you can't always get what you want

I have a bad habit of not getting what I want. I know, it sounds ridiculous but here’s what usually happens. 

• Step one: I order a juice at my local bodega.
• Step two: I get my juice and take a sip.
• Step three: It’s not what I ordered, not only that - it tastes really bad.
• Step four: I don’t say anything, I leave the bodega both unhappy with my bad tasting juice.
• Step five: I drink my bad tasting juice and regret it for hours and wonder why, I didn’t just ask for a new juice.

Does this happen to anyone else? You can apply it to any part of your life and maybe sometimes you just go with something and it’s not even what you want. The worst part is it’s always in my control, always. But rather than saying, “Excuse me, this is not what I ordered. May I please have a new juice?” I walk away feeling regretful and upset at myself for not speaking up. I’ve done this so many times that I’ve lost count. Most recently on a trip to Bloomingdale’s to purchase a new skincare product where I ended up with a different product than I went in to purchase, something I did not like, spent more money than I wanted and ended up with the same terrible regret. WHY DO I DO THIS?

Part one of the conclusions I've come to: I’m worried I’m going to hurt someone’s feelings.

I go see the bodega guy everyday. He is so happy and sweet. It gets very busy in there and sometimes people make mistakes. I also have witnessed people being so utterly rude at this place that I’m fearful that I too will look rude if I return my juice. Because they will then dump it out, waste all those vegetables and fruits, and next time I come in, I’ll wonder if they will then think of me as “the woman who returned her juice.” This is so beyond ridiculous.

Part two of the conclusions I've come to:  Everyone hates that picky, pushy person in line.

I’ve witnessed my fair share of people while living in NYC that are so beyond picky that it holds up the line and makes everyone else uncomfortable in a 10 feet radius. I know that by saying to my Bloomingdale’s beauty advisor, “No thank you, I came in for this product and am not interested in that product,” that she wouldn’t hate me or find me picky but at the end of the day, she’s supposed to be the expert. However, she is also a sales woman.

So here’s what I’m doing. 

I returned the skincare product and I’ve made a pact with myself to no longer expect bad juices. I trust that you can read between the lines here but if not - I won’t accept or allow people to talk me into things I do not want or did not ask for just because I feel bad or am worried about what they will think if I correct them. Because in the middle of the day when all I have time for is a juice, I do not want it to tastes like celery - I want carrot and I’m sure the bodega guy will understand.

tea for one, plus one

I woke up to my alarm and a cool gray sky. I put on my favorite dress and traveled up to the Guggenheim. It was my first time there. I made my way up and back down the spiral, stopping for an overpriced coffee along the way. It was over-roasted and mostly bitter, no matter how many sugars I added. I chalked it up to all the time going into the museum's exhibitions and not into the coffee, fine by me. I left and strolled down Madison Avenue. I took the subway downtown to the West Village. I stepped into Tea and Sympathy on Greenwich Avenue. I was alone, had been alone all weekend. I was looking forward to a table for one. I sat outside in the brisk January air. I called my Dad, glanced at my phone a moment and settled in to wait for my table of one. 15 minutes later a mass of people exited and seating began for the cold souls waiting outside. The woman next to me commented that we'd all need warm tea for having to wait outside in the cold. I mentioned it was well worth the wait. She was seated a moment later, another table for one. Then I heard her call back out the door, "Are you one? I'm just one if you'd like to sit at my table."

The waitress offered me another table right away but I took the table with the woman I had exchanged words with moments before outside. We liked the same tea (Chai) and settled in to chat about New York, my career, her family, theater and art.

It was lovely to have tea with a woman I didn't know. It was nice that someone else who was looking forward to tea for one happened to share tea for two. It never came up if we had been waiting for someone else, we both just seemed happy to have a table by the window and a shared teapot of chai and scones.

When I first moved to New York I would often get questioned about the people. My tea guest had lived in New York City most of her life and while she traveled and relocated a few times, she always came back. We both related to not having to drive and how you can step into a different museum or cafe any given day and experience something new. I thanked her for asking me to join her, she thanked me for being open to the suggestion. This is my New York City.

