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
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
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...
Don't we look thrilled? I don't want to talk about how much money I spent on Tall Boys at said ballpark...
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
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 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.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, September 3, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, August 27, 2012
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.
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).
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