"Hearts will never be practical until they're made unbreakable."

Photo credit

So glad TBS is on its cinematic game today (first, Michael and Father of the Bride. Then, the 1960s How the Grinch Stole Christmas and The Wizard of Oz).

Collapsing Cake

Today I learned two things: one, that over-beating butter or eggs for a cake can cause it to collapse; two, that Mercury (the planet) is in retrograde, causing everyone to act wacky and make rash decisions and forget how to behave like adults (at least more so than usual). I suppose these two things have absolutely nothing to do with one another, except for some punny connection between retrograding cake batter and retrograding planet (I’ll take it). This means I can blame my poor baking know-how on Mercury moving across retrograde degrees of Scorpio (about.com’s words, not mine).

Check out this opening paragraph from about.com, tweaked slightly to explain my #cakeproblems:  

This is a retrograde when you might lose sight of the oven, as insight comes in that takes time to integrate the egg whites. (Cake) Layers of reality can be revealed that are shocking or unlock what's been too painful to deal with frost. The cake tin comes later, with wisdom and a full sense of full bellies.

Makes perfect sense.

Below is the "before shot" of my collapsed cake. We'll be doing reconstructive surgery tomorrow.

caving in...

Home

What do you think of when you think of Home? I imagine there would probably be clean carpets and white walls, refrigerators filled with tasty leftovers, and cable television servicing multiple tvs in multiple living rooms maybe even in multiple homes. It sounds safe and inviting and fulfilling.

Admittedly, when I think of Home, I don’t quite have these idyllic images. My Home spans many houses, some filled with my mom and grandmother and sister in a modest-sized townhouse in the East Bay, some filled with my Dad and stepmom and sister on a wooded street in Iowa’s capital, and others filled with tiny apartments with tiny rooms in cities filled with strangers. In lots of these Homes, there was laughter (so much!) and dinners around a table. Other times, there was yelling,  tears, and a revolving door of situations, people, emotions, and outcomes. To say my Home was unstable makes it sound like I suffered. But to say it was stable discredits the life lessons received.

Home for me has never been one place; it’s been piece mailed together. Home is the house I lived in when my parents separated. Home is the house my grandmother let my sister, my mom, and I live in when the first one could no longer hold us. Home is on Ingersoll Ave in Des Moines that took us in when the one before had to take on new tenants. Home is Iowa, the place in which I grew UP. Home is California, where half my family awaits. Home is Chicago, Hotel Francisco, and my bed, to which I return every night (yes, every night). Home is a stepmom and stepdad, home is a divorce, home is a marriage, home is a neighbor, home is a graduation, home is a heartbreak, home is a sickness, home is a rebirth, home is a haven, home is revered and feared, always a haven.

Home isn’t one person; it isn’t one unit. It was never a family united, and it will never be found in one person exclusively. Home is little bits and fragments of memories and hopes and thoughts and confessions strewn across a country and a lifetime. The moment the search for Home stops and we begin to recognize this moment as a little sentence of the larger chapter comprising the book, is the moment missing home stops hurting.

Going to Church

I went to church yesterday. It was weird and wonderful and uncomfortable and soothing, and all before 11am on a Sunday. I loved it and can't wait to go back.

I've experienced extreme peaks and valleys of religiosity and spiritual callings throughout my life. For the past 7+ years, it has been a serioius valley (ok, war-ridden trench) of religious rejection absence. But Sunday morning, the sun was shining (and I was sober, or at the least not hungover...are mornings usually this enjoyable?), and I found myself looking for a reason to dress up, get a coffee, and meet people who felt certain about something. So I went to a church literally half a block away (convenience is an important component to finding a calling) and had an amazing time. It was challenging and welcoming and I think church will offer me a lot of the things for which I am searching (community, servitude, purpose, volunteer work). Ok also (seriously God, you know what's up) there were two single under-28 males in the congregation. Church is awesome and I can't wait to go back.

So, there you have it. I've started embarking on my journey of 24 things. It's a list to accomplish, but it's also a path to take. I'm excited about continuing item #2 on my list and experiencing the others. <<In fact, I also began #6 (did you see the newest addition to my family?) by making marshmallows (surprisingly easy...I'd like to try experimenting with other flavors than vanilla--maybe cinnamon or crystalized ginger).>> But again, it's not about crossing items off of a list, it's about moving forward, about experiencing experiences, and about being the woman I want to be.

Speaking of, being the woman I want to be means learning realizing that you don't have to have a boyfriend to wear boyfriend shirts (or jeans! sweaters! blazers! for that matter). Case in point:

Do I look grunge?

UGHHHHH Hate that I just did a "selfie"!!!!!! I just self-combusted!!!!!

