Live by Forward Motion

Socially Speaking

2011-06-08T06:57:00.000-07:00

I recently went to the SoMeBizLife conference at Delaware Valley College. My place of employment encouraged several of us to partake, not only because the social media side of business continues to grow, but our CFO presented. Yay, a chance to get out of my cubicle (which almost never happens, unless you count working out over lunches and the Yoga that’s brought in once a week…did I mention how lucky I am to work where I do?)

A large room full of all walks of business life gathered to hear key-note speakers talk about the social world. Some would find the sheer act of this gathering ironic; in the land of social, sharing, tweeting, tagging, Facebooking all takes place with your head down, typing frantically on your iPhone, blackberry or other smartphone. But this face-to-face interaction? We’ve become a culture of socially distracted, so much that it begs the question: Are we missing out on The Now?

Hey, I’m not one to judge or claim to not be guilty of the Facebook-FacePlant. My girlfriend, at a concert last night, asked me to, “take a picture of us and post it; you’re the Facebook Queen!” Proud or embarrassed? Not quite sure…I’m one of the most social people I know; love to entertain, travel, plan fun things...I'm constantly on the go, socially speaking. But as I looked down from the balcony at Johnny Brenda’s, I noticed that in-between sets of the three amazing bands (one being Cults, a killer band that just released a new album), 1 out of every 4 people, give or take, had their head down, thumbs frantic, screens ablaze. Pretty amusing and completely intriguing, getting me thinking about my own socialness. Am I social enough or impaired socially?

Back to the biz conference, the speakers were diverse in background and industry, which always fascinates me. I love being surrounded by intelligent people with a common interest, even if it doesn’t directly correlate with my background, the overlap intrigues. After a day of listening to the wide range of social-savvys, I took away pages of good information, useful sites and blogs that will delve even deeper into the social realm, and also, the idea that inspiration lies in social. The last speaker I attended actually hadn’t entered the official business world yet, but still remained at Temple, finishing his degree. The points and tips he gave during his presentation were poignant, well-thought out and well-spoken. His age alone motivated me; I vowed then and there I would become more involved, more active in my own success. He had already accomplished so much, been invited to national conferences by major players, and contributed to several well-read blogs and forums; he hadn’t even graduated! It was truly inspiring and lit a fire under my aspirations.

Having already achieved a certain level of social success, I’ve been contemplating the other realms of my life. The weight and balance of each sector as it relates to my over-all happiness, contentment, sense of accomplishment, sense-of self. Is what I’m doing enough to make a dent in the world? Not an easy question to ask myself. So I’ve had a lot to think about over the past week while gallivanting in New York, dinning at Black Fish, bending and stretching at Yoga and entertaining over the grill.

I realize I am biased and perhaps living in my own social bubble, but socially speaking, I’m all-in for what’s next.

Tick-Tock

2011-05-31T19:21:00.000-07:00

Time has been on my mind lately. The passing of it, the way it stops for no one, for nothing. The way it can drag when you want it to fly, the way it flies when you wish it would stand still. How bizarre it can seem when you sit back and reflect on it. What can happen in such a short amount of it and how nothing can happen when extended periods stretch before you, seeming endless in one moment, fleeting in another. Patience, that virtue few posses, often helps with time, yet I am not one of those few. I hate to admit, but I may be one of those people who are very cognizant of the time, aware of how little there seems to be of it, how it’s literally disappearing as I sit and write this. That scares and exhilarates me equally, especially since as of late, time has been both a gift and a curse…

Just two short months ago, my life seemed superficially wrapped up. Not so much tied with a hand-crafted, Nordstrom bow, but tied up, figured out on the surface (although I’m not sure anyone ever figures everything out; how boring when that happens!). Even typing that, in those words, puts any doubt I had (none) about how things have come untied, to rest. That has been how I've felt. Untied. Released. From the time restraints that went along with what had been proposed to me (literally) as well as from what I had settled into. Time had lent complacency to me and when the events of March 12th unfolded, I returned it. The ride in the stolen car had started and when it ended, I had escaped.

Time was now mine.

Broad Street, a race that time seemed to fly for, took much of my time post March 12th. Training for that, the hours and distance runs I set aside for, propelled me forward both literally and figuratively. Having a goal after that which you thought would, no longer will, may be the best piece of advice I can give someone. When something doesn't work, take time to rearview mirror it, but don't stop and put the brakes on. Time marches on with or without you.

So with the race here, then gone, I not only exceeded a personal expectation by running it, I finished in 1:33:54. There's nothing like awakening from a deep sleep and hitting the ground running.

And the time kept filling up.

The act of reclaiming myself took no time at all. Suddenly, I had things to look forward to that I had orchestrated for myself and could take the minutes and hours of days not planned to do with what I wanted. There in lies the quandary I often find myself in. With time rushing by, having no pause or hesitation, shouldn't you use every single second, filling it with, well, everything? For that rare breed of high-energy folk, myself included, this can present a challenge for the NBC's (non-energizer bunny on crack) of the world. Keeping up may not even be the issue. The sheer act of listening to the projected plans of someone like me, just being the recipient of an email that spouts off upcoming events or dates to be filled, these things can overwhelm. Time flies when you're having fun and the post March 12th dates have done just that, leaving me thinking about how I doubt I'll take the time to slow down now.

Looking back on time, seeing what has happened since, puts a very wide smile on my face and leaves me to think of that which stretches ahead:

Time...Oh the things I will do with it.

Practicing the Present

2011-03-03T16:39:00.001-08:00

In like a lion, out like a lamb. March, the month where hopes of spring bud within. The curses uttered about winter get louder, more vocal, and people start itching to get out. I know quite a few people who hibernate during these chilly months and rightfully so. I'm not judging this behavior or lack there of. There are plenty of winter-inside activities that are quite productive. Although, if you're like me, I've spent much of winter out and about, as in one of my earlier posts, Hibernation is not an option & I will not be beaten by that bitch (excuse my French).

It's been a whirlwind of a year thus far, and last month blew by (literally, I was sick for over a week!). My Yoga teacher, Dorothy O., reminds us that in our practice, we should focus on the here and now. Practice being present. Well, this has been quite a feat, let me just tell you. I come from a long-line of planners (hell, my grandmother kept a daily diary, for over twenty years, of her families happenings, of which there were nine members!) They do say practice makes perfect though, and with each Yoga session, I feel I have a better understanding of the present and how to root myself in it. And then I start thinking about the week ahead...

When flipping through my planner to glance at all of February's doings, it looks as though I was deeply rooted into the present and hurtling towards the future, with bright markers on the dates to prove it. It's almost as if I've tried to propel myself forward as fast as I could, to soak up as much as I could. I made a comment one afternoon, on one of me and my buddy's carpool discussions, "I feel like I'm running out of time..." He answered, quite bluntly, "You are."

Countdowns seem to be a theme, as I recently threw one of my best girlfriends a surprise engagement party. Having never before planned a surprise party, I was quite giddy with excitement! Only 5 months away from her big W day, I thought it would be quite fitting to gather with friends before nuptials are exchanged. With help from my girl Natalie, we pulled off the surprise party, with no one spilling the beans. The seconds flew by, the happy couple was thrilled and their day draws closer still...

In between and after the surprise, training days have been at the forefront of my mind as Broad Street draws close. Having several people reach out to lend useful tips, training schedules and running do's & don'ts, making the actual date seem quite real. 10 miles are coming along slowly, but surely, and I'm getting quite excited for May 1st, which is just around the corner...

And then, the Circus came to town, in every way the circus can come to town. Clowns, zebras, flashing lights, too much junk, loud noise, diversion tactics, acts of bravery, OOOOOs and AAAHHHS, gasps from the crowd, outrageous stunts, incredible balancing acts...oh, the Circus came to town all right, and I was glad to see them go! As much as I like a big show, I don't live under the big top and don't plan to, although I contemplated it that night. How easy would it be to run away and join? Together with the other freaks, moving from one town to the next, entertaining for a few hours before you move on? Kids seem to be in awe of this huge display and Brad's nephew, was no different. Time stood still that night, while we were all locked in, watching the greatest show on Earth...

And then, the last weekend in February, where time seemed to rewind and freeze for a night. Several girls, with years of memories stored between them, gathered together, in a little town called Brooklyn, to celebrate one of their own, finding her own. Past, present and future puddled together to create a timelessness felt only with those who knew you when. We may have been in a new neighborhood, but days of old were right beside us. I hadn't forgotten how much I had in my past, but it was nice to remember it for a night, with people who helped me live.

