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probably my last post.

May 9, 2010 by admin, under Uncategorized.

I started “Palmer’s Blog” a month after leaving New York in the summer of 2008, and now, having just returned to New York, I’m nearly overwhelmed with reasons not to blog. This may be a temporary hiatus, but it may also be a break of a year or two.

Here’s why…

  1. I don’t feel comfortable writing about relationships right now. I need to live them rather than analyzing them. Sometimes life, and those we live it with, deserves a little privacy to flourish.
  2. Buffalo was not the first time a manager has been upset upon discovering my blog. Part of my decision to move back here was to “grow up” to a degree, and a bit of discretion goes along with that. It doesn’t mean I won’t share my thoughts and feelings privately with y’all. I just don’t think it’s appropriate or wise anymore to explore my feelings here.
  3. I’ve successfully channeled my creativity into this blog for nearly two years. I want to start a larger or longer project. That means I have to stop diverting energy into these entries.
  4. I’m a little tired of the “It’s all about me” tone. Focusing so much on one’s feelings can perpetuate negativity, and when everything is going well, it would be more fun to write about other things. When I return to blogging, and I’m sure I will, it will be to write with a wider or different focus.
  5. I don’t want to be online so much. There are other ways to stay in touch. Let’s talk on the phone.
  6. Like everything else I do, my best explanation for this is, “It will all make sense in the end.”

Thanks so much to my mom, brother, aunts, cousins, friends, Mr. Hotness, and others, who’ve stopped by in the past two years. I’m actually listening, as I write this, to music created by someone I only know because he stumbled upon the blog. It’s definitely been a fun project. Hopefully the end of the blog will mark the beginning of an even awesomer story, both in life and on paper.

And yes, I’m ending this with a fake word. Huzzah!

(PS to any random visitors who drop by, keep reading- there’s some juicy stuff in here).

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“this is Austin, and I still love you.”*

April 30, 2010 by admin, under Journal.

My mom arrived in Austin late Saturday night, to help me buy a car and drive with me up to New Jersey, so that I could start work this coming Monday. We spent Sunday driving around town testing a series of gasping, jerking, wheezing cars, finally collapsing at Shady Grove. The beloved Austin restaurant has a large outdoor seating area, generous Tex Mex menu, and that night, a nearly-full moon hanging overhead. It was the perfect spot for my mom and I to enjoy drinks, nachos, and this town I had already become so fond of.

A few days before my mom arrived, I went to Eeyore’s Birthday, which is your basic hippie festival, with wild costumes, beer tents that kept running out of cups, and drumming circles at each point on the compass. I was there because I’d fallen madly in love with one of the women whose website I’d started redesigning (left), and she and her friends were already there. They were so spiffed by the time I arrived, I gently herded them to a restaurant outside the park, lending one of the women my sweatshirt to cover the belly dancer’s spangly bra she’d worn to the event. As we left the park, I called another friend, also new to Austin from Muncie, Indiana, insisting he join us so he could meet some people who were actually going to stay in the area. We fell on our greasy nachos and buffalo wings, comparing notes on our various locations (no one in Austin is from Texas). Philadelphia, Muncie, Rochester, somewhere in Ireland, and Seattle sat at the table, plus two women I didn’t survey, who were probably from Nepal or Australia or Jupiter.

A few nights before that, I went to “sweaty candle yoga” with my roommates. We lined up mat-to-mat in a dark room, surrounded by slender shaved people. Instructors lit candles, turned on the heater, and scooched us closer together to fit everyone in. We spent the next hour practicing Downward Dog and Cobras, our knees in our neighbors’ faces. By the end, we lay limp and loose on sweat-soaked towels, each breath naturally floating clear down to our toes. Walking between our heads, the instructor talked about letting go of everything in order to get everything. He said he’d left a successful career in Houston, packed his belongings and two dogs into his car and driven to Austin… to open a yoga studio and live happily ever after. Blissed out from the reverse bloodflow as I stretched my legs out behind my head, I found it ironic that he described exactly the process I went through when I left NYC two years ago… a week before my return to that city and that lifestyle.

A few days before that, the friend from Muncie and I window shopped on trendy South Congress. I wanted to show him as many good Austin things as I could before I left him to his own devices. We went to see “Hot Tub Time Machine” for my second time (see it if you haven’t already, it’s high-larious), and I enjoyed listening to Muncie cackle as much as I enjoyed the movie itself. Afterwards we met a man selling an old Volvo, for my First Ever Used Car Test Drive. I was so nervous before the car came that I bought a bag of jerky from the nearby Target and ate nearly all of it.

The car’s brakes only vaguely worked, but I endured the experience without making an ass of myself, or crashing… and even though Muncie had plenty of snarky remarks to make, his sense of humor made the test drive fun rather than intimidating. Which basically sums up his overall effect on my Austin experience.

