father's day weekend/tuesday reviewsday

 You guys. This weekend was so jam packed. I literally didn't take a single picture.

That's a lie. I took one. This is it:

Some pretty dismissive graffiti as seen in Park Slope 

oh! And this one:

There is a coffee called Jet Fuel.
I don't think anyone should drink this.

They really have nothing to do with anything that I did this weekend at all.

My mom and dad got into town late on Friday night. We spent most of the weekend eating - which is a favorite thing in this family. Honestly, we just leave food out on the counters at all times and graze like cattle. It's totally different from what I'm used to, because I never really get to eat during the days normally - except for regular meals - because I'm all runrunrungogogo all the time. But it was nice to have the weekend to be a little lazy and spend time with my people.

My dad was definitely in "fix up the nest" mode. He installed some lights over my sink (which I had no idea that I needed until they were there), rigged up a towel bar in the guest bathroom, and hung my new jewelry case (this fancy, wall mounted, mirrored, vintage looking thing that my mom got for me. Totally amazing from Kirklands - where she works! Check it out here.) up with B. I should've taken pictures of these processes, but I was too busy eating Eat N Park Smiley cookies and laying on the couch with my mom and the cats.

Saturday, we went to Lowe's and did laps of the inside of the building until I thought I would drop of starvation (note: eating your weight in Smiley cookies and iced tea doesn't store up calories for a long trip to the hardware store. I know, I was shocked too.) Then we went home, dropped my dad off, and my mom and I went on a little excursion to Manhattan for errands like Target and Marshals. You know, really important stuff.

We were all so done when we got home that we ate chinese take out together at the kitchen table instead of going out to eat for dinner. I then proceeded to pass out on the couch, sleeping on my moms shoulder, while we watched Robert Downey Jr's Sherlock Holmes for the second time. I could not be woken up. Eventually I zombie walked back to my bed and passed out on top of the covers. I do not remember any of this. Ben also tells me that I said sleepily, "I need a cookie." before falling face first onto my pillow. Clearly Saturday wasn't my most attractive day, but luckily I was surrounded by people that would like me anyway.

Sunday, we hung around for most of the day. We went to Coney Island (I am SUCH an idiot for not taking pictures), specifically to Nathan's, and ate (some more!). My dad was happy with his hot dog and soft shell crab sandwich. Ben and I ate cheese fries and ice cream.We couldn't find a parking spot, so we ended up just hanging out in an illegal parking spot with the windows down, watching cops not ticket anyone and eating our amazing beach food.

For the finale of our weekend, we went to father's day dinner (I know, you're fully shocked that we still had room to eat more food. I am too. It's a miracle.) at a VERY sweet little Park Slope find called Scalino. It was SO GOOD. SO GOOD. I actually said, "This sauce is made from the tears of angels, it's so good." My mom proceeded to tell the owner what I said, and I couldn't tell if he was rolling his eyes or genuinely tickled by my fancy metaphor. The meal was ridiculous. I would tell you about everything I ate, but I think we tried one of everything on the menu. And, for four of us, the bill was only $150. Seriously. In New York, this is practically a miracle. If you're local, go to Scalino. And take me with you.

A brief word about my dad...
My dad is great. He's smart, fun, and affectionate. He knows SO MUCH stuff about so many things. He's warm, and funny. I've just spent an entire weekend with him, so I'm a little spoiled. Thank you for putting things up for me, showing me how to do things that I never would've thought to do. Thanks for teaching me about baseball stadiums, Sherlock Holmes stories, and how to be real person. I appreciate it more than I ever say. I love you a whole bunch. <3

A brief word about my husband...
You're a great dad. I love you. Thank you for sacrificing your time and working so hard to provide for us. We all love you. Even Sookie. No one emailed me and told me that you were the worst today. ;)

Happy Father's Day guys.

This sort of became an epic post.

The short story is, I wish they could've stayed longer.

...

Also today...

I hit 50 GFC followers. I cannot believe that 50 people care to read what I write. Thank you friends. It means a lot.

I'm participating in this little GFC bloghop sponsored by The life of a not so ordinary wife and a bunch of other fab gals.