That's how I've lived the past few weeks. As if I was running out of time and it wasn't going to outrun me. Juggling the present, planning for the future and revisiting the past, all in a few weeks time. Practicing the present will be an ongoing exercise, but I'm training for Broad Street, damnit. Time's got nothing on me.

Sick: Checked off my To-Do List

2011-02-07T15:13:00.000-08:00

For the past week, I've been battling with a heinous cold and am finally on the mend. For days, I felt achy, exahusted, stuffed up, completely unmotivated. Not myself at all. How did this happen to me!? I tend to think of myself as quite a healthy person, almost to the point of being immune to such things as the common cold. I exercise daily, take my vitamins, eat healthy, get 8 hours a night, drink a gallon of water a day, hell, I even quit smoking. Healthy, right? Well, sometimes, despite all precautions, all measures to ensure something doesn't happen, well, sometimes it just does. But we always want to blame something, some outside force that cripples and leaves us feeling run over. So, after defensively arguing how healthy I am, I accepted the fact and thought back to the root causes. Post Vacation Syndrome.

After an awesome five days in Colorado, visiting my sister, brother-in-law, neice and nephew, I came home with a memeroy card full of pictures, and a body full of sick. Lucky for me, I didn't start feeling ill until the last day, after we had snow shoed, visited with one of my best friends and her new baby, and seen the Cirque du Soleil show Alegria, only then did I fall to the phlem. It was as my body knew I had time to devote to this disgusting cause. The mind-altering, bed banishing cold gripped me for a full 5 days. And I surrendored to it, almost reveled in the helplessness that I suddenly felt. Looking back (now that my life has regained conciousness and my normal activities and multi-tasking are back on track) I realize that for 5 full days, the world melted away and I was allowed to just be sick. I am aware of how lucky I am to have had that luxury.

So, the point to this disgusting explanation of my common cold? That, as an adult who works, has a home to take care of, bills to pay, a puppy to raise, errands to run, all that real-world stuff...as an adult, I rarely have times when I can just sit back while the world goes on around me. There's always something to do, remember, pick up, call, clean, finish, prepare, plan. It's what makes that world go around. Maybe it's just me though? I am my mother's daughter, with the next agenda item hovering on the horizon. Sitting just doesn't sit well with me. So, to have a whole week go by, without getting involved in my life seemed like a waste. Hindsight tells a different story though and at least for those 5 days, luck afforded me the ability to sit back and let the cold wash over me. Sick: Checked off my to do list!

Never put off untill tomorrow what you can do today. ~ Thomas Jefferson

I reckon being ill as one of the great pleasures of life, provided one is not too ill and is not obliged to work till one is better. ~Samuel Butler

Hibernation is Not an Option: The Stir-Crazy Guide to Winter

2011-01-23T04:58:00.000-08:00

Winter. It's cold, bitter, windy. And it's only January. So far, this winter has been rather wicked and most days, I'll walk into work wearing my fabulous Penguin hat, smile and explain that it's really warm to the fashionably impaired co-workers and sit down at my cube, huddling over my keyboard as if it were an oil drum filled with fire (ok, the hat can give off that Cousin Eddie vibe if worn with the wrong outfit).

Despite the slap in your face winter doles out each time I step out my door, I don't mind these wintry months, as long as the sun continues to shine. Hibernation through these weather conditions is indeed an option; one I respect, but can not fully get behind, no matter how hard it colds. That being said, there are activities done in warm weather that are just ludicrous in every way shape and form when placed in cold weather. Such as walking your puppy (for the fourth time) on a work night, when your dinner has just been scooped and the steam rising off it smells of heaven. I curse Winter then. I admit, I've become victim to the laziness that Winter curses you with and have let my dog out on my snow covered deck, trying to convince myself that allowing it isn't the most disgusting thing I've ever done. Well my friends, when you find yourself shoveling your deck in shame so the neighbors don't judge you, then you know that Winter has won.

So, yes, Winter can be a beast that beats you out of leaving your house, but only if you let it. Being cut out of the stir-crazy cloth, I look at this season as a challenge, one I will come out of victoriously. I have had to tag-team the challenge though, with someone who shares the same mindset: Hibernation is not an option!

Brad and I really started tackling Winter last weekend, when Saturday night brought us into Manayunk. Known for it's god-awful parking and cobblestone streets, we knew what we were getting ourselves into and laughed in the face of Winter. Wearing my highest of heels, bringing a jacket (I've left behind the days of running to the bar without a coat), we marched into Bourbon Blue without hesitation. Go big or Go home.

Sunday continued the Winter fun, and we moseyed into Philadelphia, with skating on the brain.

Being my first time at the Blue Cross Riverrink, the thought of ice skating on the river on this beautifully sunny day all but made me giggle out loud. With Music pumping through the outside speakers, my rented skates did me proud. Bundled in my winter garb, it was a Zamboni of an afternoon.

Having skated our tuchcuses off, we needed warmth and a Winter Night Cap, so headed to Eulogy, a Belgium Bar I had walked past a dozen times, yet never ventured into. Stories of their beer selection resonated as I opened the massive volume that was their beer menu. Oh, rejoice, for Winter hath brought me to this haven.

During the week, I am, however, guilty of being Winter Whipped. Monday night, I surrendered to the treadmill, running two miles while Winter winds howled with laughter. Tuesday reared it's ugly seasonality with ice and freezing rain. Yes, I remained inside that day, Winter, you bastard. Working from home, I cut my losses, not even leaving for the gym. Doing floor exercises with a small puppy proved to be quite a challenge. How I do love a challenge.

Wednesday found me indoors as well, but I had actually planned it that way. My family room doubles as a Yoga studio on Wednesday evenings, and my girl Jess and I stretch and bend with Sting's wife and her Indian friend, who in our opinion, should wear some looser pants. Post Om, my dad came for Turkey Sloppy Joes (wad up Manwich!). Cooking during the days where going out either isn't an option or is a choice, will forever be a go-to. New recipes (or throw-backs) offer much needed relief from the hum-drum of Winter nights.

Thursday came in the nick of time and Restaurant Week beckoned. Despite the frigid temps, I headed to the train, walked the 9 blocks to 3rd and Market and parked my cold rump on Fork's bar stool to warm up with some wine while I waited for Brad. A warm room filled with hipster waiters, beautifully dressed patrons, I noted that I'd need to head back to dine one day. The smell alone could coerce you from your Winter warmth. After enjoying some sips, we marched the hundred feet to Bistro 7 . Frog green walls, similar to my kitchen, warm lighting, delicious aromas. The Restaurant Week menu offered a small selection that varied from their menu, and all seemed delicious. My winter greens & granny smith apple salad, cut-with-a-fork tender pork and sweet potato and chocolate malted pot de creme exceeded my expectations. The Calluna wine we brought didn't hurt the splendor either!

Arrive Friday, a night of Baggataway's wings and allagash white, followed by Chinese food and On Demand...this wasn't a Winter surrender, this was a perfect night. Saturday promised a full plate of Winter fun and my appetite was huge. After running 4 miles at the gym (longest distance I've yet to run, thank you very much), we ran some errands (bought my first pair of running shoes I've ever bough with the sole purpose of running) then headed out for an afternoon of Winery Hopping.

Black Walnut Winery paired signature wines with delectable, locally grown goat cheese. The Chardonnay 2007 and Herb de Provence Chevre....oh yes. My Favorite? Pinot Noir 2008 and the Crottin aged cheese. Cheese and wine...could you do anything better on a Winter day!? Post goat, we headed to Kog Hill, a winery that looks like the boxed wine of wineries from the outside. If there was ever a time to not judge a book by its cover or a winery by it's box-filled store-front! Inside, we were handed glasses and told that for the $5 dollar tasting fee, we were able to taste all wines made on premises and keep the glass! My frugality leaped for joy! Now, for someone with a decent palate, again, the tasting room lacked in luster, so the deal needed to put it's grapes where it's wine was. I soon bit my tongue, as almost all wines sampled were tasty! About 20 wine samplings later (we closed the tasting room down!), I left with 6 bottles of Kog and a smile on my Wintry Chapped face.

Take that Winter!

Weekly Dish

2011-01-17T18:17:00.000-08:00

The third week in January has crept up on me and looking back on last week, I realize 2011 has been good thus far! A bit of a pre-mature statement maybe, seeing as the winter weather has just started, but with a VPN enabled laptop, I say bring on the weather! When you're able to work from home, a whole new perspective creeps in...and going into the office, well, that's just creepy. Two work from home days (thank you mother nature), yoga with miss Jess, make your own taco night with M & J, plus a happy hour with my work people (the not-so-creepy ones), last week was quite all right.

So, rear view mirroring it, last week flew by and while work filled my days, my nights were spent with substance. It went a little something like this...