A few days before that I rode on a motorcycle for the first time since I was fourteen, when I rode home with my dad one day from the motorcycle store he managed in Anchorage. [Yes, this is a flashback within a flashback, but who cares?] We didn’t yet know he had diabetes, and his high blood sugar was making him unwittingly short tempered. It was the first time I’d ridden since I was a little girl. I was anxious for his approval, but when we got home all I got was a grumbled, “you fought me on the turns.” It was the kind of little remark, followed by several years of my dad not owning a bike for us to ride, that left super-sensitive me wasting half my life afraid to get on a bike again. But the other night I went out with an Iraq vet turned UT student, who is a story unto himself. His truck was towed while we had a few drinks on 6th Street. The only vehicle he had to take me home on was his little black 250cc of mysterious Asian origins…

I sniveled, as is my wont, confessing my fear that I’d feel like a big, fat, dead weight if I climbed on another motorcycle. Also, I was wearing date-night high heels. He said fears like that were meant to be let go, and I knew he was right. The minute we turned onto the rode, with a little breeze running past us as he turned into a curve, I regretted the past fourteen years I’d avoided motorcycles. In fact I regretted not owning one of my own already.

My month in Austin wasn’t a star-studded fantasy parade. You may read about yoga classes, hippie festivals and motorcycle rides and wonder what the hell I’m gong on about. But it was just what the doctor ordered. It was fun, nonstop and laid back at the same time. I met so many kind, interesting people, who wanted to make me feel at home- and succeeded. By the time my mom arrived, I knew my way around town, where to have a great lunch, and which coffee shop to spend a few hours online looking at car ads on Craigslist. I had conquered fears, I had trusted men again for the first time in months, and I had freckles.

At the same time, I’d already started doing offsite work for the job waiting for me in New York, and it felt great. My own design work had kept me up to date on software, best practices and style trends, the agency has retained many of the freelancers I used to work with, and the thrill of hooking someone up with a job was just as tangy as it had been.

I’d also spent four or five hours on Skype talking “out loud” to Mr. Hotness, for the first time in more than a year. Our conversation ranged from relationships to the evolution of souls. I was startled to find him so willing, now, to discuss issues he’d once avoided, and he said I sounded more calm and relaxed. The past year, difficult for both of us, seems to have strengthened our connection rather than weakened it. I don’t think he knew how close I was to crying when he said he wanted to settle down a bit and start a family, and couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather do those things with, than me. We talked about ways he could visit me in New Jersey in the coming months. With the job I was taking, I’d be as close as either of us would come in the foreseeable future to being able to support him on a long visit or even a marriage visa.

I knew exactly why I was going to New York. I just wasn’t sure why I was leaving Austin.

And truth be told, having driven from Austin through the rest of Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Ohio, on my way to New Jersey, I still feel that way. As flavors of uncertainty go, it’s a tasty one, like setting down your mocha almond fudge ice cream cone to pick up a fork and dig into a slice of raspberry cheesecake. I’m excited and grateful for the opportunity to work in New York again, and also aware that Austin was a great choice for me: liberal, arty, hippie, peaceful.

Thanks to that city and the people I met there, I’m returning to New York with a refreshed heart. I hope to infuse my experience of Manhattan with what I loved about Austin: sweaty candle yoga, outdoor patios, warm friends. And Mr. Hotness, who I could not have afforded to fly here or stay here, on a freelancer’s budget in Austin. With luck, this will be my little version of giving up everything to get everything.

*Title borrowed from a great Blake Shelton country song.

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why it took a couple months to make the statement “I’m moving back to New York” true.

April 19, 2010 by admin, under Journal.

I arrived in Austin three weeks ago. In that time, I’ve been on more dates then I went on the entire time I lived in Buffalo, met some interesting women, worked on websites, explored Austin, and basked in blue skies and sunshine.

And I’m leaving, at the end of the month.

Flying into Newark on my way here, I glanced out the airplane window as the descending plane passed a truck stop. The buildings and trucks were slick with rain; the entire airport had been fogbound most of the day. The scene was a little grimy, a little rusty, very “Joisey.” Yet I felt a pang of recognition at seeing home.

The first day I wandered around Austin, I almost gave myself heatstroke, searching for something captivating. I started at the UT campus and walked all the way downtown, past the capitol building, past the big hotels, past the restaurants with businesspeople eating outside. I kept walking, unaware it was eighty-five degrees out, because I wanted to find some action. Some bustle. Some movement.

Instead, I’ve found coffee shops where unshaven couples pet their dogs. Lots of vegetarian and Tex-Mex food. Men who do yoga. Live blues bands. Sunshine.

I’m liberal. I’m creative. I’m deeply, idiosyncratically, devotedly spiritual. I started doing yoga when I was thirteen years old. So why don’t I feel a need to stay here?