I'm also fully planning to do a Tuesday 10 today... just dragging a bit from the wicked weekend.

sassy chicago shenanigans

I have such a special treat for you guys today.

Taylor, the sassy brain behind The Daily Tay, is here to visit with us today and share some of her incomparable insights.

I think this girl is adorable and hilarious. A lethal combination. I also charmed her by using the word "lady balls" in our very first conversation. Clearly, we are a match made in heaven.

Without further ado...

~*~
Happy Thursday Perched Readers!

My name is Taylor

and I blog over at The Daily Tay

My blog usually revolves around the random

shenanigans I often find myself getting into here in Chicago.

I also like to talk about my lovely pup, Harlow,

and my lovely boyfriend, Chris.

I tend to be a little bit sarcastic, 

and sometimes a little too cynical-

just depends on if I found a close parking spot for the day or not.

I also like to ramble about the hardships of life after college.

I've been out of school almost three years now and still can't shake the fact

I have to "grow up"and be a part of the "real world."

It doesn't help that the eleven year old version of myself

was extremely driven and competitive

and seemed to have very high (yet unrealistic goals I think)

for twenty five year old me.

Here's a little something I found in the archives I wrote

from 1998 entitled 

"What I Will Do When I Grow Up"

I for one, can’t think of a better time in life to make a goal list than in middle school. The year in life when we are probably the most arrogant, naive, self absorbed forms of ourselves we will ever be.  Let’s see what my overly optimistic eleven year old-self had envisioned…

1. Compete in marathons. – I ran a 5K a couple of years ago, does that count? And marathons are overrated, I heard they make people who aren’t even pregnant go into labor.

2. Have a really cool job that I love where I get to travel and be my own boss. –A little more direction would be nice, dip shit. What will I be doing at this “really cool job?” Let me guess, writing notes all day that are covered in Lisa Frank stickers and then folding them up into really tight little triangle shapes.

3. Live in California or New York. – Ridiculous. Folding notes would never pay enough to live in either of these citites.

4. Live in a cool house that I own. – Makes statement 3 even more ridiculous. Or are you trying to tell me you predicted the low rate homes would be selling at in 2012? You have no concept for money, none. I can barely pay my rent every month, ease off.

5. Go on vacations to Africa and London. – This is a little broad. So you want to go to a city in England, and then visit the entire continent of Africa?

6. Play basketball every day. – Yes well, this one will go out the window right after high school when your heart was broken because your team never made it to state.

7. Be married and maybe have one kid. – Let’s work on getting a boyfriend first, little one. You’re going to go through a pretty intense ugly stage in about six months. And the fact you play basketball everyday doesn’t help any.

8. Do a triathlon- What’s with all the not-so subtle workout hints?

9. Have one dog and one cat.- Starting to get a little more realistic, I like this. I must be getting tired from all of my traveling and exercising.

10. Have a lot money so I can buy whatever I want. –I’m sure what I had in mind was being able to buy unlimited packs of gum because in middle school gum was currency.

I’m glad the list stopped at ten. 

I’d hate to see what other demands that little dictator had in store for me…Maybe I do need to get my life in check. Especially if I plan to get to Africa in the next six months.

Now come on over and say hello!

The Daily Tay

Tweet Tweet
~*~

Amazeballs, Taylor. If I had written myself a "get it done by 21" list when I was 11, it probably would've included become a professional ballet dancer and/or a doctor, and have a rad life of celebrity.

You can't win em all, I guess.

Thank you so much for joining us today, Taylor! It was a blast!!!! Everyone go and give her some love!

long but not lost?

photo: hellogiggles

I'm so hesitant to post this, and I'm not sure why. I've had it ready to go for days, but haven't been able to push the publish button... for no good reason really. Well, part of the point of blogging is to put yourself out there and face the consequences, so here goes... a little piece of my heart.

It's a funny thing when you lose a friend.

A few years ago, I lost a friend - not just a friend, but a close friend... a best friend. Don't get the wrong idea, he didn't pass away - it was nothing that final or, honestly, that easy. I lost him to a series of unfortunate events that led him to no longer be my friend. I lost him to his inability to tell me the truth, and my inability to get over my fear of confrontation and just ask to have my needs met. I lost him to his running away from a problem, and my own fury at being lied to and avoided. A series of very unfortunate events that culminated in totally cutting ties with one another.