24 Things

My 24th year is quickly approaching and (thank God!) 23 is coming to an end. 

23 has been an interesting year, mostly filled with the post-post-modern strife that afflicts other young 20-somethings (think: lots of admitting defeat). I mean, not to be a drag or anything, but my early 20s and post-college life didn't exactly turn out how I expected and has left me feeling pretty underwhelmed. And I think that's mostly due to the fact that I didn't take 21...or 22...or 23...by the horns. 

Which is why I have decided to make 24 the year that defies all years, the year that I finally do some of the things I've been talking about doing for such a long time.

1. Make a screenprint
2. Go to church
3. Run
4. Save for and plan a trip to India (such as: http://www.yogagoa.com/)
5. California tattoo (meaning, get a certain tattoo that I've been thinking about for a long time)
6. Buy a Kitchen Aid mixer and make 12 items with it (one for each month, duh!)
7. Use my soil (or give to someone) to grow a plant
8. Sew (make) an article of clothing
9. Watch the "10 Greatest Films of All Time" http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/08/03/sight-and-sound-2012-watch-online-streaming_n_1737022.html
10. Read a book of poetry
11. Donate blood
12. Volunteer (maybe at the MS Society http://www.nationalmssociety.org/chapters/ild/volunteer/volunteer-opportunities/planning-committee--leadership-volunteers/index.aspx, PAWS, CPS)
13. Grow out my hair (this one is pretty easy)
14. Refinish a piece of furniture
15. Make a piece of artwork to hang on the walls of my apartment
16. Get a Sunday New York Times and read it.
17. Spend a day at the museum (any museum) alone.
18. Take a hike. Or at least a really long walk.
19. Go to a real Chicago steakhouse and have a real Chicago steak.
20. Spend a Friday night at a coffee shop.
21. Visit Maxwell Street Market http://www.explorechicago.org/city/en/things_see_do/event_landing/special_events/mose/maxwell_street_market.html
22. Get in touch with my Polish roots (Belmont and Milwaukee -- http://www.wikihow.com/Tour-Polish-Neighborhoods-of-Chicago, Kurowski's, Basillica)
23. Attend Trivia Quiz night (nope, I've never been to one)
24. Go to a film festival

Thinking about this list and writing them down has got me so excited for the year ahead of me! I hope to cross-off at least two items every month (of course, a couple of these might be recurring events such as the baking or the running...(ha)...or the church thing...(again, ha)). 

To all my friends, acquaintances, enemies, co-workers, and internet followers out there--I will need your help! Or at the very least, I'll need you to accept my invitation to join me on a couple of these mini-adventures. 

And fear not, I'll be writing about it all along the way...

You Save Me

If you've spent even 5 minutes of the work day with me, you know how much I love (LOVE!) Aaron Paul (Jesse Pinkman) from Breaking Bad. He's frustrating and simple, but loving, genuine, and troubled just like all of us. Also, he's super dreamy (both on and off the Breaking Bad screen) and he puts up with the evil Mr. White. So of course I watched attentively as he gave his acceptance speech for his second Emmy on Sunday night. He was so gracious, excited, and humbled. He also gave the most amazing mention to his fiance, and I quote, when he said: "You truly save me." Um, weepy eyes much?! God, talk about swoon.

But it got me thinking about what saves me. Granted, I don't have "a person" who necessarily saves me (at least not a significant other), there are a few other things that save me every single day from myself...

1. Cat Power. I don't listen to her daily. In fact, before her most recent new album came out, I hadn't listened to her music in YEARS. But Cat Power is one of those few musicians who I idolize and by whom I am comforted at the same time. I started listening to her Junior year of high school when I was so bored and confused with my own existence. The album You Are Free made me feel just that--that I wouldn't forever be bound by the shackles of 16-year-old-dom. It was also at this time that I started having a weekly cigarette (sorry parents if you're reading this). Cigarettes and Cat Power are what helped me subversively define myself at a time when I was feeling very run-of-the-muck. I think of this terrifying time with fondness every time I listen to her. I'm "stoked" to see her live (for the second time, oh yeah!) on October 28th at The Riv.

2. Skinny jeans, oversized tops, and Danskos. This is my uniform, or would be if both (a) I had enough to always wear clean ones and (b) I didn't like dresses so much either. There's just something about the way it looks--masculine and feminine, Art and Science, sloppy and modern. So I'm (definitely) probably reading too much into this, but it's just nice to have an outfit that gets you, that understands you, and that won't leave you when some other, better looking outfit comes along. Also, I like the way the skinny jean makes my butt look and the way the oversized top hides my stomach after I eat too much. And the Danskos are just comfortable, even though, as a girl in the bathroom at work once told me, they're "nerd shoes."