The other day, I got an email from the company I used to work for in New York. There’s a job waiting for me in that office across the street from the Empire State Building. And this time, I’m going to take it.

When I left that job two years ago, and went to Europe to work as an au pair instead, I acted on the theory that if I gave up the Met, my favorite hairdresser, and health insurance, I would find a lifestyle more satisfying than that of a 9-5 commuter. I never wanted to turn into one of “those women,” with the Blackberry, the tense face, the conservative suit. I never wanted to become dependent on my salary, or the things it bought. I still don’t want to become those things. I still want to write, and grow spiritually, and put relationships over my career.

But I need to be challenged by my environment. I need the Met, my favorite hairdresser, and health insurance. I need to be respected and have the opportunity to grow at work. And what finally occurred to me, the other day, was that in the grand scheme of things, if I have the ability and opportunity to provide myself with those things… what kind of self-sabotaging prima donna wouldn’t?

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this is how I feel right now.

April 17, 2010 by admin, under Uncategorized.

I did not ask permission from the friend who created this song to post it on my blog, so I won’t tell you who that person is. Yet. I will say that it’s how I feel right now, and it’s because, in the immortal words of Richard Dreyfus in What About Bob? “It feels right because you’re here, and it feels right because you’re leaving.”

More news to follow very shortly.

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paradigm shift!

April 10, 2010 by admin, under Uncategorized.

I usually make it a rule not to write about generalities. Still, today requires one. To quote Wikipedia, “paradigm shift” means “a change in basic assumptions.” I have experienced a paradigm shift, and man, do I love them puppies.

For the past twenty-eight years of my life, I have acted on one basic, gloomy principle: how can I avoid fucking up my or anyone else’s life?

Thanks to the romantic suffering my mom and I went through together last year, one of my friend’s decision to commit fully to her boyfriend, a few great self-help books, my favorite astrologers, my brother’s wise advice, and probably every other person I’ve spoken to in the past six months, that question has finally changed.

I don’t care if I mess up mine or anyone else’s path, anymore. Worrying about doing so makes life suck so much it’s hard to imagine me doing anything worse, unless I actually bought an Uzi and went on a bloody rampage. Which I won’t do, because it doesn’t fit into the new paradigm any more than it fit into the old one.

Now, I find myself asking how I can live this moment. Here, now, with this person, this tree, this cup of iced decaf coffee. Fully, and well. With a flourish and a smile and a leaning-forward big gamble on life in general. By recognizing the possibility it may make me blush later, and then, by throwing that possibility away.

Scorpio
By Rick Levine
Your two ruling planets, Mars and Pluto, are currently engaged in a winner-takes-all struggle, but it’s actually a stalemate because there won’t be a winner if anyone loses now. This will be a problem as long as you are in a competitive frame of mind. But you have the power to shift the paradigm from conflict to cooperation. By changing the rules of the game, everyone can come out ahead.

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a bit of a novel (seriously).

April 9, 2010 by admin, under Fiction.

I need a few days or months before I write about current events. But the novel I started in the fall of 2008 came up in conversation today. I was cleaning up a random excerpt to send the person I’d been discussing it with, and decided to just share it here until I can write about my life.

This takes place in 1970. Marvin is a vet returned from Vietnam, just moved to a small college town to work at the post office. Cathy is the main character, but I like the parts told from Marvin’s perspective best of all. The only other thing I’ll add is that Marvin’s assumptions about Cathy’s marriage are not accurate.

Marvin met Cathy the Sunday afternoon Joe and Max came over to try out the barbecue left behind in Marvin’s new backyard. They put the longnecks in the cooler, tuned the radio to the local rock station, put out three folding chairs with those rubber bands that leave your thighs looking welted, and tested his backyard. It was deemed good. Max drank from her bottle and said, “When are Cathy and Fred coming over?”

Marvin lowered his brows. “Whatcha talkin’ ’bout, woman?”

“Your neighbors, the ones I told you about. Our friends, Cathy and Fred. See, those are their kids, Sandy and Denny- see them?”

Of course he saw Sandy and Denny, running around the yard buck naked, chasing each other into and around the wading pool. He chuckled and drank and noticed Max was still looking at him like she was waiting for an answer.

“You didn’t invite them?”

“I don’t know ‘em- I just moved in two days ago.”

“I though I told Cathy you were coming in- I thought I… I was sure you’d have mentioned it, and I just forgot yesterday when we talked on the phone…” She rose, tugging her shorts down. “I’d better give her a shout.”

“Hey, wait, you’re not going over now?”