It cut me to the core.

He is the first person that I've ever lost in this way, not the only one, but definitely the loss I felt the hardest and mourned the longest. I didn't write for years, literally years, because he was the one that I used to bounce my writing off of. He was the one that gave me honest feedback. If something I'd been working on was terrible, truly horrible, he'd say, "Not so good, Jazz. Try again." or "You can do better than that." And when I succeeded with something, he'd nod his head and give me a simple, "Nice." No big show about about it, because that's not how he rolled, but I knew it when he thought my work was good, and I felt good about it. Losing him may have been the final straw of why I quit acting for real. He was my honest opinion. We'd done so much theatre together, so much GREAT theatre, that not having him to talk it out with, or work on audition material with, or cry outside of rehearsal when I just couldn't cram another ridiculous lyric in my brain with made the work a little less sweet.

He was a person that I knew better than I knew myself, but also would always be a total mystery to me. He's a gay republican... How does that even happen?! Just kidding... kind of. ;) It's one of the things about him that never made sense to me, but added to his overall You just never know that he had, and likely still has, going on.

I've thought about him so much, almost daily, since our "split", and I still feel it as raw as I did on the day I first realized that he wasn't coming back. I miss him deeply, but I've also come to terms with the fact that we really may never speak again. It's a hard thing to cope with, but it was ultimately something that I realized may be forever, especially when both parties do unforgivable things to one another. I'm not proud of what I did to drive the final stake between us, but I don't know that I would take it back either. At some level, I think he needed it to happen in order to realize that you can't just walk out on someone that trusted you. Or, you know, maybe not. Maybe my reactive behavior taught him nothing positive. I may never know either way.

And then again, maybe I will...

A few days ago, as B and I were going through boxes from our move PRIOR to this one, boxes that I hadn't opened in over a year, I found a bunch of his stuff. Sweet, important stuff, like kindergarten report cards and photos of his friends, that I'd been holding on to in case he came back. Well, he never came back, and I'm not a person that could throw out such obviously personal things, even those belonging to a person that I was so furious with. Seeing how torn I was about them, B asked me if he could facebook message the owner and ask if he wanted these precious items. I nodded, and didn't say much. B did, and with a speedy reply, my old friend said yes, and offered to pay shipping (which is totally unnecessary). He also said that he thought of us often and asked if it would be okay to write an email to catch up.

I was floored. I didn't expect to feel such a swift kick in the gut when B told me about the reply. I didn't expect to feel relief flooding through me. But I did. I felt joy... plain and simple. My friend, that I had wished the best for and missed desperately, wanted to write to me.

I only want to talk to him. I want to know where he's been and what he's been doing. I want to know what his hopes and dreams are, if they're still the same, and I want him to know mine. I want him to know that life has been kind to me in some ways, and very difficult in others. Most of all, I want him to know that I've missed him so terribly. I want him to know that every time I hear "Hey Jealousy", I think of us, driving around town, laughing so hard our faces hurt, and him eating JBCB's at every Wendy's we passed.  Every time I hear or read the words "praise band", I think of his made-up lyrics, "Her sister was in the praise band. It's funny, cause she's a sinner." and I smile hard before the bittersweetness sobers me up.

We will probably never be like we were. We will probably take years to recover what we lost, and I don't know if he's even interested in that. But just knowing that he's out there - that he's thought of me and missed me... well, it's almost enough to make the sadness worthwhile.

Almost.

Have any of you ever lost a friend like this? Have you reconciled and reunited? Should I let go of my expectations - since it's expectations that got us here in the first place - and just hope?

I'll take the advice where I can get it... this is a tough one for me.

the lessons we learn.

One of my wisest friends said something on facebook the other day that really struck me.

"The worst people in our lives are our greatest teachers. You can still want to punch them in the head, but learn it, bless 'em, and run!"- MR

This week has been a hard one for me. The balancing act that is my life can get really exhausting and, after a long weekend of stress, yesterday was really the end of my proverbial tight rope. But, since I rarely have the time to just break down, I have to take it in, try to process it, and just move on. I never really realized that I do this until MR pointed it out.