Starting with a 2 1/2 mile run on Monday, my appetite for meat grew ferociously...chops to be exact.

This delightfully simple recipe made my night. And when we noticed we didn't have pork chops, we hacked up a pork loin into 1/4 inch slices and did it up. Improvising at its finest. These babies were coated in salt, pepper & paprika, then browned on both sides. Once cooked, they were smothered in a Dijon sauce that wouldn't quit - it was tangy, creamy goodness. Sided with long grain rice mixed with chopped almonds...a Monday night worthy of a Thursday.

Tuesday promised Zen, with the weekly Yoga session I've been having with Jess. Despite the downward facing dog with an actual dog in your face, we practiced beautifully. I can't speak for her, but our Yoga nights help propel my motion forward (and listening to Sting instrumentals doesn't hurt either). Thank you Trudie Styler. I'm still not sure how you're able to put your head on the ground from a standing position.

I spent Wednesday working from home due to Tuesday's snow (see Brad in shorts, shoveling, below). This proved useful for prepping that night's dinner party dish early, allowing for a quickie at the gym...and by quickie, I mean only 2 miles. And to be honest, that was a stretch! How the hell am I ever going to run Broad Street!

After surviving my embarrassing run, we returned home to prepare for make your own taco night with Meg & Justin. Using the extremely adorable polka dotted bowls I received for Christmas (I love being an adult, getting excited by glass wear with as much zest as a Cabbage Patch doll once had), we put all fixins out and prepared the filling: black beans & rice with lime & garlic shrimp, for the vegetarian and chicken & peppers for us carnivores. Word to the wise...never use Trader Joe's no-defrost necessary chicken. I do not mean to speak ill of this sacred store, but we followed all cooking instructions, following the 'no thawing necessary' note, and it took an hour and a half to cook. No thawing my ass!

But, despite having to start the meal pre-main course, the night turned out extremely well. Talk turned wedding (on my que, actually) as they are 6 months from their wedding date. Calm, Cool, Collected and Matter-of-Fact, Meg answered questions and discussed their magical date. I, on the other hand, admitted to my wedding jitters...for the wedding I hadn't even planned yet. More wine please!

Happy Hour followed suite on Thursday and my work chums and I headed to the Brick House, where the waitresses wore mid-driffs and the beer towers were shotty. A fun night indeed.

Friday, happy Friday, with Chicken Rollatini and huge glasses of Coppala. Perfect end to the week.

Looking out the window currently, I'm having deja vu of last Tuesday's snow, although I could do without the freezing rain. It was a beautiful winter night, one filled with snowy craziness outside and comfort food inside.

So, a slight glance back at the week in meals. What better way to spend a week, but filled with good food, wine and wintry weather?

Cheap Cate A Penny Pinching Fiance

2011-01-14T13:41:00.000-08:00

It's inevitable. Unavoidable. Blatantly obvious, yet naively forgotten. Instills nausea, rash, shaking, uncontrollable outbursts of 'Oh My God!'

The Wedding Budget.

After the ring, the romance, the presenting of the left hand at all functions, after a bit of the excitment dies down, the actuality of the big event settles in. This huge romantic gesture that has just transpired, the asking of the most beautiful question to the one person you see yourself with, by your side, for the remainder of your days, all of that takes a back seat to the next step in the story. Rapid fire questions follow, from those who were just gushing about how, 'You have to remember every moment of this exciting time!' It's only natural to ask certain things in the hubbub...

When are you getting married?

During our time in Ireland, no wedding talk had been allowed, being as I didn't want that to overshadow our amazing journey. Live in the moment, enjoy this beautiful country and plan only the roads we'll travel that day. A marvelous way to live, while we could. Flying home from Ireland, after the first (of what we'll spend the rest of our lives making many) international vacation, we started discussing, just for fun, the wedding list. This will determine a lot in the overall scheme of wedding shennanigans. So, we allowed ourselves to drink from the wedding goblet, to see how easily we swallowed. But, having never been exposed to such an elixir, I was soon woozy, as I had been drinking the meade at Bunratty Castle.

Needless to say, I've learned quite a bit about the whole engagement process, how to handle the finances of being engaged, and what to do when the spreadsheet that lays before you has many line items on it. What exactly have I learned? To keep it simple, like most financial decisions I make.

Being betrothed to a financial minded man, a man who works with numbers and figures, a man who has done my taxes the past two years and who manages my small, but wildly optimistic portfolio, well, this man and I see eye to eye on most financial situations. Experiencing joy has never been as sweet as when someone else shares your hobby of penny pinching.

Put a sweater on if you're cold. Is the restaurant byo? What's on sale this week at the groccery store? Happy Hour speacials at Baggataways. Oh, I can feel the love.

So, as I sat next to this wonderfully, fiscally responsible man, with a budget inbetween us I had hopes that he too would share my passion to hang onto those dollar signs, to slash and edit the numbers to a total that did not make me dizzy. Were his palms as sweaty? Was he kidding when he agreed to use construction paper to make our own invitations? Did he also want to serve hamburgers and hot dogs, while an ipod shuffled in the background?

Well, what he did when all of my money neurosis came bubbling to the surface exceeds all bars I may have set. He patiently shut down the laptop that held that horrid number, looked me right in the eye and uttered music to my ears...

"Let's party."

All the questions, concerns, figures, venues, head counts, all the other 'stuff' that weasels its way into the equation doesn't matter. There's no rush, no deadline, no clock ticking. Life continues without plans and sometimes, makes more sense that way. I took a deep breathe, grabbed my goblet of wine and cheersed the man who knew what I needed.

As a little girl, I never dreamed of my wedding....maybe I knew the real thing was worth waiting for.

Let's party, indeed!

Let Me Entertain Me

2011-01-09T16:21:00.000-08:00

Sunday night blues don't happen to me often. Those of a certain age or lifestyle that no longer seems to fit me, may think I'm referring to the Sunday Scarries. This whole other state of mind need only one remedy I can remember: sleep, hair of the dog, hindsight. In college, I was afforded the luxury of sleep and did so with ease on those post weekend night days. As I grew slightly older and sot-of up, functioning on the weekends became a necessity and brunch bloodymary’s seemed to help for a short period of time. Finally, I arrived at hind-sight, where the nostalgic nausea remained in the forefront of my Friday and Saturday nights, allowing me enjoyment without morning regret. Now, every now and then hindsight can’t be found, no matter how hard I look, and I’m awoken by my little puppy, lapping my face at 7:30am (rain, shine, or Sunday Scarries) as if to say, “Mommy, Mommy, what were you thinking!? Now, let’s play!”

Sunday Blues don’t require sleep (although that often leads to the diagnosis) and the hair of the dog won’t cure them, as there never was a dog. They can be summed up as a weekend where you had every good intention of being productive, imaginative and adventurous, but somehow, fell short of the pedestal you had originally put these two coveted days on. Hindsight arrives and you are left wanting those days back, not to erase the mistakes you made, but to fill in the wholes that have led you with an anti-climatic Sunday night. I may be suffering from the over-ambitious, need for constant stimulation disease, or I may need to start doing more things alone, for lack of a partner in crime that feels the need to fill every moment. Jury's still out. Here's how it unfolded...

Sunday Blues, in this particular case, washed over me earlier in the day, as I was driving home from my Winter Series 5k in West Chester. Yes, I ran in this 27 degree weather and have the chapped cheeks to prove it! The race had been postponed from it's original date, Saturday. Saturday, for those on the east coast, brought freezing temperatures and snow flurries. A Winter Wonderland.....of Boredom it turned out (although that term is highly subjective for those who are content to just sit and be and not spazzes, as I am trying to recognize about myself).

After news of the race postponement that Saturday morning at 8:00 am, I found myself all dressed and ready with the whole day spreading before me. Joy?! Being the planner that I am, with no errands to run, no agenda's to adhere to that morning, we decided to take a long, wintry walk with our pup, followed by a mile run at the gym paired with a floor circuit. A great way to start the snowy morning! Now what? Most normal people would probably enjoy the winter solitude, the instant snow day lax you're allowed in that kind of weather. Not me. I immediately, almost frantically thought of indoor activities to partake in and came up with one of my favorite. Food. Leafing through my recipe bible, I found several recipes to create that week, formed a shopping list of necessary ingredients and proclaimed, "We need to go to the store!" Instant plan.

Heading to our local Giant, we gathered the food morsels needed for the coming week and stumbled upon an amazing discovery. The grocery store florist. We've recently flirted with the topic of Wedding, so unearthing this major piece of the wedding puzzle blew me away. Sending the above photo immediately to my mom with a "Found my Boutque" description had the satisfaction that came with crossing off a to do list item. Her response? "Very funny. You're not getting your flowers from Giant." Oh, mother, how the wheels of completion have already started spinning! The savings will be astronomical!