“Sure, why not?” Max had steady gray eyes that could be reassuring or just deadly persistent depending on what she wanted. Marvin liked her a lot, and waved his bottle with a shrug for her to have her way. She stepped over the low hedge, tiptoeing between the plants, and said hello to the kids, who barely took notice of her. Marvin and Joe talked baseball while she knocked on the back slider, smiled, and stepped inside the door as it opened. A few minutes later, checking the heat of the barbecue, Marvin looked up to see the most beautiful woman in the world cross the hedge, along with a husband who, Marvin guessed, had been the high school king jock turned grease monkey. Thinking cynically to himself that they’d probably met and fallen in love at seventeen and now ten or twelve years later regretted it and had angry sex once a month, Marvin hardly heard names as he shook Fred’s hand and listened to Max’s prattling introduction.

The five of them watched Sandy and Denny get used to Marvin’s swing set, which they had coveted since they’d moved in, Cathy said, but didn’t have permission to use while the house sat empty. “We didn’t want them to get used to playing on it,” she said, “And then have to stop if we didn’t get on with the tenants.”

“Just you?” Fred asked as Marvin handed him the bottle opener. Marvin nodded and Fred said, “Joe says you were a mechanic at the beginning but switched over to navigation towards the end,” and that was how it started, talking shop and war stories, just three guys and the little women with their kids getting lunch ready in the background.

Max seemed to take it for granted that everyone would get along because everyone was her friend. Fred seemed to like Marvin’s gritty history, Cathy liked Max and therefore liked her friends. After that afternoon, though, Cathy did little more than the friendly hello when they caught themselves walking from door to car or getting the mail. Fred would pause to lean on the mailbox and tell Marvin about some technical whatsis problem they’d had at work. Every now and then the kids would knock on his back door and, lisping and twisting their baseball caps, ask him if they could use his playtoy. He’d look outside to see Cathy watching from her stoop with a smile for her polite kids, and they’d wave or make some joke.

It wasn’t until Denny fell off the fort and broke his wrist that they really started talking. Marvin was just getting home, setting keys and watch on table, looking forward to taking off the hot polyester blue uniform, when he saw a shape fall outside and heard a shriek and a wail that hit his stomach and brought it up into his throat. He ran outside and found Sandy, finger in her mouth, looking down over her little round naked tummy on Dennis, who lay on the ground letting out whooping wails louder than sirens. He moved towards the kid, not sure where to start, and felt relief when out of the corner of his eye he saw Cathy streaking toward them. She had that kid up in her arms before Marvin had even reached them, and she knew, she must have seen them- but even if she hadn’t seen the fall it took one look at Denny’s hand hanging sideways from his wrist to know what was wrong.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” he said.

“Don’t bother, let’s just drive him,” Cathy muttered, already walking up the grass that divided their houses. She threw a glance over her shoulder, “Bring Sandy?”

Marvin nodded and looked down at the girl, whose blond hair fell over a chubby face streaked on one cheek with jam. He knelt and gave her arm a little squeeze. It felt soft and boneless in his fingers. “Wanna go for a drive, kiddo?”

She nodded, looking at the ground and holding her dolly to her face. He lifted her up and followed Cathy, who stood in front of the open passenger door. She held Denny and bent forward as though to put him the seat, then straightened, then stood, then straightened. Marvin breathed easier knowing he could actually contribute to the crisis, and said, “Get in with him, I’ll drive. This one goes in the backseat?”

He lifted Sandy slightly and Cathy, eyes unblinking, still hunched by the door as though to begin a relay race, nodded. She slid into the seat and sat, whispering soothing nothings to Denny and running her hands through his hair, while Marvin put Sandy in the backseat, buckled her in after four tries, then got in the front and looked at Cathy. After several moments she noticed he was staring, and laughed, one short bark.

“They’re in the house, with my purse. Of course. I forgot. Shh, Denny, it’s okay, we’ll get there soon. By the front door, it’s unlocked- on the little table?”

He nodded, got out, trotted up the round cement stones to the front door, opened it and saw her slouchy green bag on the side table, along with a small teddy bear and three mints. He took everything, not bothering to lock the door and hoping she wouldn’t get all feminine on him and ask him to sort through her bag, get the keys, to do so. In the car he gave her the bag to find the keys, passed the bear to Sandy, who tossed her dolly aside in favor of it, and each of the kids a mint. Denny had settled into hiccups, tears still filling his eyes, but he took the mint and sucked it thoughtfully, his mouth parting around it to moan occasionally. Cathy handed Marvin the keys and returned to resting Denny’s hand on her arm.

Marvin drove to the wrong hospital. She looked up and said, “Oh no not this one, I’m sorry, we’re at the clinic-”

“Shit,” Marvin muttered, and drove around town to the smaller clinic, low and tan. Screaming kids and fat mothers filled the waiting room inside.

