The Lifers

I think one of the hardest things to do is to accept people for who they are, and forgive them when they fall terribly short of who you think they should/could be.


This is especially hard with friends.


With family members, there's a certain amount of understanding there that these people were put on earth to drive you crazy in some way. And that you're supposed to love them, regardless. No doubt they feel likewise.


With significant others, you have to go into relationships believing that there are going to be things you don't like, moments you'd rather do without, and personality quirks that most of the time you find irresistibly charming. (Most of the time.) Again - it's a give and take equation, and you go into this kind of commitment understanding that there will be discrepancies and shortfalls and gaps between perfection and reality. All par for the course.


With friends, however, there seems to be a different set of expectations. At least on the surface.


We don't choose our family, for the most part. We may choose romantic entanglements, but the long-lasting ones, the ones worth their salt, are bound to come with moments where you have to remind yourself that you chose this person, that you love him/her, and that at this very moment in time you still accept him/her for who s/he is. It's that conscious "for better or worse" choice that you make when you make a commitment.


The friendship thing, however, is much more intangible. And what do you do when a friend steps so far outside of who you thought they were, or who you think they should be? What if they make destructive, hurtful choices that pain those around them? What if they seem to become less and less "themselves"? What's holding you to them? Not familial blood or a spoken commitment, that's for sure.


True, there are some friendships that are flashes in the pans. Matters of convenience, the children of circumstance. A season, as the adage goes. Or even just a reason, because the adage never equated "reason" to a "lifetime." The reason could be third period math, or a dorm room, or a shared yoga class. The season could be a marking period, a semester, or an actual season, like summer. 


Friendships are slippery things, bound to break free from you. The long-lasting ones, those lifetime gems, can weather a beating. The "reason" or the "seasonal" ones cannot. The tricky thing is learning to distinguish the different types of friendship, and giving them the allotted amount of energy with which they can healthfully grow. A "reason" or "season" friendship can grow into a lifetime. Or a friendship that you thought was "lifetime" material could wither painfully into an abrupt seasonal affair. 


As we get older, the friendships can tend to sort themselves. When big events begin to unfold in everyone's lives - jobs, marriages, moving, babies - the people who are going to be there are the "lifetimers." The reasons and seasons will fall by the wayside. And then when the stakes get higher - illness, death, divorce - those lifetimers are really going to prove their mettle. Who do you want by your side for the good times, and the bad?


Our families (we can only hope) will be there. Our significant others (we can only hope) will be there. But friends? They made no promises when they agreed to be your friend. They didn't sign anything. They are there of their own accord. 


So how obligated are you to be there? How much are you willing to put up with, how far outside of your box can you step to still love someone as they are even when you are certain they have become someone else entirely? You certainly don't have to. Breaking up with a friend requires no paperwork. Unless you count a good old-fashioned Facebook defriending, which shouldn't be overlooked these days. 


In my old age, my friendships are something I have come to realize need cultivation, time, and energy to survive. Especially because so many of my friends are far-flung across the US (and the world). And the lifetimers are not to be taken for granted.


It's a difficult decision to write someone off entirely. And not one that can be made overnight, or because of one action. More often, it takes a series of actions. A series of let-downs and disappointments. 


But how do you ever know if you are doing the right thing? If you turn your back on this person, are you essentially shutting down? Are you failing that person in a far more deliberate and worse way then however they may have failed you? The lines are blurry, the area a solid gray. Does longevity win? What if the "reason" was compelling enough? 


Time will tell. You have your gang of Lifers, you have your groups of Seasonal Wayfarers, and you have your solid Reasons. When one slips the ranks, you have to take a step back and decide how far you're willing to let them go until they're out of the running altogether. And, depending on what kind of a friend they were in the first place, this could be a foot or the circumference of the earth and beyond.

Update: And Then That Happened.

Hadi from Turkish Airlines finally called me around 12:45 this afternoon, just as I was beginning to tip into panic mode again.