Tea had and to be had:

Lady Mendl's

The Carlyle

Alice's Tea Cup

Russian Tea Room

The Palm Court at The Plaza

be a body

 Our bodies betray us.

We get sick, hurt, ache and tremor. Are our bodies a reflection of our minds or are they an individual entity which can only be helped and pushed in a way that may or may not stand the test of time?

I have always thought of my body as a reflection of my emotional self. I feel strongest mind and body when I'm physically fit. I'm strong in body, I'm strong in mind. I tear into my body in an attempt to break it down and build it back up. I've always been athletic and set tests for myself that were both strenuous and exhausting. I used to fly through the air in cheerleading and gymnastics. I would ask my lungs to expand to great capacity by running until my legs gave out from underneath me. I twist and bend and challenge my limbs to hold me steady and still as I change poses in yoga. But when my body betrays me, my mind usually follows.

There are things that are out of our control. Neck aches that steam from stress, broken bones due to accidents, pins and needles in joints and headaches that pulse to great extremes. I have to trust my body to take me to the place I need to go but what if it cannot?

I work on my body as if it were a machine. Certain parts need replaced or fixed up - dents and nicks worked out of its exterior, a new valve, whatever. The part that is at the center, my engine, my heart always needs the most work. 

For over a year now I've been very quiet when the yoga teacher asks if there are any requests in class. Now I can clearly identify that I need constant attention to my heart. I ask for chest openers. I trust that my body will hold me, I question my heart. Because when my heart fails me, my body follows. Just as an engine fails, the rest of the machine cannot complete it's task. I'm understanding that working on my exterior is actually making my interior stronger.

a balancing act

There are things about us that are different. There are things about us that are the same.

I said, "I think it's a balance."
You said, "I don't want to be balanced."

It vibrates through me everyday. I fell to my knees in the street, I sat on a cool subway train and weep in the presence of strangers, I take unnecessary trips to the bathroom at work and sit a while until my flush face fades.

The hardest part of leaving is knowing that it may be the right thing. It doesn't make it hurt any less and it doesn't make it easier. I shifted closer, you further.

I fill my lungs with air and try to remember that I've been here. That my situation is not less or more challenging than of those around me. That daily life brings us challenges and every so often, heart break. I'm letting go of what I do not need while you find what you do. I hope you find it, I hope you fill the void. 

To those who know me personally, Thank you. You've gone to great lengths to pull me up as I fall down. I love you forever.

the weight of getting older

So here's the thing about turning 27. You turn the corner on being able to eat whatever the hell you want. I'm telling you now so that when you get here, you know it ahead of time. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to make it to 28 or unlucky enough that 26 is when it happens but for me, it is 27.

I've always considered myself an active person. I run, lift weights, spin and even did boxing for about a year. Suddenly though out of no where I gained about 8 pounds and no matter how much I do or don't eat, no matter how hard I run myself into the ground, that scale will not move. 

So I tried "dieting." Quotes because I'm not a person who can diet or further more wants to. I hate being the person that eats salad while everyone else enjoys pasta. I don't like saying no to candy and I really hate not being able to visit my favorite bakery on 23rd street. So my diet was this; replace lunch with a green juice, drink more water, no more candy or bakery goods and no butter. Simple right? Sort of… except, nothing changed. Except my attitude which was annoyed and aggravated because all I could think about was rose macarons. So what do you do?

You stop looking at the scale. 

I run. I run really freaking hard and long on some days. I bike. I have a nifty single speed bike that means I can't cheat on hills with gears. I lift weights and jump around like a nut. I think you can classify this as CrossFit. I twist and bend in yoga. And I have stopped looking at the scale. After 5 days straight at the gym some weeks I feel like a brand new woman and what can ruin that moment isn't a cookie but that damn number.

But my jeans still fit the same and I still trot around in a bikini of vacation so at the end of the day, do those +8 pounds matter? Sometimes. Sometimes they bug me and make me select the non-fat yogurt rather than the 2%. But most of the time, they don't. Because I can eat macaroons with the understanding that I'm going to ride my bike a bit harder that day. That's okay with me. Because of all the vices I could have, +8 pounds isn't so bad.

two

 I feel like one of those parents who says good morning to their child and then half way through the day looks at the calendar to realize that today is their own child's birthday - and they forgot. Hurry to the store and get a cake, what was that something they wanted from that store, do they like chocolate or vanilla, over spend, over decorate, happy birthday! no we didn't FORGET we've been planning to surprise you all along!