He waited with Sandy in the foyer while Cathy and Denny went in with the doctor. The little girl’s eyes grew wider and wider, until they were officially too wide, from all the strange shrieking sickly kids. He asked the nurse to tell Mrs. Medford he and the girl were going outside. He carried her out to the station wagon, put down the wayback door, sat her on his lap in the sunlight, and read “Mr Birthday” to her ten times before mom and son returned. Cathy’s face was slack and vacant, but she smiled down at Denny as he ran toward his sister.

“Look see a bandage!” he yelled, holding up the cast on his arm.

Marvin looked up at Cathy. “Next time, couldja keep some better readin’ material in here?”

She laughed, two barks this time, so he figured that was progress. When they got home, she led Denny in by the hand and said nothing as Marvin carried in the little girl and set her down to run downstairs and play with her brother. Cathy stood facing the living room, hand on her back, the other running through her long hair that fell down to her waist. She turned to him. “Coffee?”

“Sure, and you can spike it with whatever liquor you’ve got,” he said agreeably, following her up the stairs to the kitchen. The avocado green wallpaper was covered in pineapples, the cabinets dark wood. So was the dining room set, in the next room, covered in coloring books, juice and coffee cups.

She put three uneven scoops of coffee in the filter, carried the pot to the sink, turned on the water, and stood there with one finger under the stream, the other hand holding the pot.

She remained that way long enough for Marvin to glance at the mail near the breadbox, brush a few crumbs into a pile on the counter, and look back to her. He touched her arm, from behind her, saying, “Hey…” She turned, with a sob, and threw her arms around him, sloshing water all over his back with the coffee pot and wet hand. He felt thrilled by the sensation of his hands in the small of her back.

She almost immediately stepped back and returned to making coffee, saying, “I just go to pieces when they get hurt, I can’t stand it. I always think it’s my fault.”

He watched a fly settle on the bread board where a loaf still sat, homemade, surrounded by crumbs and gobs of honey. “It’s not your fault,” he said at last, “And that looks like good homemade bread.”

She glanced over at it, clicking the pot on, then put the loaf back in the breadbox, sweeping up crumbs in her hand. “I have make things to pass the time.”

“You’re quite the happy housewife, aren’t you.” He leaned against the counter, heartbeat tripping along at the discovery this gorgeous girl didn’t have it all together. “What’s got into you, kiddo?”

“I’ve never been happy,” she said, and exhaled, shook her head, turned to him. “Never in my life except in college and that was because I was stoned and high… on life.” Her head bent as she made a sound he thought might be a giggle. When she looked up again he almost lost his breath at the sight of her smile. It belonged in a magazine, this smile, advertising toothpaste or lipstick or a tropical cruise, five nights for $399. She came close, dropping the crumbs in the sink, brushing off her hands, saying, “I loved being stoned. All the time. I don’t know how I passed so many classes, being that stoned.”

“Yeah, being stoned is good,” he agreed, scratching his head. “How ’bout we get stoned now? Got some at home.”

Her eyes flitted to his as she reached into the cupboard next to him and brought down two coffee cups. “What are you waiting for?”

When he got back with the weed, she sat at the table, as level as you please, flicking through a magazine. A spoon sat in her coffee cup, near a carton of milk and his cup.

“Got sugar?” he asked, already heading for the thick crockery jogs labeled SUGAR, FLOUR and SALT. She waited, sipping coffee, while he rolled a joint and lighted it with the lighter she had produced from her everything-drawer. He took a puff, closing his eyes at the fragrance, and handed it to her. He went home a few hours later, and when she called two days later, he felt like he’d been holding his breath waiting for it the entire time.

“Come back,” she said. “Fred doesn’t mind, if that’s what you’re thinking- as long as I’m nice to him when he comes home.”

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15 life tips for the unitiated, or, how to flourish as a stranger in a strange land.

April 5, 2010 by admin, under Journal.

Thirty years ago, my grandpa’s girlfriend found out he was still married, to my grandmother, who no longer lived with my grandpa. So upset at that initial “I’m married’ confession to even hear the details, this woman, who later became the woman I called “Grandma,” climbed on a bicycle and rode from his house in a rage. In tears, she pedaled furiously down the gravel driveway, and crashed. My grandpa fetched her, told her the rest of the story, and shortly after, married her, right around the time my parents married.

That was in California, near San Diego. Meanwhile, thirty years later, in San Jose…

I got a call from my mother, who had ridden my dad’s bicycle from his apartment in San Jose, pedaling furiously, also because of a confession about another woman. She was riding around town, beside herself, determined to stay at a hotel and fly back to Buffalo the next day. It was late afternoon when she called me, and after I heard her out, she said, “I’m going to go get some dinner.”

Imagining her riding back and forth between downtown San Jose and its airport, knowing my mom well enough to also know she would not return to my dad’s apartment that night, I asked her if she’d found a hotel room yet. She said no. I said, “Mom, get a hotel room. The first rule of survival is to make your shelter, even before you find food.”