The worst people in our lives are our greatest teachers. I think that might actually be true. What have I learned from the various horrible people (HP or HPs) that have crossed my path? Other than all the answers to this little gem:

The perfect party game for all the HPs in your life.
But why would you go to a party with them??

Boundaries. I've learned that people respect you more and treat you far more like a human when you put boundaries in place to protect yourself. I used to have a hard time saying no, but now it comes a little easier, since I've decided that there has to be a part of me (which includes my TIME) that's sacred. Before boundaries, my door was open, and I allowed just about anything into my life. I was tired all the time. I was crying all the time, and it was because there was nothing about me that was mine anymore. I needed to reclaim that part of me, so that I could have my own life again. It was hard. No is much harder for me to say than it is for you to hear, I guarantee that, but I had to learn it in order to get me back. I feel like I'm on a better path now, and it's all because of the rough stuff.


Patience. HPs very rarely know that they're being horrible. (The ones that do are sociopaths, and we'll cover them later.) Sometimes you just have to sit, pretend to listen, nod, and 'mhmm' at the appropriate times so that the complaining will be over sometime before your next birthday. When I practiced this with an HP recently, I found that it was over before I had time to get really annoyed, and the HP was gone! Mission accomplished. 


Perspective. The HPs in my life are generally very negative. They love to bitch about anything and everything. Especially something that I'm doing wrong. So when I hear an HP crying about how there were no seats for their two stop ride on the subway or a tourist shoves money in my face (or worse, tosses it on the table in front of me like I'm a cheap whore), I just remind myself that there are worse problems in the world, and I just need to chill out and get over it.


Anger usually should be answered with love. This has been such an important lesson for me. Angry HPs can be some of the meanest, most abrasive, and downright dirty fighters ever. Between the guilt trips and the full blown screaming fights, angry HPs are more exhausting than usual, but often, when I've approached that anger from a place of love, instead of a place of pure, unadulterated rage!hate, usually the situation can be resolved in a safe, sane way that most all can live with. Remember your boundaries though, and stand firm, even in the face of guilt trips from hell. Don't let the HP walk all over you, but between answering their anger with loving solutions and staying calm, I've been able to walk away from the situation without crying and/or screaming. Little victories.


Sometimes, it's okay to just walk away. Whether that means for the moment or forever, sometimes it's okay to walk away from a situation or a person. Say, if this particular HP is a sociopath, then it's totally valid to simply cut them out of your life and not feel guilty about it. If that sociopathic HP is related to you (which none of mine are, thankfully!), or somehow completely entrenched in your life, and you find yourself unable to cut them off, I've learned that it's okay to just walk away, or stop texting, or do whatever you have to do to get out of the situation in the moment. It's okay to run and save yourself.

That was far lengthier than I expected... apparently HPs have taught me lots of lessons. What lessons have the HPs in your life taught you? 

Oh, and if you want more of MR's sage advice, check our her blog:

Miss Anthrope's House of High Drama

She's definitely worth the read!

xoxo

you can always come back home.

This is the house that I grew up in. My family hasn't lived in it for over a decade, but, in some small way, it will always be home. I had the chance to go home last weekend to surprise my oldest friend, EE, for her birthday. It was wonderful to see her, and see her wife and family that I love like my own family. When asked if I wanted to do a drive by of my old house, I was excited! Of course I did!

There are a few things that have changed, of course. The huge tree that shaded the entire front yard, where I used to lay with my first love, my gorgeous dalmatian Murphy, is completely gone. The stone that I painted with our house number has vanished. The lamp post that EE banged her face off of in our junior prom pictures has been torn away. The bench that I sat on, wrapped in an afghan, and cried after my serious high school boyfriend left for college has moved from the yard (where the lamp used to be) to beside the kitchen door - too close to the house to have real privacy. The neighbors that I knew are all gone, but the bike path by the hydrant, that JY and I wore down (and then one neighbor took a chainsaw to, in the rain, in a classic "disturbia" moment) over years and years of middle school adventures, is still there, looking very much the same, despite the chainsaws best efforts.