3. Potato chips. Not enough can be send about the beauty and crunchosity of such a food, a nugget of nutrition, health, and well-being. When I am sad, happy, hungry, full, on the go or forever planted to a couch, the potato chip swoops me up in its arms and tells me everything is going to be OK. Potato chip, you are great, even when you are bad (except for Pringles...I have a hard time even calling those potato chips...you are always bad). And, as if your tender loving wasn't enough, you often give me thirst, which makes me want either a soda or a beer, two other beautiful earthly things made in God's image. Potato chip, you complete me. You make me whole. You remind me that life is good, and in fact was never bad. 

Everyone needs a little salvation.

Dear,

Dear future daughter,

Admittedly, I don't think about you often, save for a few times when I ponder what your name might sound like paired with the last name of my future dream husband (how does Arosina Baker Gosling sound?). I'm sorry I'm shitty and obsessed with Ryan Gosling. I promise to care a lot less about myself(and boys) once you come along.

Nonetheless, when I do think about you, they are the coolest, most exciting thoughts I have. I'm really looking forward to having you in my life. I think you'll be a fun girl--street-and book-smart who likes to paint her nails and scrapbook but who also likes to climb scaffolding and go fresh-water fishing. I have a feeling we'll have the same nose and the same olive skin, and we can share stories about how this has both helped and hurt his in the middle-school-boy-department.

I'm looking forward to meeting you at each stage(s) in our lives. When you are newly born and I am finally beginning to feel like an adult, all the way through you turning 18 and learning to no longer feel like a dependent, while I turn 50 and am becoming the woman I always knew I c/would be, we will teach each other lessons that no one else could. We'll be reflections of each other, primordial opposites with nearly identical fates. We'll love the same man (your father), who will mean more to us than we could ever metastasize into words. We'll write each other love notes that we'll probably never send because neither of us will be very good about owning our feelings. And we'll dream of a life that seems so different from our own, while we hold onto each other and the life we have together, which, when we think about, isn't too different from the one about which we fantasize.

You'll be the girl I always wanted to be and I'll be the woman you are both afraid of  becoming and admire unfailingly at the same time. We'll cook together, go thrifting together, watch college football together, and read Nietzche together. Eventually, I'll buy your first pack of cigarettes on New Years and you'll drive me to the hospital when I'm old and frail. We'll resent each other, we'll praise each other, we'll ignore one another, and we'll proclaim our love for one another on a mountaintop for all the world to hear.

We'll hate each other and love one another. It'll suck most of the time, but there will be moments of
the most intense love that neither of us could imagine life without it. I can't wait to meet you. I know already that you're the coolest gal around.

Love,
A

Wednesday Night

Having lovely lady friends with which to take magical trips to the ballpark is really what life is all about. 

Don't we look thrilled? I don't want to talk about how much money I spent on Tall Boys at said ballpark...

The Non-Art of Over-Thinking

Don't ever over think anything. Like ever. It is like really really bad. Dangerous even. Thinking = good (thinking about going for a walk, thinking about applying for a new job, thinking about that really hot person you sat next to on the train). Over-thinking =  bad (thinking about getting kidnapped while on said walk, thinking about quitting your job with nothing else lined up, or imagining you proposing to said really hot person and having their babies...or whatever).

I hate hate hate when a conversation turns into me giving my honest opinion about something. Because, my honest opinion is just an over-thought stream of conscience. A shrink might call this "being a bit in one's head," but I prefer to look at it as being overly-sympathetic that there are like a million possibilities or answers to one question or problem or thing that exists in the world for no reason. Case in point:

1. Your commute. This might sound a bit inane, but for anyone living in a city large enough by which there are multiple ways to accomplish one's commute, don't debate it. Don't debate taking the bus versus the train, the avenues versus the highway, walking or biking. The answer is always: it doesn't matter. The difference in length of time may be ten minutes at most (and if it's more, enjoy the time alone!). Do what gets you there with the least amount of sweat (the literal kind, not the proverbial). And remember, wherever you're trying to get to is really not that important (and you probably don't even want to get there that badly anyways). Unless your best friend is about to give birth or you've been given the keys to The Chocolate Factory.

2. Milk and Eggs. No, seriously. If you think about milk and eggs for a millisecond, it's like "Oh yea, duh, those two things are totally yum." Milkshakes, omlettes, custards, quiche... But, if you reeeeeally think about what milk is and what eggs are (ok, don't make me spell it out), you'll be totally grossed out, and you'll never want to eat brie or meringue again (or, at least not for like an hour or so while your head wraps around the concept).