She reconciled with my dad a day and a half later, but in the meantime, had a place to stay.

You’re not going to believe this, at least, not if you’ve heard me ranting about hunting, fishing, and camping, but I spent one hour of every day of my senior year of high school in a class called Outdoor Living. I needed a science credit and couldn’t fathom chemistry, so while I spent half my day surrounded by fellow over-achievers in AP English and History, I took another class with the kids who were destined for management positions at Wendy’s: the slacker science class. My teacher spent an entire unit on survival skills, and even though I hated the class, I remember a disturbing amount of it.

I hadn’t thought about it until that class, but the idea that one needs shelter more than food probably stuck in my head because I wound up later living in a lot of different, alien places. I don’t move to new cities with a boyfriend and an SUV, I move with a couple suitcases and a willingness to walk. And after doing so in Seattle, Portland, various parts of New Jersey, New York, Brooklyn, southwest England, Barcelona and now Austin, Texas, I can authoritatively call myself an expert on surviving in the non-wild wilderness we call the civilized world.

Some of the things I’ve learned, most people don’t and shouldn’t have to, because they give themselves “luxuries” like cars and familiarity. Other things, everyone should know, especially every woman, and I’m continually astounded how many don’t. So here’s a mixture of both.

  1. No one judges you for doing something alone. It is usually more fun to eat, shop or travel with good company. But the self-consciousness and fear that prevents most people from acting alone is largely imaginary: no one cares, and as long as there are other people within shouting distance, you’re probably safe.
  2. Rely on the kindness of strangers. Anyone who works at a bar, hotel, or any form of public transportation, knows from experience how to help the lost and confused. Elderly people and parents with small children are also usually trustworthy. It doesn’t matter whether you’re going to the fair or flying to Guam: tip the bartender well, trust the bellhop, and be kind to the curly-haired grandmother sitting on the bench. Also, just because you didn’t stay at that hotel doesn’t mean you can’t ask the bellhop to call you a cab like your suitcase is upstairs in room #321.
  3. Conversely… if you’re female and alone, it is never rude to be rude. Most well-adjusted men know where it is and is not okay to engage a strange woman in conversation. The ones that don’t are the ones you probably shouldn’t get to know, even if their biggest crime is general cluenessness. Safe zones include: Bars, hotel lobbies, Toys R Us, and gas station pumps with at least one car between you. If someone approaches you outside one of those settings, feel absolutely free to respond in one sentence, smile politely, and turn away.
  4. If you’re worried someone’s following you, take some advice from a Wiccan book I’ve kept for the past ten years, and turn all the way around instead of glancing furtively over your shoulder. If someone actually is following you, he might be alarmed by your confrontational pose, you won’t look as scared as you would if you kept glancing, and you’ll be in a better position to fight back. And if it was just your imagination, the only people who’ll see you do it are the pigeons.
  5. Lost or overwhelmed? Find a restroom. I don’t know about Morocco, but in the US, even the worst parts of town have a crowded bar, grocery store, Starbucks, or McDonald’s. Head for the stall and get your bearings. It may sound gross, but no one is going to notice you studying your map or digging frantically through your purse in the bathroom. Collect yourself and then return to the fray.
  6. Reminding yourself that “you can always take a cab home,” takes the stress out of most situations, as long as you keep cab fare with you, and have the number of a cab company stored in your phone.
  7. Don’t drink unless you can accept the worst case scenario if you have one too many and your judgment flies right out the window.
  8. It’s okay to go home early.
  9. Don’t be afraid to get lost. Some of the best love affairs, creative epitomes, and undiscovered coffee shops have been discovered when I was lost. Just be aware that it all gets a lot more stressful after dark, and/or in ouchy shoes.
  10. Keep the following in your purse at all times: Antibacterial handwipes (Purell won’t do it if you have actual dirt on your hands); an iPod with cheering comfort music on it; almonds (to avoid costly emergency meals when you’re too starving to take another step); and if it makes you feel better, pepper spray.
  11. If you look sexy, you’ll get admiration, and (maybe) sex. If you look competent, you’ll get a job, the trust of strangers, entrance into any building you want without question, and that fabulous rent-controlled sublet. I’m not advocating women hide their feminity. I’m just saying that if you look like you’ve got money in the bank, a husband, and a full three car garage, you get access. Think J. Crew instead of Victoria’s Secret.
  12. Pay attention to landmarks. Navigating any new place is much easier if you note the tall building that looks like an owl (Austin’s got one downtown) and the big billboard with a salon advertisement on it.
  13. Most bus systems can’t give change, and most bus drivers are friendlier than they look.
  14. Regardless of what I said earlier, it’s always okay to show a little cleavage and a big smile, if you need some help and attention.
  15. Serendipity is your best friend. Planning the entire experience sets you up for disappointment, and you’re liable to miss the local treasures the guidebook missed. Leave the house with one planned destination or event and leave the rest up to chance. It is very, very important than you have time to pause for the shop, restaurant, or conversation that just seems to “catch your fancy.” Following those whims creates about 97% of the magic any individual will ever need in one lifetime.