Today is suddenly lovely's two year birthday. I've written 162 posts inspired from my past, present and future. They are babbles of mine that have turned into a place for me to recall recipes, places I've been and people I've known.

From the past year, below are the three posts that stuck out most to me.
The most truthful: Don't Stay
The most delish: Scrumptious Scone
STILL the most read: Naked Truth

I still am completely taken back when people reference suddenly lovely. It means so much that someone (anyone really) reads this. Thank you for reading, putting up with my bad grammar and spelling and for saying little things here and there to me about a post or picture that stuck with you. I hope that for maybe a few minutes a day at work while you have your lunch or need a break you can click around here and find something that you enjoy.

less is more

I awoke from the sun beaming in from outside. A cool fall breeze from the window and in the arms of a man who loves me very much and all I could do was whine and complain.

I had no makeup, deodorant, clean clothes, face wash, comfortable shoes. My head hurt, my arm hurt from a flu vaccine days prior, my jaw sore from my apparent teeth grinding sleep. I could hear how annoying, bratty and selfish I sounded but I kept going on and on. Why was the sun so bright and why did the landlord choose Saturday morning to replace the siding (this was the only fair complaint since they began hammering at 8am). Chris, my boyfriend who spoiled me with a movie and dinner the night prior, listened and didn't interrupt as I went on and on. After a pause in my banter, mostly because I was probably looking for other things to bitch about he simple said, "Maybe you need too many things."

I fired back that I didn't think clean underwear was too much to ask but throughout the day and entire weekend the question stuck with me - do I really need so much?

With the change of the season I've found myself wanted more things. Hats, shoes, gadgets, beauty products, jewelry, everything really. I want these times but what is more alarming is that I feel I deserve these things. Why a $60 candle? Well because I earned it. I work hard goddammit so if I want my room to smell like one big fancy rose, so be it. When I come back down to earth I realize how stupid that line of reasoning is. You know what I really need? A big reality check.

I need the basics. Food, water, shelter and a job. I do not need $25 lipstick, $60 candles or an $800 watch. I have plenty of clothes to layer for the fall and winter, a heavy jacket, a hat, a cabinet of soup and to be honest, too much lipstick already. Having all I need is a blessing I seem to lose touch with all too often. My ego gets the best of me and the situation, convincing me that these things will somehow improve my life quality. What will however is wanted less. A current yoga lesson brought up the idea of taking less. Taking only what you need so there is more for everyone around you. Why does that sound so simple and easy but when I'm standing in the middle of Bloomingdale's I have this incredible pressure that if I do not have that DVF scarf that would mean no groceries for two weeks that I can't keep it in the front of my mind?

So it begins - the constant mantra of needing and wanting less. Taking what I have and seeing it all as blessings rather than burdens. And most of all to stop whining so much. No one wants to hear that.

the paper trail

 Growing up I knew I was lucky. My mom was cast from early on as the "cool mom." Always requested and selected to chaperon field trips and tag along during hangouts with my friends, I knew she was cool and calm unlike some of the other moms. We'd go to Washington D.C. for museum trips and while the other parents drilled their groups on facts that they learned that day - my mom would take us outside for a non-cafeteria lunch and we'd watch her bargain down a tee-shirt vendor for whatever matching designs my friends and I were after. She was an idol to other girls my age. My mom listened to all our 12 year old issues of boys, parents, clothes, growing pains and she would take us seriously. She never spoke above our 12 year old selves and only offered advice and snacks. I trusted her so much that I knew that when I ran into trouble in 6th grade that she would hear me out.

We weren't allowed to pass notes but since I could hold a pen, I was writing letters. With multiple pen pals and pretty stationery, I was a 12 year old note rebel. Others however, not so much. When a schoolmate dropped a note of mine in the hall and Mrs. Kraft picked it up I already had a strike against me. The fact that it claimed that she was a class-a B**** (yeah I was a badass note passer but I didn't swear) was a sure sign that my parents would be called.