3. Dudes (you be all like "Well no durr!"). But let me elaborate: this includes all Facebook friendships, texts, letters, presents from Etsy, aloof nights, distant mornings, intense smooches, introduction to parents, references to future children, drinking too much, getting along with their friends, not getting along with your friends, first dates, trips to Europe, rides home in silence, dinners alone, late nights, last goodbyes and everything in between. It's hokey and overdone and I know I've never taken my own advice, but they're human, as are you (at least most days). And humans, by nature, are good and bad. We're simply complicated (see what I did there?), both boys and girls. Embrace Acceptance. Enjoy the good, but don't make it to mean something it's not. And find peace with the bad. Confusion and love make people behave in ways that even they can't explain. And remember, it's never really that bad. You're alive right? And you have access to the internet by which to read this. You're doing alright by my book.

I Made a Bundt Cake. And Couldn't Help But Think of You.

Today I made a bundt cake. You probably don't know what that even means, and neither did I really before today (it refers to the shape of the pan as learned here). If you want to know more than that, ask your mom. I'm sure she makes good ones.

This is the first time I have baked since you and I were together, and then even after we parted. In fact, it's the first time I've baked since I can remember. It had been on my to-do list for a while (ok like a year), to try new recipes and practice being domestic and getting ready for being a mom that always has warm desserts and hot dinners ready. But often, our trips to the museum, or the suburbs, or dinner at our favorite Thai spot, or out to see friends (ok, to drink with friends) got in the way (you were more fun than any baked goods). I haven't been to our Thai spot without you, and I don't think I'll ever be able to go back.

Anyways, I'm kinda pissed that I gave up so many opportunities to bake to be with you. I can't believe I let you get in the way of my culinary abilities for so long (I also made a quiche this weekend and I put bacon in it so that I couldn't walk a piece over to you as a surprise). Turns out, I'm decent at it. You always claimed to be good at baking, the way you made claims about a lot of things, but I never saw you bake. I only saw the evidence of it in your cupboards and on the bookshelf--tools that were the remains of a former life. What happened to that other you of which I saw many scattered remnants? He seemed nice. But the bundt cake is really good--I put orange zest and vanilla and ginger in it. The flavor is very light; the cake goes well with a warm cup of tea, which I enjoyed while I ate the first piece and watched reruns of LOST.

Remember when you lied to me about having watched LOST? You thought I would judge you because you watched it in a marathon; I judged you more for lying. When I was eating, I wanted to tease you about this LOST thing and eat the cake with you and sit in front of the air conditioning and scratch the nape of your neck how you like while you eat cake. But then I remembered that you don't really like sweet stuff and have never been one for dessert (save for the very occasional ice cream after dinner).

Remembering this (and subsequently realizing I had forgotten it up until this point) made me sad. And in a way glad. I mean, it's probably best that things ended. I probably shouldn't be in a relationship with someone who can't eat meat and doesn't care for sweets. And I probably shouldn't be with someone who is ashamed to be fanatic about something frivolous (even though LOST is hardly frivolous; see: Jack Shephard). And being with someone doesn't mean you give up awesome things like cooking. But it made me yearn for the power to make you and I right, to try it again with you. Or with someone else.

But I can't. Not yet. There's too much I still have to figure out. The ripples are still calming, the dust still settling, shifty, wary, apprehensive. I'm staying out too late, waking up too early, getting caught up on the projects I didn't find important until now, when free time is abound. I wish you ate meat so I could bring you a piece of the quiche; I wish you liked sweets so I could walk over a piece of the cake with a note on it that had a drawn heart and the letter A. That would be the best peace (piece, get it?) offering, an extension of tender love and remorse. But instead, I can hope that you'll get hungry for Thai food and LOST soon enough.

Labor Day

The lovely roommate gal has been out of town for 4 days now. After the first 24 hours was spent pacing back and forth like a puppy with her tail between her legs, I decided to pick myself and get active.

Saturday was spent drinking crappy beer out of keg cups before 12pm. No, it wasn't brunch. It was the first University of Iowa football game at Soldier Field. Once I felt the buzz on ever the slightest of declines, I headed downtown to do some shopping. If anyone cares to know what perfume I wear, it's this. And my night ended with a cocktail from Bangers and Lace and an Irish Stout (turns out I still don't care for stout, unless there's ice cream in it) at Innertown Pub (quite possibly the most quintessential Art towny bar known to mankind).

But Sunday was when it started to really get good. Singledom has afforded me a lot of things, mainly, time, money, and waking up with no one to coerce into making food for me (I'm not really sure how that is a gain, but I'm trying to think positively here). So, with that, I got cooking. A college boyfriend gave me Julia Child's The Art of French Cooking for Christmas one year. It is still one of the best gifts I've ever gotten, and the quiche crust recipe alone was worth the price tag of the relationship. This round of quiche resulted in a leek-mushroom-spinach-bacon-swiss cheese little number that I'm quite proud of (but was a bit greasy; should try a different cheese next time).