Bilbo Baggins will tell you that every good adventure is scary by definition. The important thing is to find the wizards, dwarves and enchanted mini-swords that give you the courage to take it.

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diamonds.

April 4, 2010 by admin, under Journal.

I sat in front of a pilot on my way from Buffalo to Austin last Tuesday. As the plane descended into fogbound Newark, I flipped through the fashion magazine I’d bought for the flight, wondering if there was any reason to lug it on the next leg of the journey.

I decided to leave it in the seat pocket for the next passenger. The only thing I tore out, inexplicably, was a two-page Tiffany’s advertisement for Celebration Rings. “Good taste,” the pilot said, resting his forearms on the back of my seat. I said I had never been into fine jewelry, and wasn’t sure why this particular ad appealed to me. He told me his grandfather had been Mr. Tiffany’s secretary, and had such perfect penmanship, he’d handwritten his daughter’s wedding invitations.

I said I spent so much time on my computer, I could hardly write a grocery list legibly anymore.

I didn’t tell him that I had left another Tiffany’s ad taped next to my bed in Buffalo, this one showing a man standing on a doorstep in the snow, holding a little box behind him. The copy was something like “This is the one, this is the moment.”

I love jewelry like everyone else, just not the kind of jewelry you have to lock up. But lately I’ve found these images of gold and diamonds as mysteriously compelling as a pregnant woman finds a jar of pickles.

Just before Mr. Hotness came to visit me a year ago, he got really stressed out about how little money he had for the trip. It took half an hour of calming conversation before he admitted he was disappointed his savings was so small because he’d wanted to arrive with a ring.

At the time, I wasn’t feeling quite as confident as he was that our relationship merited engagement rings. And even in the months prior, when my love for him was at its strongest, I had found the idea of marriage and all its trappings showy and unrealistic. Not only did I feel mystified by the ceremony and cost, I couldn’t take the idea of lifelong commitment seriously in the middle of my parents’ dissolution.

When he told me he’d wanted to buy me a ring, my audible response was, “That’s sweet, but you don’t have to right now.” Inside, I was thinking, “Gee… that would have been kind of nice…”

It took me a long time to realize that while I was attracted to him for his complex intellect, sense of humor and, well, hotness, I loved him for his devotion, rationality, and stability. These qualities, that I do not have in abundance, were also the qualities that made him consider buying an engagement ring despite my scoffing. At every step, I struggled with the slower pace at which he makes decisions, the thin veins of traditionalism running through his bass-playing, Japanese horror-movie-watching personality, his hesitancy to throw everything in a suitcase and fly someplace new and strange. But the same way he may need my impulsive unpredictability and grandiose emotional gestures, I may need someone who looks before leaping.

I’ve enjoyed myself since landing in Austin on Tuesday night. I’ve walked its beloved Sixth Street, crowded with college kids and noisy with live blues. I’ve had wine and hummus at a great coffee shop, talked to welcoming strangers, ridden clean buses, meandered downtown, had a delicious Tex Mex dinner with one of my new roommates, and been on two dates.

After not dating at all for more than a year, I’d forgotten the thrill of interesting conversation with someone you might get to kiss as well. I’d also forgotten why I keep circling back to Mr. Hotness. It’s very hard to find someone capable of witty date-night banter, who can also learn from his mistakes, cope with challenging emotions, and not require a lot of ego-feeding.

Meanwhile, a Tiffany’s ad from a magazine sits on my desk here, displaying rings made of gold, silver, and tiny diamonds. Rings you have to save up to buy for someone. Rings you can’t take off when your fingers swell in later years. Rings you worry about losing. Like so many traditions that cynical young liberals like myself mock, the wedding ring is more than something to wear; it’s symbolic of a relationship that shares those qualities. A relationship you have to work for, that becomes part of you, that you can’t bear to lose.

A relationship you’re willing to take risks for.

Mr. Hotness can’t leave England, and I have moved to a town in Texas that, at least on first impression, looks like a great place to be single. A few years ago I would have cherished the tattoos, vintage clothing shops, and huge Mexican Margaritas. And I may wind up staying here for years, enjoying those things. But the magazine ad sits on my desk for a reason. I can’t take the next step alone, and I can’t take it without investing in someone.

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inside the revolution, part three: doing March right.

March 29, 2010 by admin, under Journal.

I started this blog back in July of 2008 with the express intent to write about life from a positive viewpoint. A recovered depressive still too inclined to sleep too much and avoid emotional risks, I needed this unofficial platform to publicly say “hey, life is good- even if I have to force myself to admit it.”