After the floral goldmind, we headed home to hang for the remainder of the day. Watched the flyers, did some wash, drank some Shock Tops. Just a snowy afternoon menagery of activity. Dinner arrived and Brad made Mega Bagel Burgers topped with provolone cheese & gucamole, sided with cajun brussel sprouts. It hit the spot. That evening we were heading to Mad River in Manayunk to catch up with some of my old Kutztwon buds, so got ready and hit the R6. Good times.

Sunday morning arrived and I hit the road for my 5K, leaving the Sunday Scarries home.

So, as I type out the things I accomplished, ate, saw, ran, planned this weekend, I am re-thinking my initial purpose of posting and considering myself a bit, well, nutty. Constant stimulation through back-to-back activity has many forms. What one person may see as a under-rated, couch-filled, in the house way too much weekend, another may see as a much needed break from an over-indulgent activity driven life, sprinkled with some pretty impressive (if I do say so myself) excercise, tasty treats, much needed reunions and an amazing partner in crime to share it with. I'm leaning toward the latter myself.

Happy Sunday!

Weekly Dish

2011-01-07T13:50:00.000-08:00

Food, glorious food. It's a wonderful thing. Fuel for the mind & body. The centerpiece for gathering around family and loved ones. A creative outlet where herbs and spices paint the picture. Delicious bursts of wonderment with each bite...and I've gotten carried away.

In the past few years, I've fallen in love with food in a borderline Foodie way. Eating, the obvious, easiest way to lap up the goodness and cooking, which has become one of my favorite things to do. When the excitement I feel for planning a vacation mirrors that I feel when selecting a recipe, well, I know the extent of this love affair. I flip feverishly through each month's subscription to Cooking Light, searching for those have to make dishes that will liven my week and inspire my taste buds. I may have a problem.

Since I've adopted this let's just call it 'hobby' (so not to seem creepy) I've acquired quite a collection of magazines that hold these nuggets of gold we foodies use to make our masterpieces. Needless to say, after years of a loving, adoring relationship, the stacks of pages piled up, overflowed and cramped much of my living spaces. What to do with these momentum's, collected through the years together? As I was told, so I did. "Throw them out!"

It was not a heartless parting, mind you. Quite the opposite. Hours were spent extracting these gems, seperating the piles into appetizers, chicken, meat, pasta, pizza, salad, dessert, vegetables, sauces...oh there was definitely a method to my madness. A big black binder, stuffed with these chapters of menu bliss, came into my life. It was an end to my weekday angst, an end to the endless search for fullfilment in a last minute creation. I now had my Food Bible.

From then on, I would sit down on a Sunday night and choose two or three new recipes to make that week. Now, religiously? No, not every week. In lieu of actual plans? No, if Brad and I made plans with friends, family, or each other, we'd forgo our cooking ritual to explore outside the kitchen. But this helped keep my love for cooking moving forward. Which happens to be what I'd need to do after all those meals...move forward.

Here's the past week of dishes painted in pictures...minus Wednesday's meal, where I was too hungry to take a picture (homemade split pea soup & turkey bacon, apple and provolone grilled cheese) and Thursday (spent at StoneRose, with lots of wine & wedding talk...a subject that deserves it's own post).

Sunday Potstickers & Spring Rolls, made with chicken, chopped carrots and shredded zucchini rolled up into wonton wrappers and fried in peanut oil. Oh yes, they were delicious.

Cajun Shrimp & Orzo pasta in a white wine garlic & caper sauce. Interesting combination, with an extremely delicious sauce with a spicey finish.

Mini Meatloaves with a roasted red pepper & artichoke pasta salad. I've never made meatloaf in a muffin pan, but let me tell you, what a managable meal, especially when you are cooking for two or watching your figure. There's no way to over-eat when you have a muffin sized portion.

All-in-all, a fabulously food-filled week!

Filling in all the Blanks in the New Year

2011-01-02T12:50:00.000-08:00

Where the heck did 2010 go? As I sit, typing, swearing I will use this space as I first intended to when I set it up a hundred years ago (an outlet for stories, ideas, travels, things I've done and think and all that stuff) I'm reflecting on the past year and honestly, it's been a blur. My fleeting memory has been the cause of oh too many arguments, but honestly, without written proof of accomplishments, although I know there are many, I'm not really sure where the past 365 days have gone. So, I'm going to outline them here, so next year, when sitting down to write the first blog of the New Year I'm not fumbling around my memory (So help me, I will be writing more frequently or else...) Without further hesitation or procrastination here are the momentous occurrences of my 2010:

January
New Year's Eve 2010: a night spent with a few close friends within a 5 mile radius of our home in Conshohocken. When midnight stuck, I toasted my wonderful boyfriend in the comfort of our own home, and came to the realization that there was no where in the world I'd rather be at that particular moment (he could probably argue that that lasted about 5 minutes, at which time I started planning what we would do next).

February
South Africa: 3 weeks took me on a trip of a lifetime, where my eyes were saturated with awesome wonders, both breathtaking and heartbreaking, and my view of the world forever altered.

March & April & May

Music, Restaurants, Cooking, Puppy play dates, Stone Harbor Seafood festival & boat show, Brad's Employment, BBQ's, Parties, Home improvements: a spring filled with forward motion and lots of fun. Special mention to Johnny Brenda's, where the band was loud, Cafette, where the company & ambiance glowed, Ristorante Luciano's, where the food was delicious and Groupons, where the deals were plentiful.

June
The first of the 30's: one of my best girlfriend's turned 30 in NYC and I went to celebrate the occasion. After a 3 hour champagne boat tour around Manhattan, countless buckets of coronas at the Frying Pan and an unforgettable time at the Boat Basin, 30 turned out to be the best kind of birthday.

July & August

Mi Casa es Su Casa y Su puppy's Casa: the summer months were spent with friends and their puppy's and our house became a safe haven for many traveling between circumstances. I loved the company and the dinning al fresco.

September

Birthday's & Bachelorette's: another season and another girlfriend turned over the 30 leaf, where celebration of Aqua proportion ensued, my sweet puppy turned 1, so I threw her a party with all her chums, and a friend's pre-wedding ritual pointed me to the Pocono's, where a lake house weekend made me nostalgic for the beach house days on one hand and thankful for the quiet, grown-up retreat of my town-house. Boy, we sure had fun though!

October
Canoeing, Camping, Carving, Celebrating: one of my favorite season's, fall 2010 did not disappoint. The 4th year in a row I Peddaled, Paddled and Paced, I partnered with Brad for his second Marshalton Triathlon, where we beat our 2009 time. A final camping trip followed with our little Winnie, where a leash incident lit us up with laughter (after we put out the fire that is). Listening to Phils play over the radio, eating smores and sitting around a fire really makes for a good trip. One other fall bullet of course includes pumpkins, apples and dressing up like a giant gingerbread man. Winnie's little puppy face glowed on our porch for all Hallows Eve, while I flexed my muscles. Happy Halloween & Happy Birthday Brad!

November
Momentous Milestones: Turned 30, went to Ireland, Got engaged. Too many words could describe these amazing events, but to sum them up in one: Unforgettable

December

A Flurry of Festivities & Christmas at home: the month started with New York, for a whirlwind week, including a Broadway show, Memphis, Holiday window watching, and eating amazing dinners. Then, with the tree trimmed and the house warm with the smell of home-baked cookies, Brad and I celebrated our first Christmas not only as an engaged couple, but the first holiday spent together. It was how it should be.

So, in a fee simple paragraphs, I've summed up 2010 and have realized, while reviewing each month, my year was packed with goodness. Assuming my obsessive planning will continue into 2011, I'm hoping to fill along the blanks as I go.

Happy New Year!

He Said

2009-01-19T17:51:00.000-08:00

“I knew when I saw you,” the boy said to the girl. His confidence of their future erased all her doubt.

“We’ll have seven children,” the man said with a nod. His matter-of-factness painted their picture.

“I’ll fly around the globe and I want you beside me,” the dad simply explained. His broad view of the world would open new doors.

“Up and down coasts, we’ll all be together,” the businessman reasoned. His work ethic provided, so they’d always have.

“Oh what a beautiful morning,” grandpa sang. His voice filled three levels that would ripple memories.

“Now one at a time, it’s how it will last,” said the jolly man. His presents surrounded, for his family was there.

“Sit down beside me and tell me your story,” the friend consoled. His patience stretched miles and time was his gift.

To the man, husband, brother, grandfather and friend. He was right when he sang; it always was with him near.