I was pulled out of study hall, told to serve multiple detentions and that my parents would be notified of my actions. While I was mad I got caught, I never felt bad. I knew that once my mom had heard what had happen that she'd understand. Flash forward to coming home and telling my mom the truth. What happened, what I wrote and the detentions. Most importantly though why I felt the way I did about Mrs. Kraft. She put kids down. She didn't encourage learning, she encouraged humiliation. Picked on kids who were timid readers and played favorites to those who were typical class pets. My mom went to talk to Mrs. Kraft.

She first asked if the note had been addressed to her and when she said no, my mom's point was made. If it wasn't addressed to her then why did she read it? It was none of her business and that it was a shame that a 12 year old hurt her feelings. I would not serve detention and the matter would be dealt with at home.

The matter was this - mom agreed that Mrs. Kraft was indeed a bitch. What I learned - if I truly felt a certain way I could tell my mom honestly and she would listen. Her reaction wouldn't be tarnished because she was the adult and I was the child. We were a team and a family. That I could trust her but also not to do thinks that may lead her to distrust me or disappoint her. I already knew she was the cool mom but her standing up to Ms. Kraft made my heart swell and still does today. Aside from all that I also learned one last thing - never leave a paper trail.

hero

 

When I was young my dad used to pull splinters out of my hands and feet. I don't know where I used to play where this was a common occurrence but I remember him putting my hand under a big magnifying glass in the garage and using a needle. He was unnaturally gentle and being the wimp I am, it takes a ton of trust especially when I'm hurt, to allow anyone to touch me. Quick and painless, the splinter gone and there was instant relief. His reassurance of fixing up his daughter was easy for me to read, it spread across his face. I learned dad liked being the hero.

I know all this modern woman stuff is telling us all to buck up! who needs a man when you have a college education, smart phone and good pair of shoes. Me. I'm the one shyly raising my hand. I'm not tall enough to reach the top shelf and strong enough to hang that 50 lb. mirror that I bought last spring. The truth is I miss that feeling I used to get where dad would get the splinter. When his pride and happiness from helping me filled me up with love. I could have gotten it eventually but seeing him help me was so much more rewarding. That hero moment- it's not just little girls and disney stories - I truly feel guys like it too.

Because let's be honest, when you help someone else, their appreciation and gratitude fills you up and you feel just as good. You can tell me to ask for the help of a girlfriend but it's not the same benefit. Sometimes whether it's opening a jar or pulling out splinters, a part of me wants that hero-like outcome. I'm not "modern woman" enough to say it.

the clog

My bathtub has a tendency to clog. One day I'll randomly look down to see my feet submerged in water. I get out, towel off and by the time I'm dressed I have already forgotten about the clog and the excess water has drained. Until the next time which will be when I'm especially late and am left with sudsy feet and a mental note to pick up drano on my way home from work. I always forget to deal with the clog until it's so bad that it takes a bottle of extra strength drano and at times, the maintenance man to snake my drain. This, for those of you know who know me and how OCD I can be know that this isn't about cleanliness but about addressing the problem. At 25 years old, I am incredibly good at ignoring the problem until like my bathtub, I am filled to the brim and overflowing.

I know that it's there but each day is less convenient than the last. I forget until something else adds to the pile and I remember that I had poor feelings at all. I look down, I look up and wonder how the water got so high. Time and time again I curse myself for not taking care of it right away. Letting it build and allowing it to get more about more out of hand. My feet prune-like, my heart heavy.

Once the clog is gone and my feet don't slip on suds, I go back to my daily routine, thank the maintenance guy who murmurs on his way out in half English, half Spanish that next time to him call earlier. "Don't let it build mami," as he walked down the hallway, "one day it will not be fixed." 

This post is dedicated to Kate. xo

don't stay

I don't like when you stay here.

I don't like that you take up more than your half of the bed. That you use pillows that are are not for sleeping but for decorating. That you kick the covers off and I have to drag them back onto the bed 10 times over.

I don't like that you make my sheets smell like you. The smell that's hardly there but seems to stay for days after you are gone. That when I wake up I feel like I smell more like you than me.