Today's agenda includes trips to Salvation Army in Lincoln Park and The Goodwill in West Town. I miss the lovely roommate gal, but I feel like the productivity suits me well.

Really-Cute-Internet-Couple

Oh you. You two. You're really cute and you're all over my internet. Make it stop.

Seriously, it's too much. We get it, the web gets it, God and my parents and everyone else gets it. You guys really like each other, probably even love each other, and it makes me feel funny. Funny like I'm the 2012 version of Mary Tyler Moore, and while she was cool and independent and lived in an urban metropolis, sometimes I just really want to be a normal co-dependent.

It's not that I'm jealous of you. It's not even that I envy you. In fact, I quite like my life; I'm reveling in my freedom and self-discovery and all that other stuff that's talked about in therapy. It's just that, why didn't I ever get that way with a boyfriend? I really doubt that anyone ever coo-ed or aw-ed at our Facebook pictures from fancy parties or Twitter mentions of one another as we're at a picnic on the lake. Maybe if I hadn't been so embarrassed to profess my love on the internet. Or to the person in question. Maybe that was our problem: we were never public enough because I never wanted it to be.

I know it's probably not healthy to idolize someone or something or some digital representation of that "one" or "thing." But I can't help it. You seem to really "get" one another, and to genuinely enjoy each other's company, and you guys are probably never worried about saying the wrong thing or forgetting to shave your legs because you know that the person will love you anyways/besides/because of your faults. I know there's more to relationships than that, but I dunno, I think that's a pretty integral part.

Do you guys really go to the coffee shop together to read? Do you really have a dog that you take on walks along big shady boulevards? He actually invited you on a cross-county trip to visit his friends? And, like, is the lighting really always that good wherever you guys are? It's cool that you guys like the same music. Did he dress that well before you guys started dating? Wow. And it's nice that he likes you even when you wear that one sweater that makes you look like you have jaundice or have an underwear line in your dress. I'm just saying.

I wish you two the best, really, but can you please stay out of my news feed, my Instagram, my Twitter, and my Gchat status bar for that matter? You know, I'm just going along, minding my own business, when up pop you two! Like really, can't you put that stuff behind closed doors? I don't want to de-friend or un-follow you, but discovering the joys of your relationship when I'm 23 and it's 5:15pm and rushing home to feed my cat is not exactly encouraging stuff.

I'd love to see you guys in person. Maybe we could go to your coffee house, take the dog for a walk, you know, be friends in the real world? Maybe then I wouldn't feel so funny seeing pictures of you guys, because I'd finally understand how much fun you're having.

Clearing the Air

I pride myself on a lot of things that probably don't deserve any pride. Eat a bag of barbeque kettle chips for dinner? Uh yea, I can do that, no prob. Wake up at 6 am after going to bed 4 hours earlier following a night filled with too many libations? Easy. Wear the same pair of jeans 5 days in a row and assume no one has noticed? Got it.

And then there is, what Amanda and I recently termed, the art of "clearning." We're both really freaking good at it.

• I can clear a table in 2 minutes flat. Top-shelf service for any of my guests.
• I can clear my computer screen at work so as to hide (nonchalantly of course) the Pinteresting and Facebook stalking (ok, usually it's just a lot of me looking at pictures of myself) that I'm probably partaking in.
  
• I can clear a room pretty easily. My top ammo of choice is a bad joke, or better, a bad joke that I can't tell because I'm laughing so hard at it in my head.
• I find great pleasure in clearing the dance floor. All this requires is starting to sing to the song, clearly botching the words, and doing my really cool dip thing that I do (and by the way, to all my "friends" out there, I'm still waiting for you guys to pick up this move.)
• I can clear a party pretty well too. In high school, it was with methods that, today, I find a bit too obvious (barfing, passing out, otherwise shaming my family). Now, I'm a bit more covert, and it's a lot more fun (taking the last beer, raiding the host's refrigerator inciting fear in everyone that they will get caught, dancing, completely losing track of time to the point that no, I haven't cleared a party, it's just that everyone was smart enough to go home).

Again, I realize that these aren't exactly "skills," in fact, they probably aren't even "skillz." But, my 24th birthday is about 6 weeks away and I'm quickly realizing that I may have to hone these skills (and maybe just scrap them all together) if I want to make any sort of headway personal development over  the next 365 days of my life.

To Do List

Things to do on a Saturday in Chicago in late August when it's 95 degrees outside and you're waiting for your roommate to come home...

1. Watch a Instawtch on work computer and eat in bed while you watch it because you're an adult, and you can eat in your bed if you want. Just not when you're a boy and I'm sleeping over.