I know that inside, there is a totally different landscape, that the pool table is probably gone, but I can only hope that the kids that live there get to experience half of the amazing experiences that I had growing up. I hope their friends are as loving and positive as mine were. I hope their parents are as willing to host every kid in the band for birthdays, graduation, and just random friday night parties. I hope they fall in love, and out of love, and in love again. I hope they find their very best forever friend. I hope they get ready for dances, especially the girls, and come down the staircase in their first pair of really high heels, praying that they don't fall in front of the cutest boy in their class. I hope they love their lives and hold tight to their friends, and remember that being unkind is a petty waste of time. I hope that they realize that there is life after high school, and don't lose hope when things get hard. I hope they dream about what being a grown up will be like while they play hide and seek in the attic, and lay on the grass in the backyard, staring up at the endless Pennsylvania sky, and realize just how lucky they really are to grow up in a small town.

And maybe, on quiet nights, they can hear the ghosts of my childhood playing silly games - like that amazing bat thing that EE and LJS used to do. Or maybe they hear the whispers from EE and me, giggling at all hours of the night, sharing secrets on whiteboards, crying over broken hearts and bad dreams.

This post really took on a life of it's own. I meant to write about my weekend with EE, but I think I'll leave it for next time, and leave you with my favorite picture of my first love that I have sitting on my mantle in my grown up nest...

Murphy with itty bitty baby Ellie.
He was so tolerant of her.
And always the most perfect dog.

xoxo

wisdom in wonderland...?

I feel like I'm sitting at a fork in the road, and I'm neither brave nor decisive enough to just get up, pick a path, and keep walking.

But I really, honestly, have no idea where I want to go.

At the prompting of my husband, I'm going to try to write more "about my life". When he told me he wanted me to do this, I snapped back, "Why would I want to do that? My life really sucks." I was stricken for a moment by how ugly this was coming out of my mouth, and I didn't understand where this burst of anger had come from. Was it because, in context, I felt like my writing was being unfairly judged against someone else's, far superior, writing? Yes, maybe. But the rage that I was feeling wasn't just about jealousy or annoyance. It was turned internally. I was really, really, burning angry at... myself.

Why am I angry at me? I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could make up with myself and just move on, but I'm holding a grudge in a major way. I'm tired all the time. I'm hurt. I'm all used up. I'm tired in my soul, and I'm sick of it. I'm angry, because I'm the one that put myself here. 

Animal rescue used to be good for me. It make me feel empowered and strong - like I was really making a difference and doing some good, but I'm burned out in a way that I don't think anyone can possibly understand. I can't keep doing this. Some of you already know this, but there's a certain timeframe until I'm out. I will still do home visits for adoptable animals. I will still help to find them homes. And I will still advocate for them, but I can't let my life be consumed by this anymore. I cannot allow myself to be so vulnerable. I cannot continue to be ruled by these animals needs, and the "me me me, want want want" of the people that make me beg to adopt them. People are so horribly abusive to me [and my friends that rescue, and other rescuers beyond that, I'm sure]. It's exhausting. You have absolutely no idea how rude and careless the general public can be with someone that they view as a "service worker". I get it in my job and I get it in my volunteer work, and frankly, something needs to give before I have to be put away somewhere.

So what's the next step? Where do I go from here? I know what I don't want to do, but what is it that I do want to do?

To visit Alice in Wonderland again, the White Queen gives Alice poignant advice before she faces the jabberwocky...

Alice, you cannot live your life to please others.

The choice must be yours, because when you step out to face that creature...

you will step out alone.

 I understand that, at some point, I only have to answer to myself, because when I step out to face the "creature" - whether that be the world at large, God, or just my own conscience - I face it alone. But there has to be a balance between service and selfishness. There has to be a way to not feel like an asshole every time I make a choice that benefits me or my mental health. I'm not sure how to do it. I'm not sure how to get there.

I suppose that that's part of the journey, but I'm getting impatient with my ability to learn and adapt. I have to learn to relax and forgive myself for the choices I've made, and - maybe more than anything - not be afraid to let go of things that cause me pain.