I don't like that I can't move you. Not even an inch. You fall asleep and you are dead weight. That your arms are much too long and that they pull me and tuck me into the position that is comfortable for you. That I become your rag doll and that you drag me from one half of the bed to the other without effort. That if I move an inch away that you pull me two inches closer.

I don't like that you breathe on me when you sleep. That you don't care that you're sometimes so close that I can hardly breathe myself. That your hair gets in my face and that your beard scratches my face and neck.

I don't like when you stay here because I wake up the next three nights thinking you are still here. I don't like it because I don't like when you leave.

luck be a lady

If you want something to happen and in your favor, is there a certain prayer you say, a special dress you wear, swear that if this one thing happens that you will fulfill a certain promise in return? I have one item that I keep with me for luck. On days where I have a big presentation, somewhere to be or a date to keep, I wear a necklace that holds an emblem of Saint Christopher. Historically this saint holds patronage of things related to travel and travelers.

I'm not a religious person but I do believe in karma and luck. I understand fully that my necklace isn't a safeguard against any sort of mishaps and misfortunes but it has become something that takes the edge off days where I know I have a zillion things to do and places to be. Smaller than a dime, hanging from a thin silver chain, it gives me confidence and ease to not worry and let things just take their course and hopefully bring me a little bit of luck when I hit a bump in the road.

sticks and stones

The moment before you know pain will hit. Your heart quickens, every muscle in your body tenses up, you can hear your pulse in your ears, you feel it in your throat. Adrenaline kicks in and you feel a rush to the head, a flip to your stomach. You close your eyes and you wait.

It hits. It's horrendous. It's the worst pain you've felt in your entire life and you are sure that this is the most pain you will ever feel. You're flooded with emotions of fear and agony. You yell, you scream, moan, shout, cry, sob, anything to release the tension that filled your muscles moments before and fills your body now with pain.

You breathe, you react, you act. You analyze the damage. You put yourself through an instant physical and mental pop quiz. Where am I, who am I, can I hear, see, taste, count to 10. Flex your fingers, flex your toes, work into the center of your body from the furthest points. Wrists and ankles, elbows and knees, hips and shoulders, head and heart. And suddenly you begin to search for a solution to end the pain or subdue it.

Slow down.

Haven't you already began to forget about the initial pain? The first hit that knocked the wind out of you and why you tensed up in the first place. Why is it that only moments after pain subsides that our minds, our bodies, begin to forget the sensation of pain? Is it in fact a "mind over matter" type of situation where instantly we move mentally to the furthest point away from the pain? Do those with a greater pain index just have the ability to get to that point in our minds more quickly than others? Do some stay in the place where pain resonates longer?

I am both agile and clumsy. I can walk up to you without you noticing because my feet barely make any sound but as I'm walking the chance of me first clipping my elbow on a door frame or twisting my ankle are more than likely. I am emotionally balanced in the same way. I am stubborn yet sensitive. You can challenge my beliefs and question my intentions but look at me wrong and it's o-v-e-r. I have gotten myself to a point where I feel I am able to recover more quickly from physical pain. Most of it has to do with moving away from home and having to deal with incidents with responsibility because no one else is there if I have a meltdown. I need to get myself to the point where I analyze the damage quicker so that no further pain ensues. Here's where I struggle though, I am unable to get myself to a point where I recover from emotional pain. My odds on a broken bone and a broken heart are on the bone. I will be able to forget the physical pain quickly but the emotional pain will pull me down, toss me back up and fill me with anxiety and sobering distress. I remember my parents reminding me that "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" in middle school when I was having a hard time dealing with your typical mean girl hell. I remember looking at them and wanting to call their bullshit. I am strong enough for sticks and stones, it's words that go straight through me.

what's yours is mine

In a hurry to get out of the apartment and to the gym before laziness sets in, I quickly nabbed a shirt from my dresser. Halfway down the hall and halfway on my body I realized that it wasn't my shirt. It was mine because it was in my room buried under sweaters and random gym attire but it was more a relic of the past.