2. Go to the Chicago Food Truck Fest. Or don't, because it's really hot outside.

3. Decide what you're going to order at tomorrow's brunch at Fred's at Barney's Chicago. Also, decide what you're going to wear. And buy.

4. Make greeting cards by decorating cardstock with nail polish. It's a really great way to use up extra / old nail polish.

5. Take a bath and listen to Band of Horses and talk to your cat. Stay in your towel for at least an hour and a half after the bath ends. 

I did all 5. And watched Austin Powers 1, twice.

Dear Jo(h)n

Speaking of high school boyfriends...

I don't think about my high school boyfriend a lot. Frankly, there isn't much to think about. We were 16, I had a car and a rockin' bod (he did too for that matter). We had a small disposable income and a summer with which to do anything we wanted. We had basements and siblings who were friends. And parents who wanted to see us happy. There wasn't much to us, and that's what was so great about it. We loved, we lost, we moved on. It was simple, easy, non-cerebral (thank you roommate for reminding me of that awesome word). But, it taught me a lot; he taught me a lot, mostly about myself, things that I would have never discovered, or worse, discovered when I was older and had regular access to beer (see: binge drinking on a work night). 

16 was a very scary place for me. I was smart and had ambitions. I also had insecurities the size of that really big bridge in Canada (see: Confederation Bridge). I finally got my braces off and had never really kissed a boy. I had straight A's without having to try very hard. I was 5'6" and weighed about 112 pounds (and never missed an opportunity to exercise). No one had ever really expressed romantic interest in me. I felt like an ugly duckling, convinced boys would never like me. This in turn made me Miss Sass, Miss Snide Comment, Miss "Leave me the fuck alone because I'm probably better than you." Oops.

High school boyfriend, you weren't earth-shattering, and neither was I. In fact, we both kind of sucked and it probably wasn't the healthiest of relationships. But, I loved you. And I think you loved me too. We had fun, a lot of it. And you showed me how cool it is to connect with someone, how great it is to get stupid about someone, and how awesome it is to kiss someone sober. It was heartbreaking when we broke up. Somehow, that meant that I wasn't loveable, likeable, or attractive. Obviously, this has since been proved false, but learning the lesson of vulnerability is always a hard one.

High school boyfriend, if you're reading this, I hope you're well. I hope you know that I think of you with incredible fondness. I hope you know that I respect you and what you meant to me when I was 16 and just learning how to use a debit card with a pin. Also, thank you for breaking up with me. If you hadn't, I certainly wouldn't be the person I am today, and the thought of that is terrifying. I might not be as calm, accepting, apprehensive, understanding, or excited about my future if you and I hadn't been brought together and then taken apart. I couldn'tve done it without you. 

So, uh, are you seeing anyone special?

A Letter to My High School Boyfriend

Ah, hey there. It's been a while, huh? 

How's, ah..your...

In essence of time and my mounting boredom, let's skip over all that,"How are your parents?" "Heard your family dog died. He was a good dog," "How's your job?" "Seeing anyone special?" "Good for you!" business and fucking get right to it. 

I don't think about us, or you for that matter, very often. When I do, I always seem to go back to the same memories, or pieces of memories, moments, each time. 

I think about that homecoming dance when we first started dating and you were too nervous to put your arm around me because our parents were there taking our pictures. And if you touched me, maybe they'd know we kissed. I was too insecure to tell you I'd be ok with the squeeze. 

How could I forget the time we got your dad's car stuck in the mud and we had to push it out? The whole debacle nearly ruined my watermelon colored Juicy Couture pants. You remember the pants? If our relationship meant anything to you, you remember my Juicy's.

Mostly I think of the many decisions that I made because of you. Not the favorite movie, or adopting new hobbies to match yours, kind of decisions; which I also made and promptly adjusted after determining OAR was not cool----but the big decisions that ultimately made me the person who relics today. 

I like who I am. Heck, some days I even love myself. I am grateful for our relationship.


So, how are your parents?

The Perks of Being a Single Wallflower

Written by the residents of Hotel Francisco

1. You can literally drink, eat, and Nordstrom's Semi-Annual Sale a paycheck away without any immediate pangs of regret.

2. Eat an entire pizza, by yourself. Go ahead, we dare you. No judgement and no sharing.

3. Objectifying men is a lot less guilt-inducing.

4. You can finally catch-up on your 90s tv shows on Netflix Instawatch. See: Dawson's Creek and My So Called Life.

5. There is finally time to devote to hobbies such as nail art and organizing your socks.

6. Take that trip you've been wanting to. To Europe or the Aurora outlet mall.

7. Do the opposite of everything you did with the ex (exercise, watch romantic movies, go to bars that aren't on the Blue Line).