Away from Me is All

2008-11-14T08:47:00.000-08:00

I didn't see a point in having him at all. He didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. If when you are examining the pieces of your life, the characters and bits that surround you, doesn't everyone and everything deserve an active role? And if they are actively participating, as each character in your scene should, shouldn't they add to your plot? If above the fireplace, hangs a rifle, by the end of the play that rifle needs to be shot. Why then, do we hold onto those that do not contribute anything to the storyline? One could say that their mere being suggests some sort of role, or else why would you even mention them? The fact that they are being considered at all must mean something. What it means, I'm afraid, is that they only exist on your surface, so why be there at all?

That was when I decided. What was the point in having him there at all? His meager role was so bit, that to just remove his reference wouldn't be a jolt to the flow of things in the least. In fact, it wasn’t a role at all, at least not anymore. Once removed, any thought of him would dissolve, as if he had never been here to begin with. That thought made me smile, the sheer power of the dissolve tactic. It was that simple. I did not wish harm, or ill will. It was not bitterness or spite that fueled this clean slate. It was his uselessness. His vast mediocrity that lent nothing was what frayed my nerves, and I must admit, the occasional glance at him, the slip of memory, left only blankness; no feeling whatsoever. This nothingness devastated me, for vanity’s sake alone. I must feel, must conjure up some response to outside stimuli or what is the point of being alive?

It is something I had never given much thought to. The process of taking things in, them having some sort of affect on you, you respond. Obvious course of events that I’d taken for granted. But these steps hadn’t been followed with him. If you eat a bland sandwich, and are hungry, the lack of taste is overlooked, as it is serving a far greater purpose. Yes, we’d all like to devour deliciousness in every meal, but sometimes the end result surpasses the minute details of such things as flavor. However, if you are not in search of nourishment, do not look for this substance to put a stomp to your hunger, why does it brush your lips, leaving no savoring whatsoever? Why would you go through the motions of something with no taste? I always have an answer or maybe have just stumbled upon one now. Why would I? I would not. That which finds it’s way to my plate remains there out of an active decision I made. If it does not contribute to my fulfillment, comfort, enjoyment it will not be eaten.

The disposal act sounds harsh when put so bluntly. I do not discard without thought, casting aside all that does not suite me at first glance. Oh, quite the contrary. Overturning until dizziness ensues leads me to such conclusions. The decision is not a hasty one, but lessens in time as each situation presents itself. I am learning, although do not think I will ever have an immunity to being immune. The nerve endings have worn and re-grown; singed once shame on me, singed twice, let it devour. It’s experience that has moved me forward, for that which has been has made me. But it is a nugget center, a Tootsie Pop of a way to live. Where is that owl, who will one, two, three me? Have you ever had someone tell you something about yourself that you already knew, but it just sounded odd when it fell in your ears? As if their perception of your reality had escaped even you? When you hear how people have picked up on what you’ve been so carefully laying down, it’s an odd feeling. It’s as if a secret of yours that you’ve not kept to yourself, has been told to someone new. It’s unnerving, scary and exhilarating all wrapped up into one single revelation about yourself, told by someone else. Although, it’s not really a revelation if you’ve already revealed it. It’s just away from me, is all.

Rest Area ____ miles

2008-07-14T12:37:00.000-07:00

One of my best girlfriends recently met an amazing guy. He’s incredibly intelligent, went to a notable college and actually reads (in a day and age where People and Star are considered literature, I’d say she’s hit the mother load) . Gainfully employed as head engineer on an environmental energy project, I’d say the man is fully equipped with shit togetherness. And he’s foreign, so the accent completely works (believe her undergarments dropped the second he opened his mouth). But to all the American lads out there, no need to fret. You don’t need an accent to drop drawers, just need to have all the rest. The accent just puts the sweet, sweet deliciously sexy icing on our fabulous cake. So to speak.

So, this foreign fellow happens to be amazing. Makes her laugh, can hold his drink (which to run in our circle, unfortunately, can be a deal breaker; can’t hang, can’t hang out with me), does interesting things, has a worldly view, surrounds himself with friends that are just as pleasing as him. He sounds great, and having met him a few times, can say with confidence, is. Problem? Cause there always seems to be one, right? He happens to be 5 hours away, with a full itinerary preceding the completion of his energy project that includes Latin America and possibly a move home to Ireland. Figures. Realizing the logistics wouldn’t work and the effort wasn’t being put forth, it ended and both persons went their separate ways. Filling up two more bar stools in the single scene.

I’m not sure what to think about the whole thing. In all honesty, what are the chances of you bumping into someone who has the criteria on your checklist, in your own backyard? Are we only limited to what’s within reach? Long distance isn’t that bad, right? Guess that would depend on how happy you are with your surroundings. People say that they’d move mountains to find the right thing or person or outfit. And I firmly believe in Life being a verb, so things will not just fall into your neighborhood, effortlessly (and you really shouldn’t bring your sex home if he happens to live next door…borrowing milk could get awkward if things go sour). What I do know stems from my experience with such things and while I’d never claim to be the wisest around, I am pretty levelheaded. Can call a Spade a Spade, although I try to name them differently, with nothing but pure hope to blame. Admit when I’ve done all I could do and walk. Without (much) looking back.

You don’t need to be a genius to figure out when someone has ‘Caution’ written all over them. It’s just easier to tell your friend than to have to tell yourself. It’s nice to think you want to give them a shot because your instincts could be wrong, or you just never know. Which by all means is an amazing way to Live…and frankly the only way I know how to. You do never know. But the signs are usually there. There are rumble strips to keep you in check, blatantly, and quite annoyingly, keeping you from becoming too comfortable in the rest areas. Thing that I don’t fully understand, is after all of these cautionary clues and foresight, why do some have such a hard time veering away from the jarring rumble strip, steering yourself back onto the road, and getting the hell out of dodge? Detours happen, but not to have the sense to realize driving this slow, or in these conditions isn’t working for you, to not try to find an alternate escape route? Life is too short to drive too slow on a gravel road that may lead to nothing.

Take two Asprin and don’t call them in the morning

2008-07-01T11:27:00.000-07:00

The power of the written word is said to be extremely potent. When you see that statement, be it an insult, a compliment, an accusation, when it is staring you in black and white, it hits differently then it would be if said, I think. You get to chew it, let it fill your brain slowly, oozing in, get a second to process it. Then it coats you, seeps into your marrow and lies, maybe permanently. It’s powerful stuff. So powerful in fact, it’s absence, the nothingness that stretches oceans between you and that person who withholds the glorious ink, well, the non-responsive black and white devastates. The nothing; more powerful than a dismissive or hurtful note. It’s infuriating. And also extremely effective. Why is it that when we think of hurting someone, or wanting them to be hurt by our actions, or lack there of, do we finalize on spite? Most times only driving ourselves mad. The passive aggressive action of inaction always sends me reeling, not only because I have mastered and been dominated by it, but because it remains to be the silliest, inefficient use of our time, yet somehow always works.

They say out of sight, out of mind, but when something weighs so heavily on your mind, and then disappears, or is absent for some time, simply not there, that’s all you seem to think about. Obsession isn’t that far fetched. Coming from the most nonchalant person ever, this omission may come as a shock. But as a recent experience has led me to believe otherwise, it does seem feasible to me, on some levels. Stalking is never ok. Excessively repeat dialing and/or texting also remains in the things-never-to-do category. Unless there is a response, which due to the fact that obsession in what we’re discussing, usually a response is the one thing lacking, leave it alone if it doesn’t come home. But, how do we cut this poison out? This malignant growth that doesn’t have a choice but to magnify if we do not hack it out? Over-analyzing may be stereotyped as a chick thing, but I’ve come to realize (and observe), it’s a sickness that every person I know has. There are different stages of this illness, some easily controlled by one’s own rational, a quick ‘ok, enough,’ other’s so crippling, once you’ve come down with a case of it, you may find yourself in need of not only a swift kick in the head, but professional help. I find myself, most of the time, on the boarder of stage 1 and a not so healthy stage 2. So, what to do when this disease catches you? Nip it in the bud, at the head, so it does not consume. Here are some helpful tips:

1. If you find yourself coming up with scenarios that any normal person may define as excuses, you have over-rationalized a simple situation. It’s time to either confront or walk.

2. When out, pretending to not think about it, do not keep checking your phone. Not only does this deem you a hypocrite, you are fueling the fire you’ve claimed to put out. Leave your mobile at home. You’d be surprised at how freeing it can be.

3. When you say you’re done, truly be done. There is nothing so annoying as having to listen to anything proceeding the line, “ok, this is the last thing I’m going to say about it…” In keeping true to your word, you should stop there.