More than once I've found items that once belonged to boyfriends. Shirts, socks and/or sweaters show up unannounced and at moments where I'd rather they stay hidden in my drawer. They are those pieces that I used to wear to brunch Sunday when I was too lazy to put on my own tighter, more "fashionable" clothes. Items that smelled familiar and warm. Memories of running to get ice cream in the middle of the night because it went well with the movie we were watching and dressing head to toe in his clothes.

I think one of the most ridiculous things about a breakup is the "getting together of the things." I've always thought to just leave them and forget about it but the thought of me leaving and my things remaining always felt awkward and wrong. I'd rather clear the cabinet out rather than someone else having to. The problem is you can never get rid of it all and much like the memories that remain so does that one shirt that you happen to grab on a day where you already weren't feeling up to par. Well whatever, I put it on anyway and even though it no longer smells like him and all I'm doing is running errands or to the gym at least I know that it still fits and maybe one day I'll return it. But then again, maybe not.

mr. & miss perfect

Picture your perfect someone. What they look like, how they speak, where they come from, what they do, how they smell, how they address you, how they interact with your friends and most importantly, your family. That person is put in front of you. They come with a full resume of ideas and skills that align with what you imagine to be your perfect match. No bullshit. No games. No second guesses.

They take you to the perfect restaurants. Pull out your chair, order the most delicious wine that compliments both the food, the atmosphere and somehow even your outfit. You do things like sit next to each other rather than across from each other. Something that before doing it yourself you thought was ridiculous but now it's totally grand because your next to your perfect person. You have conversations that lead to similar thoughts and interests of how things should be.

They're casual but confident and they choose you - and you are there faced with the easy task of nodding yes and being with that perfect someone that you've had your eye and heart out for all along. And then you realize that not only did you think up your perfect someone but also your perfect you.

You look down to see that your sock has a hole. Your hair is messy and unkempt from the day. Your nails are chipped. You have days where you'd rather not get out of bed and whole weeks were you struggle to keep it together. You spill things, you drop things...you constantly drop things. You're not perfect. You put so much thought into the perfect someone that you completely forgot that you are not.

I should have fessed up earlier but who doesn't love playing the most perfect rendition of themselves for the most perfect rendition of the one they know. When the shine wore off and the real shone through I wasn't so sure perfect would stick around so I made the choice for them. Who wants to be perfect anyway.

november

Always. Every year I think that I'm going to get through the entire month without falling into a sinkhole of bitterness and angst but November has proven me wrong again. It's been months since I've had the hole-in-my-chest-the-world-is-falling-apart feeling but I awoke with it Saturday night and haven't been able to kick it since. I felt it creeping in last weekend and tried to run it out of my system. 4 days and 20 miles later all I ended up with was extremely sore feet and an absurdly painful calf cramp. I almost made it the entire month. See you in December.

california dreaming

I have this idea in my head where I step off a plane and look immaculate. My hair is done, my makeup looks airbrushed, I'm in my suicide shoes (6" pumps) and my essentials are tucked perfectly into a small tote that is tossed ever so easily over my shoulder. I never, ever look like this. Surprisingly I am so excited about leaving for my weekend getaway that I don't have time for nerves yet. I'm more focused on packing and thinking about what I'm going to wear when I arrive to LA. This is my first trip to LA and California in general. Plans are set for food, hiking and a Halloween party and that sounds like a perfect weekend to me.

My imagination has me stepping off the plane and greeted with Katy Perry's "California Girls" and the entire cast from Laguna Beach. I know instead I will be greeted with matted hair, smudged makeup and a too heavy carry-on. Either way, off I go. Happy Halloween! <3

the space between

Living in a city where space is money, I've began to think at what age is it appropriate to still have a roommate? Isn't it sort of odd to think that you live on your own yet you still share a home with others that you are just friends with? In some sense, it's really nice. You can be single and still have the comfort in knowing that someone is there when you come home from work. In another view it seems very juvenile to have a "roomie" at age 25, 27 or 30. When does it cross over from being necessary to disheartening?

This stems from the fact that my current roommate will be moving out and into an apartment with her boyfriend come February. Aside from the sadness I feel in losing her as a roommate, I felt this odd sense of abandonment like we were breaking up. Who would wake me up after I accidentally turn my alarm off during the week? Who will make sure I make it home at night? Then my mind turned to the haunting thought of; will I ever want someone else in my space?

