Wednesday, December 21, 2011


You know where that slice of pie is?


(In my belly).

Sure, I could decline the frosted snowman sugar cookies and festive bag-fulls of flavored popcorn and chocolate bars the size of my face. But I don't. Because I'd hate to be a Grinch. (Or... I have zero self-control during the month of December).

Christmas is the opportune time to pound sugary treats like it's my business.

My pants disagree.

That cellophane bag, all cutesy with its glittery candy cane tag?

It's taunted the shit out of me all week. Sitting on my desk, loaded with loot like this...


So guess what I did?

Chopped it up... all of it... and dropped it in some cookie dough.

Call it an effort to keep my (already-chubby) cheeks from doing their best marshmallow impression. And don't ask questions. You cram eight kinds of candy bar into cookie dough and it's going to be good.





Sunday, December 18, 2011



Ah, airports.

Systematic. Sterile. Predictable.

Numbers and letters and cities scroll in coded combinations.

The clacking of suitcase wheels against the cold tile. The paging of anonymous passengers.

The news of the day hums in the background on a TV no one is watching. And Starbucks is always two gates away.

Glancing at a crumbled paper ticket. Shuffling from one terminal to the next. Best-selling paperbacks and every imaginable flavor of chewing gum await.

A portal of unending motion. Coming. Going. Waiting.

Nobody stays. We’re all just passing through.

And no arrival exists without a departure. But it’s the arriving I prefer.

Friday, December 2, 2011


Ed. note: What's this, you ask? A new post? Well, yes. But not from me. When a (particularly hilarious) friend tweets that she's cooking up a guest post, you just say yes.

On balance.

In Uncategorized on December 2, 2011 at 6:29 am

“One time, long ago, two best friends made each other a solemn promise: one day, they’d cohost a talk show that would enjoy a meteoric rise to daytime TV fame. Think of Ellen’s humor plus Oprah’s generosity plus Nate Berkus’ argyle sweater minus The View, times wit and heart. (Easy math for culturally-savvy gal like myself.)

By that, I mean I sat behind a girl in a high school class, made her laugh once, and she said, “Hey. Be a guest on my talk show.”

And that invitation (which in retrospect may very well have been an extension of pity to an angsty 17-year-old) led to me asking, years later, if I could guest write a post on her blog. Per usual, she was very gracious and here I am.

But the truth is, I’m not sure I even belong here.

I can’t bake. And B., (of B. on a Whim, of course) bakes. And she posts recipes of the things she bakes and the recipes are more complicated than my cookie recipe.

  1. Preheat oven to 350.
  2. Eat stack of Chips Ahoy cookies.
  3. Turn off oven.

I take pictures, too, but the last picture I took on my phone was for practical purposes. And even with a toy camera photo filter, the image is still, well… this:

Seriously, that's all they are.

A tire. I sent it to my dad because I was proud of my new tires.

So why am I here? I’m NO B.

Her last post was about finding balance, and I guess you could say that mine is too. But it’s not about finding a balance between work and leisure. It’s about finding a different balance.

See, one of the reasons I read B.’s blog is because she inspires me. I love the way she writes. She makes me wish I had the vocabulary or hell, the motivation, to write like she does. It’s easy, it’s graceful, and it pisses me off.

Because I don’t write that way. I start sentences with “and” and “because” and my writing style is a lot more conversational than a lot of people are comfortable with and sometimes I form entire paragraphs out of run-on sentences that aren’t correct but damn it if you aren’t reading it with the same emotion that I intended for it.

So where’s the balance? Somewhere between “pity-invite” and “talk-show-co-host”. Somewhere between “damn-she’s-good” and “i-can-do-that.”

And somewhere between “wishing-i-were-someone-else” and “being-happy-with-myself.”

Run-on sentences and all.”


Ed. note: Yes. Another one. Snippets of the email I sent to R. (Lady Guest-Bloggah) after reading her post this morning... "One...... the talk show proposition in high school was pure sincerity. Pity? Pshhh. I was straight jealous. I was certain Ryan Zaring was in love with you freshman year. I didn't make him laugh or know a damn thing about the Rangers. Two...... you make me sound like I have it all together. Fun fact.... I so don't. I try to keep it light. But ohhhh, the stories. I'm working way too much, making way too little and being semi-financially-irresponsible in between. Oh, and I ended a four year relationship because (deleted on account of brutal honesty). Don't let the pretty pictures fool you. They're all taken with my phone and a good photo app anyways. (There's irony buried somewhere in that). Three and four..... I don't know when the world will put us in the same place, but we've got to drink together before we die. I'm a really good listener after a few tequila shots. Pen pals in the meantime. And by pen pals, I mean the exchange of emails on a semi-regular basis because God knows I can never remember to buy stamps."