But it's hard...

... and I'm fragile.

The triumphant return!

The holiday season, and working retail during  it, really put a damper on my time and energy to write for you all and be creative. But I'm back! Someone hold me accountable for a few posts a week!

To make up for lost time...

Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown

Happy New Year from NYC!

Here's to making 2012 really awesome and kicking ass in major ways.

Speaking of kicking ass, I need to shout out (which is a term I never use...) some mad props (ditto) to G for documenting her feelings and fears about being a 30 year old woman with breast cancer. She's going through her double mastectomy today, and my heart just aches for her. 

Even if you don't know her, have a look at her blog, my left tit, to sneak a peek into the purest and most open heart I have the pleasure of knowing.

The last glimpse of G's girls...
They're pretty, but we would rather have YOU.

In light of G's struggle, everything else seems mundane. My job gets progressively more awful as time passes, but I feel like there has to be an end to this in sight. There is something very exciting on the way for Ben and I, but I don't want to jinx it!

The critters in our care are slowly moving on to their new homes and fosters. We're not out of the woods with cats yet, but the dogs are on their way.

Please, someone make me keep writing!

all i'm asking is for a little...

There isn't a lot of respect [for me] in the work that I do.

My survival job is exhausting, thankless, and - at the end of the day - completely unfulfilling. I often joke that I would get more money and more respect as a stripper, but really... why is it that people in "service" jobs, like salespeople and waiters, get shit on by the general public without anyone thinking twice? When did it become okay to treat the girl who sells you postcards or the guy who makes your coffee like they owe you something. I promise that I, personally, owe you nothing. I'm here to do a job, and not get treated like your slave.

I've been reading Confessions of a Retail Worker at the Daily Kos, and while I'm not impoverished (at all), I make a living wage (barely) for NYC - which is probably double what a living wage is for my friends in western PA - and I have reasonably priced public transportation to get to work, I still feel solidarity for the author. Why? Because there is a HUGE lack of respect - from customers, from managers, and from the 'hierarchy' of high ups that basically don't give a shit what our quality of life is, as long as we bring in the million that we're supposed to for their institution. Yes, I work for a non-profit, which is better than working for a for-profit, big box retailer, but they're both the Man.

What can I do to change it? Nothing.
If I hear another person say, "get a new job!", I might just crawl in a hole and die. It's IMPOSSIBLE to get another job in this city. I've been applying for jobs for a year, and I'm always either told that I'm overqualified or that I have no experience so they won't take a chance on me. How about that for frustrating? Too much education, not enough experience. And remember those people living in the park downtown... the 99% that most of you are mocking on your facebook? Some of them aren't just bored rich kids... some of them are desperately unemployed or underemployed, exhausted New Yorkers who just want a little respect from the extremely rich who don't take the time to look them in the eye when they throw bills at them for coffee/$600 dinners/books that they don't have time to read...

And really, who doesn't want that? I do. Desperately.

Seriously, all I need is one more person, dripping with ugly jewelry, throwing crumpled bills at me and questioning my ability to do simple math and I may just go over the deep end.

Oh... if I may rant for just a moment...
Everyone wants to "go green" and respect mother earth, but the minute it starts raining, they're berating me because we don't have plastic bags. So altruistic until it's not convenient for you, huh?

*sigh*

seeking to find

It's been a long time since I made an effort to blog, or write anything in general, so I figure that I'm way overdue. I've decided to create a space to stretch my writing muscles (which have atrophied quite a bit over the last year), and share some of the things that I see (and hear!) around New York City that make me smile, cringe, or just flat out laugh. Maybe I'll share some personal stories too...



This little poem is the best thing I've ever come across here.

At a time when all I was doing was questioning who I was and what I was supposed to be doing, I found this, literally, while I was walking out of work.  These four words were taped to the sidewalk in front of me, and it broke my heart - in the best way - to see what I wanted so badly right at my feet.  I'm still looking for the answer, but I think I'm more aware of who I am now, and in a better place to know it when I get there.

 I guess this is my welcome to the owlery. Laugh with me, cry with me, or just perch awhile. It'll be nice to share with you.