The only difference between the pic I sent and the one on my profile: my hair is shorter). Next, I logged on to Plenty of Fish where I started chatting with a guy who seemed perfect, for about a week. That was how long it took for him to start asking if I would like to star in some of his fantasies, all of which were very, very x-rated. Oh and he asked me to marry him. Ugh! Why isn’t there a place where I can go, tell someone what I want, and have them produce it? You know, like a t-mobile store for guys.

The Next Chapter

Ten years ago I was a bright eyed 22 year old bursting with energy and lacking in experience (and practicality). On a whim I accepted a job with the American Red Cross, primarily because I didn’t know what else to do with myself, tossed the contents of my bedroom into several boxes, and headed west. Now, ten years, 20 (& change) lbs, and a failed marriage later I am right back where I started. The raw enthusiasm has been replaced by a sort of battle fatigue, what my sister refers to as my ‘little black rain cloud’ persona. I am NOT a little black rain cloud! It’s just that I believe in calling a spade a spade: I spent a decade wandering around in hippie dippie land (again, my sister’s term), married to a man who thought new cars were more important than rent, and basically accomplishing…….nothing. Now I’m back in Yonkers, spending my days eating frosted flakes while I look for work that doesn’t involve the phrase ‘do you want fries with that, and wishing I could turn back the clock. Speaking of which, my biological clock has been thundering in my ears of late, adding to the soundtrack of regret and self doubt. What did I say about not being a little black rain cloud? Never mind, I needed to focus on my list; step one, job! After pounding the pavement (electronically of course) I had lined up three interviews, two in queens and one in Staten Island. Who says persistence doesn’t pay off? Of course, these potential positions came with their own set of problems, mostly for my mother. Two of the positions were as a caregiver, which was the position I had before I left California. Personally, I love being a caregiver; I enjoy being on hand to enrich the lives of those in their golden years. My mother on the other hand felt I should be doing something more……more……well, just more. I suppose she isn’t wrong but…..I had to start somewhere right? Also, one of the care giving positions was in Staten Island. An hour or so away. If I drove. Which I don’t. On public transit it would take closer to two and a half which in my mother’s book (and my sister’s, and apparently everyone else’s) translated to skip it. “You’ll be so tired doing that commute everyday!, my mom explained, and when you do come home, you’ll defiantly be too tired to cook and clean!” Ah, now we come to the heart of the matter: since I got off the plane my mother has been telling me to relax, take it easy, take time to regroup. Catch my breath. Oh, and if I wanted to try out a recipe or two that would be alright. Naturally. Don’t get me wrong, making dinner every night for my family has been one of the few things that have made me feel useful since moving back home but that’s hardly a reason not to take a job in Staten Island. There are many, many reasons not to take a job in Staten Island, the list seems to grow every day, but playing Susie homemaker isn’t one of them. So Staten Island was out. As for the others, well, let’s just say they didn’t exactly pan out either, so where did that leave me? Lurking in my parent’s basement (I had progressed from the couch) watching Forensic Files. Sigh. The search continues.

Startng Over

What? The new 40? For that, I would have to know what 40 was like and the only experience I have with 40 is getting drunk at my mother’s 40’s birthday dinner and chanting to the older women “I’m 20 and you’re not, I’m 20 and you’re not……..” (Okay, Okay, perhaps not my smartest move). But seriously, what the hell are your 30’s supposed to be about? I know what I thought they were supposed to be about; Having a career you loved, or actively working towards one. Or at least having the slightest idea of what you want that career to be. By 30 you should be in a relationship, or know that you’re not the “relationship type.” If you want children you should have them (at least the first one right)? In short, you should have passed life 101 and be working on the more advanced courses. Unfortunately for me, I never was much of a student. George W. Bush said he was living proof that a “C” student could be president. Well, I am living proof that a “ C” student can also end up cramming their entire life into two suitcases and moving into their parent’s basement. Yup, that’s me; I gave up my cozy apartment in incredible, wonderfully wacky San Francisco to sleep on my sister’s old futon, be told to turn off the TV before bed, and sneak a drink with my friends. Like a friggin teenager! My first morning back in NY I sat on my parent’s couch (where I spent the night because my basement room wasn’t ready) and wondered “What the hell am I doing?” I sat there for a week and the most I figured out was that the house was in serious need of coffee (I’m the only coffee drinker in my family). By the following Monday I decided that, unless I indeed wanted to turn 40 in my parent’s living room (which would officially make me lamer than I was in high school) I had better get it together. So I did what I usually do: made a list. 1. Get a job!!! Easily the most important on the list; Getting a job was clearly the cornerstone of my “life makeover”. 2. Move out! (Again); this time, I’m thinking Philly. 3. Reinvention of self! (Mar-li 2.0?) There. I felt better already. Sort of. In any event, I attacked my list with gusto; On the job front I tweaked my resume and sent them out on the World Wide Web. Mostly, I applied for Home Health Care positions, which is what I did in California, but I also figured that now was as good a time as any to see if I could parlay my near obsession with the ID channel into an actual career, as I’ve always had a thing for forensic science. Instantly I pictured myself as a Crime Scene Tech; C.S.I windbreaker, pigtails tied with crime scene tape……yeah, I could defiantly live with that but how to start? Apparently this “fix my life” stuff wasn’t as easy as Dr.Phil made it look……