8. Home renovation. We took up the carpet and painted three rooms in our turn-of-the-century greystone. Live out your HGTV fantasies.

9. You have been given the gift of time; enjoy a two-hour get-ready-for-bed routine. Indulge in lotions, flossing, and taking baths while listening to Cat Power.

10. So many free nights to find someone better than the last. It's about moving forward.

Types

So, do you like have a type? Am I it? I think I want to be, but I'm not sure. Regardless, we need to make sure that you are my type...

Do you like internet videos? Preferably involving cats or babies (I'm so not into the "Shit Girls Say" thing). Have you ever watched an episode of Friends? I'm not sure you'll ever really get me until you watch "The One Where No One's Ready." If girls bring up Sex and The City, do you immediately roll your eyes? If you do, this can't go anywhere. SATC has gotten me through a lot. Like, a lot a lot.

You better like sandwiches. And potato chips. Those are probably my two top food groups. Following that, french fries, beer (cheap or fancy), imported salames, Nutella, spicy tuna rolls, and cottage cheese. And you better not be picky. Ugh, picky eaters are the worst. Don't come near me if you're picky. 

You don't have to like "be into fashion," but you better have respect. For the clothes. And for yourself. And for looking (and dressing) like you're an adult with a real job (and yes, you should probably have a real job too).

And on that same note, you need to be clean, tidy, and respectful of your things. And there better be toilet paper in your bathroom when I come over. And clean glasses. That are actually put away in the cupboard. And please, vacuum at least once a year. At least. 

You'll have to be able to interact with my cat and not be all weird. I promise, he's a sweety and cats are cool. Especially mine. And my friends too for that matter. They're not perfect, and neither are you. They're important to me, so don't be all quiet and use a fake laugh around them.

You need to have watched Austin Powers 1 and Liar Liar. Those movies really speak to my psyche. And you better read. Guys who read are hot. 

But I guess above all this stuff, you have to be able to put up with my sass. And my hyper-sensitivity. And all my judgmental crap. And my erratic needs. And my odd sense of humor. If you can do all this, and still tell me I'm pretty, often, then you are definitely my type.

Um, TGIF, am I right?

Dear Self

Dear 50-year-old Alexis,

You may have noticed that I've been writing more. I'm 23 right now, and I feel like I've lived at least 3 full-lifetimes already. I think that's a lucky thing, but it can be exhausting at times, and it causes me to think about the past, and the future. A lot.

I wonder about you often. I guess firstly, I think about if you will even exist. Of course, I hope to live until at least 85, but I don't want to assume anything. Once I've settled on the fact that you must be alive (you simply must), I start thinking about a lot of other little things...

Is your hair grey? Are you dyeing it? I have about 7 grey hairs right now and I sort of obsess about them. They both scare and fascinate me. Remember when hairdressers would ask if our hair color was natural?! That was so cool.

Are you fat? I know that that makes me sound vain, but I hope you're healthy. I hope you love your body like I love my body now. I hope you are active, and enjoy dressing your limbs in fun and exciting clothes. I hope that your health has continued to be good to you as it is to me right now. I hope you still go swimming and maybe to the occasional yoga class. And lots of walks and strolls and jaunts.

Do you have a family? A husband? God, I wonder what he's like. Is he cute? Funny? I hope both of those things, but not cuter or funnier than you of course. I think that we should always keep the upper-hand. And your kids? I bet they're adorable. I bet they're well-liked at school, but not like pretentious popular people or anything. I bet they're smart and introspective like we were in high school. Do they spend their afternoons on math homework and art projects in their rooms while blasting Nick Drake? You better make them set the table and make the dinner salad just like we had to. And I hope they're active too, but not like sports-active. I bet they have activities that they like to do both alone and in groups--art and poetry and biking and swimming and working.

Are you working? In HR? Isn't so silly that we work in HR? God, when I was in college, I'm convinced I had no idea what HR even was. Are you still cooking? I bet you are, and I bet you even started baking a little bit too. Are you still doing calligraphy? And are you collecting antiques? Did you inherit all of Mom's and Grandma's beautiful things? And some of Diane's art? And Dad's photographs and old cameras? All those things are so cool and I envision my urban loft with white walls decorated with all of them and some of our own creations as well.

Are you still as snarky as you are now? Shy? Abrasive? Judgmental? Loyal? Do you still like making lists? Still a clean freak? Do you still refuse to get into an unmade bed like you do now? Are you traveling? Exploring your body and mind and the world and all the tastes at the same time? 

