oh forbidden love oh

I had a dream last night in which I observed a Forbidden Love unfold between a young attorney and a law clerk who owned his own document review company. She accidentally wronged him, he was publicly humiliated by her jerk superiors, she went to his office to apologize, there was a heartfelt moment and some swelling background music but then the scene was interrupted when other young associates from her firm burst in with their high kicks and sharp ties and beat the law clerk up. It was like something out of a thug movie, but much, much nerdier. And ten times more ridiculous.

I woke up at 3 am, laughing, with pork belly sitting like a stone in my stomach (remnants of a wedding I had attended that evening). Had the dream continued, I am pretty sure that the law clerk would have saved the day somehow and that the jerk superiors would have had to apologize.

Yes Reservations? Or No Reservations?

I had a nightmare last night. I was cooking for Anthony Bourdain. I was twitching and spastic and sweating bullets (extra sodium, anyone?) because I wasn't sure if he would like my food. In the end, he thought the dishes were mediocre but he tried to be nice about it. It didn't seem like the typical Tony response, but I was just relieved to make it out of there alive.

The stupid nightmare was brought on because I watched several episodes of No Reservations that night and considered shelling out the $ to buy the DVD sets, which I covet, covet, covet.

forever

"The Happiest Day of My Life": http://www.meggywang.com/trying-harder-every-day/2010/05/the-happiest-day-of-my-life.html

Like Meggy, I've experienced moments or even full days that are remarkable and marked only because they're punctuated by pure, unexpected bliss. Maybe they were brought on by little luxuries. Maybe they were brought on because things felt undeservingly simple. Maybe I was just having a Good Day.

Regardless, these moments swim around in my head and resurface occasionally. I recall snippets of sunshine and fingers braided into another set of fingers and steaming mugs of coffee and brunches that tasted like possibility. I remember a lot of quiet moments. Sometimes I feel a little, passing twinge because I know that I will never quite have those moments back. The concept that I have the most trouble accepting is that nothing lasts forever.

Los Angeles

Something in me shifted this weekend. I actually, um, like Los Angeles. Wait. That is too strong of a statement. Okay, clarification: I like some aspects of Los Angeles. I like driving down sun-dappled side streets and zipping down a bright, bright highway. I like spending only $9 on a car wash. I like eating pistachio macarons and almond macarons and vanilla macarons and any macarons. I like beating the morning crowds and stuffing my face with flakey croissants from Amandine. I like having my pick of interesting.



So why did/do I automatically despise everything LA? For me, Los Angeles conjures up images of milky death, hungry starlets, my grandfather laying in a hospital bed and smelling bad, everything fake plastic shiny and barely concealing sadness and anger and loneliness. It reminds me of limp summers and waiting, always too much waiting, and the feeling of being caught in limbo like a hapless, ensnared insect.

Ok, drama queen. But! Who is to say that Boston or San Francisco or any other city would hold the answers, the weather, the croissants (actually, yes to the croissants, but I digress)? It's the perennial dilemma of the grass being greener on the other side, the buildings over there being more imposing, the people on that side being more well-read. Why do I believe that moving to another city or another country would make me a better, happier, tougher, faster, nicer, cooler person? If I am unhappy here (which I am not), I would find some way to be equally unhappy somewhere else. If I am restless here (which I am), I would find some way to be equally dissatisfied somewhere else.

Conversations with Pauline and Evelyn made me realize that no matter where I go, there is beauty and culture and the interesting things happening everywhere. I have to learn to stop labeling cities and people. I just have to snap open these sleepy lids and pry open my heart and let go.

not cute

I am sitting in a coffeeshop, trying to write something meaningful and interesting and inspiring. There is a woman sitting behind me and speaking in a cutesy, cringe-inducing voice. If I hadn't turned around and shot her a withering stare, I wouldn't have discovered that the sugary voice belonged to a woman and not a five year old child.

There are many things in the world that I dislike (bell peppers, laziness, goat cheese, sitting next to crying children), but grown-women-who-pretend-they-are-little-girls has to be near the top of my list. Come on! Who are you fooling? No, I don't think you are cute. I really don't.

smiles

My posts have never really been forthcoming, but with my internet shut off, it's even harder to organize my jumbled thoughts into a coherent post.

So I'll keep this short and simple: I passed the bar.

pie in the sky

I've been visiting my sister in Michigan for almost a week. This town, in the beginning of May, is idyllic and beautiful.

I've been having a lot of vivid dreams. Chalk it up to the late night snacks or the time difference. I've been having shopping dreams and pregnancy dreams and fake love dreams. Dreams that leave me feeling groggy in the morning and reaching for that extra dose of caffeine. My sister has tacked the FT all over the naked bedroom window to block out the light; as a result, everything is cast in a coral haze.

My sister and I kayaked along the Huron River. We pretended to be early explorers and paddled until our arms burned. We watched "A Prophet" and "City of God". We sipped sangria at a local bar and waited for the rain to stop.

My sister and I just baked a rhubarb pie. The pie is sitting on the stove. Because I've been swooping in and out of the kitchen like a hungry vulture, the pie is now missing pastry nubs. Its sweet, tangy innards are oozing free from the crust. I am hoping that my sister doesn't notice the missing portions.

I've kept one eye on the kayaking, the movie-watching, the sightseeing, and the pie-baking, but the other eye has been turned inward. I've been composing a relentless little manifesto of sorts, in my head. I've been slowly and thoughtfully turning the words around and around. It is like a puzzle. It is hard to describe. Sometimes I look at it and it seems selfish. Sometimes I look at it and it makes me feel elated or scared.

I feel like I am standing on the cusp of ______.