4. Make peace with yourself. Whatever has had such a hold on you, whether it be a spat, a relationship, a boss, a stalkee, you have rubbed the topic raw, exposed every possible angle and are left with the shreds. Time has come to hold your hand out the window and release.

Not all situations work themselves out. Anyone who has lived 5 minutes in the real world should realize this. Often times though, whatever the outcome of such scenarios, the ends justifies the means. Even if at the time, it doesn’t seem as much. You loosing sleep over something will not, however, make the inevitable happen any sooner. Overanalyzing things actually, when put in those terms, is quite narcissistic. Thinking you have a hand in, more often times than not, someone else’s decision? When you truly look at the topic at hand in this light, you…oh man.

Miami

2008-04-06T17:50:00.000-07:00

I’ve recently spent some time in Miami, a place where many a childhood memory was made. A place I recognize by smell, touch, sound. The moment you step off the plane, the air hits you, warmth creeps into your pores and you know you are somewhere the sun has kissed. Sweet envelopes the air, in bursts that hit your whole being, knocking the Eastern senses out cold. Each time it hits, nostalgia follows, a flow of the past washes over me and I feel at home. This place, this here, the sounds and aromas of this tropical spot cover me completely, each time.

What has brought me South all of these years, to vacation, be with the heat, feel at peace with sun-kissed surroundings? Family. Which in my opinion should bring you to the ends of the earth if necessary, so if it happens to land you in a place where sunshine reins, palms wave in the breeze, you are very lucky. This luck has been with me for years, and has brought me here, to my Aunt’s year in and year out. And this year, I feel as though my adulthood has followed, allowing me to put words to what traveling here conjures. What being here means and has meant. When I was young, this feeling is all I remember. Feeling ‘right’ the moment I arrived and the calm I left with. Joy was this destination of my youth, but was never described; it just was in this place. Now I know. The physical location isn’t the only thing that draws me here, keeps Miami close to my heart. The people who habitat here, along with the people that make the journey with me, those are what spark with me. Family.

It may just be the one consistent thing there is. No matter how inconsistent the relationship may be; they are linked to you, bonded by ties greater than anything material. It is where you gather strength, where you turn for comfort, to reconnect, regroup after the world has reared its ugly head. A port in the storm, where you can dry your weary bones. Miami, although I didn’t realize until much later in life, is that haven for me, and having just left, I still feel my insides glowing with warmth.

The above description of my family suites them very well. The people who have raised me are my touchstone and continue to be so. I know how lucky I am to think this and to have had the experience that led me to this conclusion. Miami has been just one of my havens. The heat of this spot has allowed imagination to take hold. Here, fire-breathing dragons roam free, allowing ankles to pass unharmed. Animals and people dine equally under this roof; chairs are pulled out for ladies, runts and cats with six toes. Family gathers under shadows of palms, with sand beneath them, and stories surrounding them. Sun filters down, scorching skin and awakening memories.

Luck has found me and has given me this port. I’ve always had it, just a plane ride away. Leaving here this last time, having almost reached adulthood, childhood memories around each corner, I feel refreshed by the splash of familiar. And I have woken each morning since, and as I think about it, for as long as I can remember, and known how lucky I am to be surrounded by the heat of family.

“It doesn’t mean that much to me, to mean that much to you.” –Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

2008-03-28T18:42:00.000-07:00

I’ve found that recent relationships have given me reason to loose faith in the male gender. Not completely, and it’s a fleeting loss (oxy-moron?), my freakishly heightened optimism will eventually kick back on, so this is only a temporary glitch, of this I am sure. It doesn’t mean, however, it hasn’t absorbed into my conscious, subconscious, marrow. This saddens me greatly, for extending the benefit of the doubt happens to be my forte, a quality I admire in myself as much as others and I’ve observed in few. I am one of the lucky ones. But, with this extension comes the risk of being walked across, pushed inconsiderately aside, for people begin to think another chance lies beyond, and another, and another…

Any intelligent person would see this as a nasty pattern, one that should be nipped in the bud immediately. The expression Fool me once, shame on you, Fool me twice shame on me, comes to mind. But, this sounds like the bitter woman’s mantra, and while I am a woman, bitter is an adjective I would never use to describe myself. I’ve found too many times mistakes are often just that, miscalculations or miscommunications that simply get lost in translation. It happens, and it will. I’m not unrealistic, nor unforgiving. Human nature is imperfect; therein lays the beauty of people. How would we know what we are capable of if not pushed? If not forced to choose between an easy dismissal and compassion? As you may have already guessed, the latter happens to be a weakness and I often find I am alone with that as a companion. Which, often provides better company, I must admit, than the alternative; having the wool pulled over your eyes by someone who you thought was incapable of being anything but considerate.

So, what has shaken my beliefs, made me seriously ponder the credit I (time and time again, I must embarrassingly admit) keep sprinkling on unworthy, unappreciative, unresponsive candidates? The answer is in the question. Doling out myself, my kindness to those who continue to take it, without reciprocation.

Chances do in fact grow on my tree…and they have been plucked time and time again by too greedy of hands. I have realized that while bitterness is not becoming, hesitation can be and in my case, should be exercised at times. Go with your gut. This phrase has been thrown at me by my, “no one will ever be good enough for you” mother. While her reasoning may be askew (someone, somewhere will indeed be good enough, as they will have captivated and appreciated me enough to keep me with them), I have found that her advice to instinctually follow that little voice inside your head (and stomach), usually winds up being what follows the, “I should have…”

If you ever feel as though you’re talking yourself into someone, listing on hand the bones they have thrown to your starved pallet of forgiveness, you must remember that, if it seemed too easy for them to dismiss your hurt feelings, they probably weren't ever considered.

"I'd like to think I'm the mess you'd wear with pride." Band of Horses

2008-03-05T19:28:00.001-08:00

Trista
She hadn’t even brushed her teeth that morning, and now, as she boarded the plane home, she regretted it more than the poor soul who leaned in too close. The alarm had sounded at 6:30am and Carrie, her brother’s wife, had cheerfully entered her room after the first buzz. What the fuck, she thought. Had she been camping out all night, sleeping by the door, only to spring into action at the first sound of someone’s hard start?

“Morning, T,it’s a beautiful day, and I thought we could all sit down for popovers before you left, how did you sleep by the way, we need a new mattress, and Mathew ordered one two weeks ago, I keep meaning to call and check up, but anyway, oh, I had to tell you, that I turned the computer the den on if you’d liketocheckyourflight,although it’sabeautifulday…”

As she droned on and on, Trist slowly sat up, still bewildered anyone could, A. talk that F-in fast; B. had that much friggin energy in the morning, cause come on and; C. she couldn’t think of a third reason cause it was too flippin early! Anytime her sister-in-law spoke, the words seemed to run together in her head, so by the end of her run-on sentence, all she could do was say, Huh? Trist knew Carrie thought she was on drugs, and that made her smile. Last time she ingested anything other than booze had happened almost a year ago and she had almost passed out. The drink did her just fine.

“So?” Carrie stood in front of the bed, completely dressed, looking ridiculously hip for 6:30 am on a Sunday and all Trist wanted to do was go to sleep (well, she first wanted to punch Carrie in the head, but then snuggle under the covers).

“Umm, I’m sorry, I’m kinda a slow mover in the morning. That early bird catches the worm, yeah, never got it.” As she attempted a somewhat lame joke, Carrie fluttered around the room, opening the curtains, picking up Trist’s dirty clothes that would just get wadded into a ball when she packed them, which she would if the sunshine spreading, energizer bunny on crack sister-in-law would get out. Trist cursed herself for staying out all night, although thanked whoever was up in that big sky, for having slipped in this morning, unannounced.

When Carrie started making her bed while she was still in it, she finally decided to get up, sarcastically mumbled something about needing to use the lav (apparently Carrie was British while discussing urination), and ducked into the hall where she nearly rammed into her 6’2 brother. How the hell did they end up with each other, she wondered.

In college, Matt had been the “It” guy on campus. Trist had gone to visit once and couldn’t believe the fan following. He had been popular in high school, an athletic guy, dabbling in many of the team sports, but nothing would compare to his collegiate status. Guys wanted to either be him or beat the shit out of him, although rarely the latter, he was just so friggin cool. And girls, oh the girls dropped their panties at his hello. Trist hadn’t believed it, but sure as shit got proof that her brother had some power over the ladies. Upon arrival at a frat party her brother’s brothers had thrown, Trist overheard a tiny brunette tell her big brother how she hadn’t wore anything under her skirt, so if he wanted to follow her, she’d be in the coat closet.