They had my bag. Green-gray, not black. It had somehow appeared on the baggage carousel about ten minutes after we'd frantically run to catch our Delta flight. I have no idea why one piece of baggage would be pushed out of the aircraft a good hour and a half after everything else, and, quite frankly, I don't want to know.


Hadi was ready to ship my bag to Baltimore, but I explained that I was scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning to come back to New York. New Kid, who we are going to stay with this weekend, generously offered to act as guardian of my wandering suitcase, and Hadi said it was no problem to have the delivery service drop the bag off at her office in midtown Manhattan. At 2:30, I got a text from her saying that the delivery service had called to confirm the bag was on its way. Subsequently, I received an email from Hadi saying that the bag had been shipped out, and should be to New Kid before 6pm.


Relief doesn't even begin to describe it. To celebrate the fact that I would not have to purchase an entirely new wardrobe, at least at the moment, I went out and bought a pair of killer glitter stillettoes to wear with the little black dress I have for New Years. ON SALE. FROM MARSHALLS. LIVIN' THA LIFE, BITCHES. 


Around 7:30, I received a text from New Kid stating that she was still hanging around at work waiting for my bag, did I have any idea when it might be arriving, and that this hanging around was leading to unproductive behavior such as perusing oil tiki paintings online and should she buy one? I responded "No idea, and yes, of course you should."


A call to JFK's baggage claim delivery person (is there some sort of term for this area of work? Perhaps "Disorganizer?") revealed that there were 16 airlines with bags on board a van that was working its way through New York City, and if my bag hadn't arrived by 9pm to call them.


I felt guilty, as though I'd somehow foisted my bad Turkish Airlines juju off on my innocent, helpful friend. I also didn't want her waiting around at work until 9:30 for my bag, which by now should have its own hashtag. 


#lostbaggageglitterati


#the45_kilo_ulcer


#overpackingruinsgirlandendsallofherpersonalrelationships


Pick whichever one you like. They're all up for grabs, I believe.


So I bit the bullet and called the baggage claim delivery person (hereinafter referred to as "The Disorganizer") and explained the situation, asking if the address for the destination of the bag could be changed to New Kid's home address. Realizing that this could be a completely disastrous error, given that they lost the bag between the belly of TK0001 and the baggage carousel. Giving them too many directives didn't seem a wise idea at this point, but I couldn't have New Kid sitting around her office until 9pm.


It's a good thing I chose this course of action, because when New Kid called the dispatcher to confirm the change of address from one area of Manhattan (mid) to another (lower), they informed her that it should arrive "sometime before midnight."


How many bags, I ask you, are on a van that results in a ten hour tour of New York City?


Nevermind, I don't want to know.


So it's 9:30pm, we are scheduled to leave here at 7am. I am hingeing all my bets and bringing with me only my new shooo-ess, my black New Years dress, and a few pairs of clean underwear and socks. If I err in the wrong and my bag does not make it to New Kid's tonight, and somehow disappears again, I will be spending the weekend in one pair of jeans and inappropriate shoes for daytime. 


My internal clock is all whack and thinks it's time to go to bed ("IT'S 4:30AM!" it says), but I am trying to coax it into staying awake until at least ten, so that I can sleep past 3am. So far, the jet lag actually hasn't been too bad. My formula for heading off severe jet lag shall be revealed later. In tableau form. Be excited.


When I get my camera cord, that is. Out of the suitcase that, by now, must smell like a high school locker room with all of my dirty, dusty, sweaty clothes lumped into it for going on four days. 


Fingers crossed that thing is circling lower Manhattan as we speak, and that it's safely in New Kid's hands before I arrive tomorrow morning....


UPDATE ON THE UPDATE:
9:42pm - text from New Kid
"I have the suitcase."


You can all breathe now.

