Lovin' is what I got

Birthday Latte, @DoraCoffee, LES, NYC, May 16, 2011

(In an effort to avoid whining about the fact I'll have spent the second day in a row on my hands and knees scrubbing our new office space in the basement of a project that hasn't been used in two years nor cleaned, I'm auto-setting this post before I have a reason to complain about more things and sharing the happier moments from the past few days.)

24th Birthday & Graduation Weekend, NYC, May 15, 2011

24th Birthday & Graduation Weekend, NYC, May 15,2011

Birthday Sapphires & Love, Sunnyside, May 16, 2011

Birthday Ohana, Sunnyside, May 16, 2011

Keep on smiling!

Generation Y's Y

***So. I just realized my posts for Y & Z did not "automatically post" like blogger promised. So here they are for the heck of it**

If I understand the terminology correctly, my friends and I are part of the "generation Y" movement. I don't know- because I have two older brothers I feel a stronger kinship to the "x-er's".

I mean, I don't think I can fit neatly into either box. If anything, I'm a combination of the two. I grew up with the emergence of computers' accessibility. I remember we had a "computer period" in grade school once a week where we were allowed to play math games and Amazon Rainforest and Oregon Trail. Memories.

Now I'll admit I'm fond of my iPhone. But I could live without it. Sure the internet makes life easier (does it?), but I can live without it- for periods of time.

I don't know. And I don't really care. Just. trying. to. make. it. through. these. next. few. days!

V's Variability

variable |ˈve(ə)rēəbəl|adjective1 not consistent or having a fixed pattern; liable to change 
Before taking the billions of research oriented classes I've taken, I never really understood the term variable.
Now I do. Oh how I do. And it has come to be one of my favorite words.
I like the fact it can be easily applied to several situations- taken out of scientific context and variably used. (hah!) I like that its soft sounding and includes the word "able" making it sound positive. 
And, most importantly, I like the fact that it describes a loyal aspect of my own nature: having a fixed pattern of inconsistency. (More or less). I like to pretend that I'm consistent. Heck sometimes I even thoroughly believe myself. But then something happens and I'm back at it all over the place. Changing plans, making big moves. Delusional with dreamy expectations.
And I (sometimes) love it. After all, what is life without a bit of variability?

Do you have any particularly favorite words? Or do you have a habit of taking words out of their original context and applying them generously?

Unicorn-ly U

Thanks to Lisa Frank, I grew up an avid believer in unicorns. She also had me under the impression that cats and dogs could, in fact, get married and have puppies and kittens together.

Random?

No. My point is, despite never actually seeing a unicorn I believed in them. And that their shiny iridescent horns held some magical powers.

I'm taking it back to the age old saying/ thought process/ state of mind that seeing isn't always believing.

Is it?

I don't think so. I've been blessed with getting practically every thing I've ever wanted- eventually. Now I'm not saying I've been given handouts. But one way or another my life has worked itself out to give me the things that I need and want at one point or another. Maybe not immediately, but eventually things work out.

I need a job. I need to decide where to live. What do to with my future.

And I need to remember to believe... that things will work themselves out... like they always do.

Sometimes we just have to believe in unicorns.


Are you a believer? Or do you at least believe in unicorns?

T's Tolerating Time's Temperamentally

Is it just me or has time been spiraling at a ridiculous pace? Most days I feel as if the day itself is never ending but come nightfall I wonder where the time went. Not to mention I still can't believe it's the end of April. Wasn't I just on winter break in January whining about tearing my ligament?

I remember complaining about the seemingly endless summer breaks during grade school: too hot to play outside, pools too crowded to enjoy the urine infested water, and butt imprint firmly mapped on the living room sofa. Now I have a hard time holding on to the few moments I have to relax between days.

And why is it that when you want time to speed up it it thrives on slow motion? And when you need a few extra minutes you just can't seem to catch a break?

Father Time, I know you want us all to our existence in this whirlwind clock. But can't you just give a sistah a break someTIMES?



How do you feel about the Time's Tempermental-ness? Can you enjoy each moment or do you find yourself wondering where the last 24 hours, year, decade went?

sex is an expensive habit but it still makes me happy

Alpalcas, Camp Hill, Summer 2009

I went to visit my friends the alpacas today who live near the damn. Driving home from my appointment, I missed the exit I had proposed to take. Instead of going toward Happy Valley with overeager kids doing upside-down keg stands, I ended up on a cruise through the back roads that go up-and-down-and-turn-too-sharp-and-the-bottom of the mountain makes love to Sharky’s fender into a bender.

It started off with the 90s throwback power lunch hour on the local R&B station. In between the yeah babies and doing it rights I realized, I got the power and I like it like that. A semi-slight-circular detour smoothly turned into seductively teasing trails between skinny mountain thighs squeezing the nerves tingling out of the sensationally excited epidermis- not even shy about showing.

Permagrin positively plastered, provocatively prone peculiarities pinned possibilities precociously playing preciously proactive ponderings!

Suddenly, funkadelic cardiac beats pulsed vibrational rhythms right into a scattered brain. Thoughts were arrested as they boogied out into a ridiculous laugh. Silence at last! As if inhaling enough air in order to exhale the bubbles down to the bottom of the pool, a wave of refreshing water soothingly engulfed the space between wiggling toes and a glorious crown. Lungs lavishly lounged in the relief. Mmm, delicioso!

Action verbing thoughts turned sublime moments into mine. Mental masturbation mastered, I pulled into the driveway sincerely serene.

I realized again nothing ever goes as planned. And I smiled.

-Camp Hill, PA, June 2009

Change clothes

Change. Such an innocent motive propelled my mind into long-forgotten memories.