“You’ve got to be kidding?” she had asked, after the little dormitory slut had pranced off.
Ever so coolly sipping his beer, he acted as though he hadn’t even heard the chick, grabbed his sister in a headlock, and simply stated, “Let’s get you shlitzed.”

Recalling this, as her now married older brother looked at her to make sure she hadn’t killed herself on his chest, Trist shook her head.
“What?” Matt asked, grabbing his ankle and stretching his quads.

His athleticism had followed him into adulthood, a feat she was truly in awe of. Most of the married people she knew had let their guts grow over their belts, settling for defeat as if to say, what’s the point, it’s over. That, she vowed, no matter how tired in the morning she was, would never happen to her. Although, a 6am run would never friggin happen.
Marriage would not be her trip to fat farm, in fat, why walk down the isle at all? She had never got it. Always seemed like such an ending.

“Um, can you tell your wife I have an eye boogie that needs wiping, think she may have a monogrammed tissue lyin around.” She always tried to joke around with him, but ever since he had settled down with Clean B, his humor had died a slow death. Another minus to marriage.

“Wow, someone woke up on the bitch side of the bed.” Matt, more chipper than herself, yet not as ADD as his wife, finished stretching his other leg, mimed a boxing fight with Trist, while she stood rolling her eyes, and bounded upstairs. Go getters, Trist thought with a bitter, yet envious sigh. She looked back at Carrie, who was humming a tune and fluffing the sleep encrusted pillows, then turned the corner. Finally in the bathroom, alone, she de-pajamed, turned on the shower, and let the hot water rinse away her visit and his skin. She couldn’t wait to board that plane.

Benny
They had promised to wake him up by 7:30am as he had a 9:15 flight that he HAD to catch or he’d be fired, and the airport was almost an hour away. His friends were dicks, but damn they knew how to throw him a going away party. The visit had been short, swung by grandmas’, his Uncle Al and Aunt Pats’, and a few of his cousins who were still around the area (most were either in the military, in jail, or MIA, which was probably a good thing).
Mom had also gotten a visit from him, although that had been the most uncomfortable situation ever. That was on his mind as he woke up on the floor, beer bottles stuffed with cigarettes all around him. Not even wanting to look at the clock, he tried to sit up, only to realize something pinned his arm o the floor. Oh shit, he thought, rolling his head over to one side. Oh my God, it wasn’t her. As pieces of the night started pushing themselves together, he realized he had lost another chance. Fuck.

“Dude, you need to visit more often, you dick,” Jay had always been poetic with words, using dick in every other sentence. It could express his anger, his love, his confusion, hell, his boredom with just about anything. Words weren’t his thing and Benny knew this, so didn’t bust his balls. But the kid would rob Mother Theresa if you asked him to.

“I know man, just trying to get my shit together, ya know? Work is a bitch, but I have bills to pay, and dude, you can always visit me. It’s a plane ride away, just like it is for me, dumb ass.”

He had had this conversation numerous times with all his boys, who always asked him if and when he was moving back, why the hell he had left in the first place, then always ending with the ‘are you too good for us?’ question. The last one usually got asked after several beers, shots, hits. He could see it coming, however, never liked to answer it.

“Get the fuck outta here, dick. We’re all back here, you wanna see us, here we are. Ya don’t, well, you’re a dick. “ Jay laughed and punched him in the shoulder, then headed toward the kitchen, no doubt to grab another beer.

Benny did miss this place; having tried to forget it just hadn’t worked. Every time he rode down Lucas avenue he got that familiar feeling, where memories, good and bad, bubble up and ya can’t seem to calm your stomach. He loved and hated it and had tried to come to terms with it when he left. Alone, in his new city, away from these streets, everything was good. He could reinvent himself and he had, although each and every trip home usually threw old habits into his new routine. The anticipation and anxiety of these streets always shook him, so when a homecoming crept closer, the clumsier and more careless he got. A week before this trip, his mid had been so clogged he missed two meetings with clients, causing him to lose a potentially huge sale and have his boss’ boss made aware of his mishap. Yeah, sitting on thoughts of home never sat well with him.

“Hey man, is everything ok?” His buddy Jim had popped his head into his cubicle after his scolding from the Uppers about his missed meetings. Jim had been his first real friend in this new city and they hung out a bunch, happy hours, ball games, company outings. Jim was his wingman here. Although he had kept him at a distance only noticeable to Benny (as certain information about his past wasn’t discussed), Jim and him were tight. Even tag teamed the ladies now and again, double dating when they happened to meet someone.
What a good guy, Ben thought as he shifted his gaze away from Jim’s concerned face. His generic screen saver popped on, floating fish in a sea of coral. He had never been scuba diving. He looked back at Jim. What was it about him that always attracted the good people? He tried to stay to himself, not seem interested in participation, but that always seemed to land him next to the nicest friggin soul in the joint, asking him if he wanted to grab a beer or if he ever needed to talk…It’s not as if he was anti-social, not at all, just involvement led to questions and questions led to scraping the scab off his protective layer. Not usually his scene, although with Jim it had been a bit different. Jim hadn’t pushed, hadn’t made too many personal innuendos or pried too deep into anything. And the same lack of detail had been paid on Benny’s end. They were two guys, just hangin out and just the act of being in close proximity to each other was enough. Ben figured Jim had had the same philosophy of past lives, possibly cause he had left one to start anew as well; leave em’ in the past and keep on movin.

“Man, I’ve just got a lot on my mind buddy, but thanks. Just feel like a real shit about missing those meetings, but, guess nothing but time will tell now.”
Benny hated these clichés…nothing but time will tell? No shit, that’s what time did. Revealed, uncovered, sometimes even decided for you. It was these kinds of comments, clip phrases so to speak, that allowed a lone soul like Benny to move away from a potentially awkward personal revelation. This day had been cursed from the start, and looking at the 4:15 time, he figured it was better to call it a day than drag on for another 45 minutes. What could they do, fire him for leaving after that ass ripping? He got up from his seat, grabbing his jacket, patted Jim on the shoulder and told him he’d see him after his trip. He had declined Jim’s extremely generous offer at a ride to the airport the next morning. The train ride in was needed to gather his thoughts, and as Benny got in his car at the end of the day before his homecoming, thoughts of her came into his head. The car started, he shook her out, and pulled out of his parking space. It was going to be a long trip.

Pencil Me In

2008-03-05T12:06:00.000-08:00

People are always asking me what’s on my agenda, how does my schedule look, what’s coming up. Now, I say people as though I think everyone cares what my days and nights consist of, and that is not the case. I know most people do not; I’m not that egotistical (although, I am kind of a big deal). A very, very small fish in an ocean, I do not pretend to be more important than I actually am, although do lead an unusually stuffed life. Here’s how I think of it; most people are curious by nature, wanting to explore and question that which they do not understand. Well, being on the move gives me a certain something, not sure what, but whatever it is, not everyone has it. This could be a good or bad thing, depending on who you ask. My neighbor, Joe, born and raised in Roxborough (the neighborhood I live in), shakes his head each time he sees me.

“They still chargin you rent here, Cate? Where ya been? Where ya off to now? We never hear ya”
First of all, he always acts as though I’m doing something wrong by vacating the neighborhood without proper clearance. And I’ve never heard of not being able to hear your neighbor being a bad thing. I live above a couple who just had a baby, and let’s just say, I’ve not heard so much as a coo from this thing, and I sure ain’t complaining. But, Joe’s a good guy and his line of questioning is always met with my shit eating grin. I play the blonde, I don’t know, I’ve been busy card and try to explain as little as possible (enough just to get his eyebrows to stop jamming into the top of his head) and put the key into my door (which apparently is dusty from lack of entry).
This neighbor, king of my street, mayor of Freeland Ave, knows everyone by name, job title, vehicle and family tree. Living in one place all your life affords you the luxury of really getting to know your neighbors, and there isn’t a damn thing wrong with it. People with these backgrounds though, in my experience, just don’t understand the on-the-go lifestyle. Why would you ever want to leave the lovely burrough of Rox? Well, there are a million reasons in my book…life awaits and no better time life the present (or in my case, the next six months…yeah, I’m a planner).
So, why and how the hell did I get this way? Well, number one, genetics. Those who’ve met my momma know she’s hardly ever home. High school parties thrown in her absence may ring a bell. (Yeah, I almost got sent out of the country by queen B for some of those, but damn they were good times.) Plus, she’s pretty much the energizer bunny on crack, so GO is the only mode she knows. Being reared by a woman of her speed set the tone for my future pace. Although I wasn’t always this plan oriented, I do take after her fast track as of late. She once told me, in response to someone asking if she was scared to fly, “I’d rather die doing something, than doing nothing.” Says it all.
Another reason, or reasons I should say, I’m always out and about, has nothing to do with me and I cannot be held responsible for; my friends. These crazy kids are, 1. All over the country, and road trips are what we do; 2. Are hilarious, just ask anyone. Ok, maybe not anyone, but we think we’re pretty funny; 3. Into kicking the cat and doing what they do. Wherever we go, we have a blast and usually end up killing it.
So, nobody gonna take my pride, nobody gonna hold me down, on no, I gotta keep on movin. You want me, you better get me to look in my planner (which is always with me, I’m insane with plans, I wasn’t kidding) and make me pencil you in. Next few weeks are fillin up fast. Next up, may be movin on up…(Hunting dwellings tonight in Conshy with Queen B, gotta get out of paying the city wage tax man!), Thursday’s affair-Irish visits Philly (Gnocchi babies are delicious), Friday, I'm the chef, so taste this (Wash it down with Main Street), Saturday’s tasty Delaware affair (private wine pairing with the energizer bunny and friends). Until next week, get out there.