The following winter tested my positivity. Anyone who’s continued to read my thoughts might have done so out of appreciation for my “confessional style,” but not because I was Miss Cheery. I’ve waited for everyone to give up on me as boring and lacking spunk. Or worse, that I’d cross that line from “sort of blue” into actual “never leave my bedroom” depression.

I knew the minute I got here that Buffalo was a one-way train ticket to Depressionville. I knew I’d struggle with that Lake Erie wind, the widespread poverty, the limited entertainment. I was ready to go last March. I’d only come here to help my mom out and get my own bearings. But as though they had discussed it together, my English boyfriend and my mom both asked me to stay. They each said they thought I’d be happiest if I stayed, and my boyfriend wanted me to wait for him here. I was so astonished that two people who loved me so much could ask me to stay someplace so horrid, that I thought I must be missing something obvious. I applied for a part-time job here, and got it. A few months later I was a full-time Program Director and hanging pictures on the walls.

I committed a crime against myself, the day I applied for that part-time admin job. We all do it, all the time: we let other people tell us what’s right for us. It doesn’t matter how much someone loves you, how close they hold your interests to their heart, how good their intentions. If your reason and your heart tell you something is wrong for you, and you don’t act on that knowledge… you wind up a year later, like me, with so little to show for it.

It’s taken me this long to circle back and do March right. Since September, I’ve talked to people in Seattle, Chicago, San Francisco, even England and Italy, about living in one of those cities. Nothing clicked, nothing was doable. Finally, a few weeks ago, my eyes fell on the “other cities” list on Craigslist, and I remembered…

My friend Uke had suggested I’d probably like Austin, Texas, last spring. A friend of a friend recently had, as well. I always wrote it off as “too far south,” “too hot,” “too Texas,” like we all do when an idea comes out of nowhere and we’re not ready to entertain it… But really, could anything be “too Texas” after living here?

I put an ad on the Austin Craigslist for a room for rent, talked to several cool people, agreed on a room near downtown Austin. Tomorrow, I fly down there with my suitcases and my bunny.

I don’t have much of a plan. I’ll look for web design and admin work simultaneously while I get started. I’ll explore. And I’ll reach out to people at every given opportunity. Since arriving in Buffalo, I’ve been so afraid of falling in love with someone who might tempt me to stay, I’ve barely tried to socialize. I took the friendship my brother’s group offered, while it was available, and hardly fought for it when it wasn’t. I clung to Mr. Hotness and the DF, who both lived so far away.

I went out the other night to mark my last weekend in Buffalo, and five people joined me, including my brother and a friend who only showed up at the end of the night. We all had lots of fun, I’m glad we got to spend that Saturday night together, as we have so many others over the past year, but I couldn’t help but think… “what have I been doing all this time? No one even cares I’m leaving.”

I don’t say it bitterly. I can look back on every relationship and see points where I could have reached out and instead withdrew. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be here, not fully, and not well. And that’s on me. And that’s okay.

It’s a lesson, from an incredible year, that’s left me tougher, less inclined to doubt myself, and in the end, proud that it only took me a year to shake off the blues and take another chance on something… somewhere.

It’s happening at the right time, as my brother moves into his own apartment, and my mom spends time with my dad in California. We’re each finally ready to do our own thing.

Everyone I’ve talked to about Austin describes a bigger version of Portland, Oregon- liberal and hippie-arty. I think about the warm weather and get tingles of guilty excitement, like I’m going on an undeserved vacation. I’m bringing my sundresses, and leaving my sweaters. I’m going to show some skin… and more important, I’m going to show some heart. I didn’t give Buffalo enough- it’s a mistake I won’t make again.

I’m glad that Candi and Dawn and I got to spend the time together that we did. I’m glad our friend Chris shared so many nights of board games and beers with us. I’m glad I got to design websites and gossip with coworkers and go rowing on the pond with the DF. I’m glad Mr. Hotness and I got to share Niagara- that goes in the book of unforgettable. I’m glad I got to meet my brother’s girlfriend, an intelligent, funny woman who I suspect will be an important part of his future. And I’m glad my mom and brother and I got to grow, together, becoming a different kind of family, learning together about relationships and love… and just gabbing. What we accomplished together, emotionally, happened for sad reasons- but I think it was worth it.

I think it was worth it. That might be the biggest lesson I’ll take from the B-flo experience: taking the wrong fork in the road brings its own adventure.

What adventure will this next fork bring?

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for your desktop pleasure: wallpapers in five sizes.

March 25, 2010 by admin, under Uncategorized.

Wallpapers created for Smashing Magazine’s monthly assortment. To use, click the thumbnail closest to your monitor’s size, right-click the image that appears and select “set as desktop background.”

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