I Felt The Earth Move

I was all set to write a post about the crazy weekend I had last weekend (Legs's 30th birthday followed by a whirlwind 24-hour trip to New York that involved a bottle of champagne, a hired car, the best steak dinner I've ever had, a pair of Russian strippers, dancing at Bar St. Mark's [which does not have a dance floor, BTW], a very angry game of Super Mario Brothers at 4am, candied bacon for brunch at The Smith, and then eighteen dollar mimosas at the Garden Cafe at the Plaza...) and then it had to go and earthquake, and, as Jackal says, "I'M ALL ABOUT TRENDING," so I guess I have to write about the earthquake.

OK but seriously, all of the above is factual. I didn't know you could get Super Mario Brothers and a pair of Russian strippers (no way they were twins, as claimed...unless they were somehow twins with different mothers. Or different fathers. Or both.) in the same sentence, let alone the same night. I was glad that New Kid could come out and play with us, even gladder that she allowed me access to her vintage Nintendo system after 4am. She is truly a good friend.

I digress.

I happened to be in a meeting leading a discussion on current goings-on in the organization when I noticed everyone staring oddly out of the windows (which comprised the entire south-facing wall of the room we were in). And then I saw the trees ripple, and my first thought was that Hurricane Irene had somehow jetted up from where it was around the Bahamas at 6am that morning and reached Baltimore at the speed of sound. It looked like wind outside, the way everything suddenly tipped sideways. It sounded like wind. And then, and even I thought it was cliche at the time, I saw the ground literally roll. Like waves. It rolled and the entire room pitched from one side to another. It looked as though the panes of glass separated briefly from the window frames. For a moment, everything was separate from the thing it was supposed to be a part of. My feet were on the floor, but the floor I was standing on was somehow different from the floor the people across the room were standing on. Some people actually fell slightly over, and everyone got up out of their chairs and instinctively away from the wall of windows. But it's not as though they had a choice: it was as though the room were jaggedly propelling them out of their chairs and away from the windows.

I wasn't scared at first because I thought it was the wind. I genuinely thought it was the wind. Maybe a tornado. And I thought, OK, whatever it was has passed. And then someone said, earthquake. And then I was scared. Was it the first wave? Was there another coming? Were we in danger? Should we get out of the building? Later, someone would tell me that she feared a tsunami. I hadn't thought of that at the time, but I'm sure as hell thinking about it now.

I'm born and raised in Maryland. I spent three years in Florida. Storms and wind I can handle. They come, and go just as quickly. I know all the drills, I know where to stand, I know what and what not to do.

But an earthquake? It was my first. It was the first time the earth underneath me has failed to be stable. I can envision floods, I can understand wind. But seismic activity...I have no bearing for that. For an hour after the earthquake, I couldn't get my sea legs.

Like any other national disaster, text messaging and phones were down. Thankfully, I have Gchat on my phone and was quickly able to ascertain that most of my friends and family were OK, just surprised, and still in a state of wonder of it. It will become one of those "where were you when..." Zeitgeists. There are already hash tags, Facebook pages, "likes." It's way trending.

And damn. I totally could have made some "Russian Twins and Mario Brothers!" hashtag and been ALL OVER the INTERWEBS. Ah, well. This shall have to suffice. Shiggity shiggity shwa. And, you know, #earthquakes. #EARTHQUAKES. #EARRRRTTHHQUUAAAAKES.

No, but seriously, I am sort of endlessly grateful it was as minor as it was. No lie, that was scary. We East Coasters are not used to such things.

Remember When...

I got to Skype with Snickers for a delicious half hour this evening.

Snickers is one of my oldest friends. Not age-wise (she's fabulously thirty), but longevity-wise. She was one of the first people I met in college, and we lived together my sophomore year. In an apartment with six other girls. And two bathrooms. It was a year of Massive Inconvenience, but also fun in the way that "only when you're 19" is it fun to live with seven roommates in a cramped apartment. There was always something going on. Then again, there was always something going on.