Categorizing the Meat Section

2008-02-22T12:19:00.000-08:00

I’ve been single for quite some time, by choice often, and sometimes by default or lack of takers. And yes, I have also been unfortunate (or fortunate in hindsight) to have had my heart broken. So, needless to say, I’ve been in the dating game awhile. From my years of dating, ditching, sidestepping and stalking (not on my end, mind you, I’m a lady!), I’ve come away with some very unusual tidbits that I wish to explore. Here goes…

In my experience, it’s best to take away with you the positive of any given situation, learn what you can, and either walk away gracefully and sometimes even run (stalkers require a sprinting away from…you know who you are and if you’re reading this, stop texting me!!). Bitterness never becomes anyone, no matter what the circumstances are. Now, that does not mean a dish session about the level or lack of maturity that ex-significant other should not occur over a glass of wine with your girlfriends. This is how we purge, recharge and get back on the horse. It’s necessary and often quite therapeutic. But, I feel that to understand the opposite sex, you need to categorize the meat, so to speak, so you can be prepared for the next entree that comes along. Organization is key when deciding the likelihood and probability of a positive meal. And sometimes nothing but time will tell, but this way, at least you can say you had an active choice in the matter. Or pretend you did.

To start categorizing, you have to begin with a clean plate. Preconceived notions and high expectations are a tell tale sign that you’re setting yourself up to fail. Projecting huge standards when you first order not only frightens your potential dish, but makes you anxious, especially if you’re not pleasantly surprised by what eventually gets put in front of you. Not to say you shouldn’t have standards of a quality meal. Everyone has things they can and cannot stomach, and you shouldn’t waver. Just because it’s something you’ve never tried, doesn’t mean you should belly up. If you’re willing to settle for grade F, so be it, but don’t compare it to Ruth's Chris, as you’ll definitely be disappointed. So, before you move on, clear the decks and dishes of any past meals you’ve not quite digested. It’s time for a new course, so have your palette clean.

Next, you must know the ingredients you are working with. For instance, if you start off with something that is bland, do not except it to magically spice up because you have entered the kitchen. You won’t suddenly wake up one day, having gone to bed with celery, and open your eyes to Cajun gumbo. People don’t magically change, no matter how masterful of a chef you are. And you shouldn’t expect them to. Sometimes you should just work with what you’ve got, or pack up your utensils and dine elsewhere. Having said that, you need to know what tastes good to you, what you crave, what will satisfy your taste-buds. All I’m saying is, if you’re in the mood for a filet mignon, don’t settle for a burger. Not to say snacking on something you’re not necessarily hungry for can’t be fun…hell, sometimes we eat for other reasons then hunger. But, if you’re looking for a main course, choose wisely and make sure it has the right seasoning. And garnish, for that matter. Because once ordered, to return it to the kitchen can be a disaster.

Another thing you must be on the look out for when delving into a new dish happens only after you’ve ordered. The undercooked dish. When first perusing the menu, you may find something that truly gets your mouth watering. You’re inspired even, cause you’ve been dining regularly for years and rarely found such a scrumptious delight. While reading the description, your mouth waters, you’re envisioning how tasty it will be, how fulfilled you’ll be once eaten. You order, and wait, munching on the appetizers they feed you to satisfy beforehand. These snacks often make you hungrier for the main course though, so don’t be fooled. Be cautious of how much you ingest before the real meal…it may give you a false sense of fulfillment. And when your main course is finally served, and you delve in, only to realize it’s not been cooked long enough, well, there’s no bigger disappointment. Sometimes meals aren’t meant to be served yet, and you’ve just interrupted the marinating process. Not only are you trying to gnaw on something raw, you’ll inevitably leave hungry. I suggest you send it back to the kitchen and order something else, or get the check. If it ain’t ready to be eaten, send it out to pasture.

Lastly, don’t ever, ever fake fullness. If the meal hasn’t satisfied, you should either never order it again, or try to talk to the chef about beefing up the portion. If you choose the latter, pick your words wisely, as chefs can be edgy about what they’ve prepared and may ask you not to dine again. IF that is the case, you must be ok with it, because that restaurant isn’t for you if your suggestions aren’t taken seriously. Everyone could use improvement, and unless you're just flat out picky, then compromise shouldn’t be unattainable. However, if upon re-visitation, you still leave hungry, I suggest you will loose much weight, and pride, if you continue to dine there. You ultimately know what will fill you, so why settle for a meager meal?
I hope I’ve shed some light on the dining process of dating…a metaphor I find highly effective and in my experience, extremely accurate. The cliché of a meat market really isn’t the point. It’s the do’s and don’ts of fine, and sometimes not so fine, dinning. Restaurants come and go, and you should try as many as it takes until you find the perfect main course. Order wisely, don’t be scared to try new things, and above all, be confident enough in yourself to send it back to the kitchen if it’s not working for you. Bon appetite.

Traveling Became Her

2008-02-21T17:02:00.000-08:00

The suitcase lay half full on her bedroom floor, stuffed with her past trips and not quite full of her future. Why unpack? Traveling wasn’t a destination, but a constant, she needed it to propel her. Her bag lay agape, its tongue flapped open as if saying, “where to next?” Where to indeed. Sitting still didn’t sit well with her, didn’t fit her nature, and she became anxious when she stood still. How did she get here? Thinking back, she tried to pinpoint the exact date in time planning had consumed. They say you learn what you live, so maybe the lifestyle in which she was reared had turned her into this streak of going, going, gone. In all honesty, she loved it, and couldn’t imagine herself staying in one place too long. That night though, she found herself in between plans, with nothing consuming her evening, yet the door had just closed with her dusk. It wasn’t as if she feared aloneness, quite the opposite. Friends had always asked if loneliness consumed her, as she lived alone, did things on her own schedule, didn’t have a built in ear waiting to be filled upon key in door. But this was how she had built it. It was an active choice and she believed everyone had this option. Not to say she wasn’t envious of those who needed company, surrounded themselves with others. This want of contact hadn’t ever found her. It was this thought, this melody said perfectly by the Beatles song, Across the Universe, that settled with her that particular evening. “Nothings gonna change my world.” Not an absolute, but a way of life. Letting people in hadn’t ever been a problem. Her enthusiasm in general was coveted by most she came across. With so much to look forward to, so much to fill her days and evenings, she rarely seemed to want. Me thinks thou doth protest too much? Rarely, but still makes you wonder.

Getting the hang of it. Finally.

2008-02-20T17:35:00.001-08:00

I’m going to try my hand at writing things down. I’m a writer, or so claim time and time again, hell, it’s what I spent four (and a half, dougggghhhh) years doing in college, so should have been writing all along. Life has gotten in the way. This is an excuse spewed out each time anyone’s asked, “what have you written lately?” Nothing. That’s what my true response should be. It would be the honest thing to say. But, that never crosses my lips. What I do say, to try and pacify the curious bystanders who want nothing more than to see I’ve not been wasting my words, well, I explain, with intricate detail, that I have in fact had no time, constantly on the move, packing my bags, out the door, dressing for the evening, day, week, next location. I’ve never been called out on it, except by the few other writers I’ve had the pleasure of collecting in my menagerie of friends. They call it like they see it, letting the air out of my over inflated tires. Busy shouldn’t be an excuse, but should feed the story and add to the inventory. I am (hopefully) done with the dishing of excuses. Writers write, right? So, I’m going to try and do just that. For myself, for the masses, for no one. And yes, I’m going to bug the crap out of you all to read it. So, you have that to look forward to. Look at me, here I am. Writing. Nothing. But, hey, it’s my first try at an organized collaborative. Give me a break.