In an effort to prolong my procrastination from homework, I decided to take down my change jar and count. Imagining I had maybe an hour's worth of meaninglessness to occupy me from the voices telling me to do real work. Plus, for some reason counting change has always fascinated me. As a kid I used to offer my services to my family and spend hours taping dirty coin wrappers formed by a cheap Bic to emerge with blackened digits.

10 minutes later and I was done. In those short moments, existentialism got the best of me.

Up until relatively recently I've been an avid supporter of change- changing myself, my surroundings. Anything really. I've gone through every hair color (including pink, purple, and teal), gotten up and moved cities when bored, and numerous different aspects of myself and environment when possible. I thrived at the opportunity to switch life up. I would call them adventures.

Now? Not so much. I still like change. But something about it scares me now with major responsibilities in tow. No longer do I have the support of anyone to pick up the pieces if I get in too deep. No longer can I say things like, "I want to do xxx before I'm 18/21 so it doesn't stay on my record". No longer can I  up and go without over analyzing my moves not to mention caring about my impact on others.

Yes, I'm growing up and I understand that has something do to with my semi-craving for stability. But what happened?

Let's take a nap.

This is my lovely bed. And my BFF Mr. Pillo, who is 22 years old. Every night I greet my bed with open, gracious arms. Ready to be engulfed in it's comfort. Tonight, I am especially eager.


"Poem of Low Latitudes"- Mike Dockins

Let's crumple calendars,

smash watches.

Let's throw ropes around the Moon,

never stop swallowing its linens.

Let's recline the way the horizon does, 

every evening, yawning across Tropic lines.

Let's fill a hammock with limes.

Let's fall asleep on the reef,

stare up through clear water at trembling stars.

Let's climb a coconut tree & squeal like monkeys.

Let's ride a trade wind like paper airplanes.

Let's watch the sky wheel & wheelfrom under straw hats.

Let's count a billion stars,lose track at a billion minus one,

then start over, until we glitter with white sand.

Let's tumble together until the earth is flat.

Let me sail like Magellan into you,unfold the maps of your roundness.

Let's hope for the volcano.

Let's reinvent the godless universe ballooning.

Let's crawl into a conch shell & bang on a bongo.

Let's build a bonfirethat boils away the atmosphere.

Let's sublimate, evaporate, condense.

Let's get drunk on the real stars—

helium engines strummingour own cores to a glow.

Let me wear your warm skin.

Let's simplify: skin, nerve, synapse, nucleus, hydrogen, quark, the unpronounceable....

Without a presence, there is no absence

"High Tea" Esca, February 2011

Yesterday I had a bit of a mini-breakdown. As I was trying to pick an outfit to go on a date Jon and I had planned thanks to restaurant week, a nice whopping reality-check slapped my self-esteem to the sewers.

For a few months I had been pining to go to Esca because of it's slow-food mentality. And thanks to specials we could take advantage of it. I knew it was impressive considering the review sites labeled it as "$$$$" and while I don't own any fancy frocks, because let's face it I can't afford the SATC lifestyle, I do own some decent items. But yesterday, the outside world was quite literally an ice-skating rink and there was no way to leave the house without rain boots and cozy pants.

I know we all have an "I-don't-have-anything-to-wear" dilemma every once in a while. But I instantly fell into a pity party. Why don't I have nice, professional clothes when I'll officially be one in May? Why don't I have a versatile closet? What have I worn the past year at my other job? Why have I gained all this weight since living in the city and my decent clothes doesn't fit right? Why is this restaurant giving me the Cinderella-syndrome?

I was knee-deep. I cried. I yelled at Jon. I took out the majority of my closet to try on. I did not want to go to the restaurant of my dreams anymore if it was going to make me feel like a scrub. Why did I deserve or think I had the right to go to such a place? I kicked Jon out of the room and remembered to breathe. Here I was with the perfect opportunity to try new things, have a romantic date, feel nice about myself, and I was throwing it away because of a tantrum.

I quickly threw on a nice tank with my thick Gap sweater and stuffed my black "professional" pants into my Tretorn rain boots and decided to face the disapproving looks of staff. At least if I didn't look fancy, Jon didn't either and we'd be in it together, like a couple. And if they didn't approve and try to offer us blazers, then we would keep our dignity and patron a different restaurant. It's NYC right? Everyone dresses crazy!

As we travelled over my confidence starting swelling, "well screw them if they don't accept us!" We made it finally, where a very attentive staff that was kind despite their initial reactions of seeing us, and sat us at a small table full of different sized utensils that we had no clue how to use. Jon and I looked at each other agreed: we felt like little kids wearing our parents clothes. We were the youngest ones there among business executives and ladies-that-lunch.

We were out of place, but we ordered anyway. And it was one of the most delicious meals I have ever had. (Note: if you ever go, order the spaghetti a la bolognesa!)

This seems to be a recurring theme in my NYC life: finding a niche to fit into, a balance between my young-professionalism versus my peter-pan roots, feeling classy enough to dress-up my single-parent-lower-middle-class Argentine roots in this sky-high concrete city. It's one of my personal demons that is always lingering in the back of my mind, where I've come from. And I never want to become one of those adults that consider Applebee's fine dining.

But hopefully, I can do as I did yesterday and overcome the negative voices and enjoy what I deserve. Grow into myself and who I'm meant to become: appreciate the skeletons in my closet but ignore their taunting voices.

Snow days equal party days!

(the Empire State building can usually be seen in the distance)

Maybe it's my naivete, but I don't understand why everyone keeps getting so hissy-fissy about the recent snow storms. Sure it's a pain to plow and is pretty nasty after the first day. But when it's falling it's as if this inexplicable sense of sereneness envelopes the surrounding environment. Everything is swept into the swirl of snowflakes swimming through the air.

The day I get angry about snow storms is the day I lose my Peter Pan syndrome.