Are you rich? Poor? Did you pay off your student loans? Do you own a house? You know, I want to buy property by age 35. I hope I can make it. Do you think about the future or the past? Do you meet with your friends often to go out and try new restaurants, see exhibits, go for walks and get fro-yo? Do you drink too much--did you ever grow out of that dirty martini and straight whiskey phase? Part of me hopes you didn't. Are you seeing a therapist?

Do you ever run into old boyfriends or friends from high school or college or past jobs? That must be kinda weird, huh?

Are you still a cat person? What city do you live in? Do you see your parents often? Are your parents even alive? Where are they buried? Do you miss them? Do you feel like an orphan?

Are you happy? 

I realize that there are a lot of questions above. You don't have to answer them all now. But if you could soon, I would be much obliged. 

Sincerely,

23-year-old Alexis

Makes Me Happy

23 Things (for 23 years) that make me happy

1. 6 am texts from my dad saying that he loves me and hopes I have a good day.
2. Having an event to go to for which you MUST buy a new dress.
3. When a person is running towards the bus stop and the bus starts to leave, but then the driver is aware of his/her surroundings and sees the person running so they stop to let them get on.
4. Perfectly painted nails that I did myself--it means I'm an artist and that I've saved some money.
5. A really cute outfit that makes my legs look long and skinny.
6. Leftovers for lunch.
7. Clean sheets and a made bed. 
8. A new show to watch on Netfilx InstaWatch on my iPad. In said clean bed. 
9. Eating a great dinner with friends or a boyfriend or your parents at a restaurant you've been wanting to try for a long time.
10. Having 0 unread emails in my work inbox.
11. Having 1 unread email in my personal inbox from a friend or a crush.
12. Warm fall days, cool summer days.
13. Writing an essay or blog post or email or anything really and having someone compliment my writing.
14. Kissing a new boyfriend sober for the first time.
15. When my kitty snuggles on my shoulders when I'm laying in bed and rests his head on the pillow next to mine.
16. Baby pictures where my sister and I look both terrifying and adorable at the same time. Why did our  mother think wearing cowboy boots and a swimsuit at the same time was a good idea?
17. Getting dating advice from my grandmother. She married her high school sweetheart, had 4 kids and 25 years of marriage. But, she ultimately decided she needed more. So, she became her own person in her 40s. She always encourages me to do similar, just in the reverse order.
18. Mexican Coke (a Cola). 'nuff said.
19. Soup and sandwiches.
20. Supporting myself financially, emotionally, and sartorially.
21. Apple and Google.
22. Chicago.
23. Spontaneous trips. To the grocery store or halfway around the world. Things that aren't planned are the best.

Portugal

Confessions

23 Confessions (for 23 Years) of Things That I'm Not Sorry About But Probably Should Be

In honor of 23 years of living (and usually surviving), I have a few things about which I want to come clean, to both myself and the world.

1. I'm sorry that I judge you if you use bad grammar or have bad spelling. It makes me think that you were asleep all of 4th grade.

2. I think smoking cigarettes is dirty if you're over the age of 25. I've got two years left to look cool and Euro.

3. I can't help picking at hangnails. Especially when I'm out drinking.

4. I absolutely believe in true love, soul mates, and love at first sight. If you don't, I feel sorry for you.

5. I think the Pacific Ocean is better than the Atlantic.

6. Sometimes, I send Gchats / emails / Facebook messages to boys that I know I really shouldn't be sending, and I'm surprised when they don't respond...

7. Most times, I'd rather look at pictures of myself on my cell phone than look at your online photo album. Have you ever heard of taking a candid?

8. I think waxing is stupid--totally prepubescent.

9. I think your Facebook posts about your dinner with your boyfriend or all the laundry you have to do are so inane, they make me want to hit my head against the wall.

10. If I counted, I probably check out girls more during a day than boys.

11. For about 14 hours last April, I considered selling my eggs to get money for my student loans.

12. I like sardines.

13. I want to have marriage pacts (like, vowing to get married to someone if at a certain age, you are both single) with a few people, you know, just in case. I really want to ask my ex-boyfriend from college, but I'm too afraid of his rejection all over again.

14. I'm a lush. Too much booze, sun, fashion, and food.

15. I'm a jealous person. I'm not interested in your success. 

16. I love Friends. I'm like 40% Chandler, 40% Monica, and 10% Phoebe. And like 10% Smelly Cat.

17. If you're not using Gmail, don't talk to me. Literally, how can we flirt if you're not on Gchat?

18. I'll admit I'm wrong if it means I get to have you back.

19. I like my big nose.

20. I love relentlessly and am surprised when it isn't reciprocated.

21. I think Chicago is cooler than San Francisco and LA but not as cool as New York.

22. I still pick my nose. Often in public.

23. More often than not, I'm in the past or the future. The present is a scary place, and when you won't join me in it, I get anxious.