Let me define my interpretation of space. Space is both physical and emotional. If you are physically in my space this may be a problem because of the smallness of city apartments. I don't want to bump into you because this will cause both of us to become grouchy. If you are emotionally in my space it means that you are more than just a friend. You ask me where I was and what I am doing the second I walk in the door. Your energy directly effects me because I am emotionally involved with you. Can there be enough physical space for all the emotional space we together take up? Following me?

Much more than a roommate, when do you decide that it's actually time to move in with someone who is more than a friend. I'm left with this question because I've never had the mere thought of doing so with any of my previous boyfriends. Others say that it just happens and that it just seems to suddenly make sense. I cannot wrap my head around that. All I know is that I need a lot of physical space to hold all of the emotional space I take up. Maybe I should start thinking about moving to another borough.

checkpoint

 Midway plus a month or so and I'm checking in about those 25 goals I set on my birthday. Here's where they stand thus far:

1. Travel more  Yeah, be careful what you wish for
2. Make less excuses (oh crap, a bad start but I will get better) such a good goal to set
3. Go to more flea markets/antique fairs what up bk and uws
4. Spend more time kissing I don't kiss and tell
5. Train for the NYC marathon
6. Write more thank you notes lots to be thankful for
7. Learn to moon walk
8. Do more yoga
9. Keep up with this blog constantly trying
10. Visit the ballet
11. Take ballet
12. Make it to the beach come summer once counts I guess
13. Get a promotion at work Got a promotion and then a new job, double win
14. Donate more of my items clutter free
15. Spend less time being hungover
16. Drink way less sugar silly yet effective
17. Get my allergies (to almost everything) figured out
18. Pay off my credit card
19. Procrastinate less ready. set. go.
20. Spend more time with my sister but still happy to spend more
21. Go horseback riding more continue through the fall I hope
22. Learn to cook all the dessert recipes I save
23. Keep up with my journal (nerdy, I know)
24. Take a cooking class
25. Make more friends meeting more amazing people each day

14/25 is okay but still lots to do and think about. Half way to 26 is sort of scary but in a good way. As long as it's not 27 which is my "scary" age where I think I should be grown up or accomplish something grand. What's your scary age?

one

Today marks one year in blogging. Before I blow out those birthday candles though I'd like to make a toast. Ahem.

Thank you for reading. Sometimes when I seriously doubt anyone even reads anything I write, I get a very lovely surprise. I hear about my friends parents who visit my blog, my moms coworkers, my high school peers, others mention my blog or specific posts in conversations, people I don't know leave comments or send me messages. It means a lot to me, you have no idea.

Most of what I write has been inspired by conversations I've had with others. Friends, enemies, coworkers, strangers, family, the works. If we're having the conversation then I'm sure someone else out there is wondering about it too, which is why I write. Sometimes it's nice to know that there are people as nutty as you out there. I'm here to say that I support your nutty-ness, you are not alone.

I have for good reason never mentioned the names of those who I am writing about. Most of you probably wouldn't care but I would never want to subject anyone to anything I say. This is me putting myself out to the public, not me putting you out to the public. If you know me personally, I'm sure you can figure out who each post is inspired by. Some of you have even commented remembering the conversation you initially had with me that turned into a post. Thank you for the inspiration.

My favorite post: The Wave
Your favorite post based off of the stats: Naked Truth
The most useful post: Perfect Pair
The most delish post: Guac-mole-me
The most "real" post to write: How to treat a snake bite
The post that I can laugh at now that I've moved: Things that bump in the night

Special thanks to
My Mom Carol: Thanks for ALWAYS reading. You never miss one & I really appreciate that. I love you.
Matt & Xaiver: Thank you for fixing/answering my tech questions!
Kate & Mallory: For commenting and reading and being two of my very best friends ever. I love you both.

All my other friends: Thank you for having those conversations that have led to over 100 posts. I can't wait to see what sort of weirdo stuff we talk about next.

P.S. Suddenly Lovely is on facebook now if you'd like to be a fan :)