Snickers migrated to San Francisco after circling the US for a few years (and the globe for a six month stint), which means that San Fran is now holding two of my most favorite people (Snap and Snickers) hostage. Which means, I suppose, that at some point I'll have to go and visit. Most likely, this is looking to be next year when Snickers gets married.

It was with a bit of sobriety that we realized we're coming up on the ten-year anniversary of September 11. It occurred the year we lived together, and we, along with our six other roommates, sat glued to the TV all day with friends and significant others crowded around us.

We transitioned to raucous laughter that I produced some pictures of us from college. It's amazing how much changes in ten years, especially when it comes to fashion.

"What are you wearing? Oh my God, it's that dress I made for costuming class. That thing was horrible."

"It wasn't that bad! It was...all asymmetrical, and...kind of like a towel. Or...a shower curtain. More like a shower curtain."

"Well here, you appear to be wearing..."

"...a terry-cloth strapless top."

"It's very fashion-y. This is also when you had the crazy stripes in your hair."

"OH and we both had eyebrow rings!"

"Very fashion-y."

"Very."

It's true. Snickers and I went down to the boardwalk one random September day and demanded that a grossly under-qualified teenager stick needles in our faces. Snickers was late to her psychology class that afternoon, and my mother blew a gasket when she found out about my new piercing. At Christmas that year when I was home, I fell asleep on the couch and woke up with an ornament jauntily hanging off of my eyebrow ring. I took it out shortly thereafter.

In recent years, Snickers and I, and our other friend, Princess, began emailing back and forth. It began when all three of us were inching out of weird situations we had found ourselves in, and just sort of never stopped. None of us had lost contact after college, but something about those emails roped us all in together and we're closer now, possibly, then we've been since we lived together ten years ago. The emails come nearly every day and are an endless source of laughter, support, and a sounding board for whatever we have going on in our lives.

I'm not sure if there's anything better than corresponding with someone who's known you for a long time. Who has seen you at your best--and worst--and still loves you and still thinks you're the bee's knees and worthy of all the great stuff life has to offer. And in whom you've seen so much change and yet still, somehow, the same core person she was when you first became friends so many years ago.

And, although it's relegated to Skype and email (Princess is in St. Louis these days), it's nearly the same as those weekly late-night drives to TCBY we took in college when we needed to get out of our rooms and into the night. Thankfully, Princess always had a car.

And, you know, it's great to be reminded of how fashion-y you were back then. Even while wearing a shower curtain. With asymmetrical hemlines.

Self-Aware Teenagers

So, Snap and I have been obsessing over My So-Called Life recently. She was laid up for awhile after a surgery and took it upon herself to begin re-watching the series, which came out during a pretty influential time in both our lives. I need only revisit our high school journals to see how crushingly important certain issues - primarily involving boys, popularity, and all the ways our parents were ruining our lives - were. But there were other, darker, issues as well. Drinking, drugs; even if we weren't doing them, their presence was everywhere and everyone was talking about it.

I just discovered that I can stream them on Netflix. Since I was a good girl and got my run in this morning before work, I believe I know my plans for the evening...

Snap's Murried

So, Snap is all married to Sweet-T. No one objected, no one fainted, and everyone showed up on time. Win.

Truly, though, it was a LOT of fun, as you'd expect any wedding with Snap to be. We were fortunate enough to rent a beautiful house with a bunch of like-minded party people ("In the time we've been standing here chatting, you could have had two beers," was one of the first introductions to the weekend). This is crucial for Wedding Fun- locating and sticking with the partiers. Now, in instances past, I myself have been said Designated Party Girl. But given that I was a bridesmaid, I felt the need to be on somewhat good behavior. This doesn't mean alienation from the partiers, however; it means alignment, stealth, and multitasking. Bridesmaidly duties come first, but if you do it right (and I've had some practice), partying can quite easily come in tandem.

Every bride is beautiful, let's face it, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that Snap was breathtaking. I don't know how it's possible to look sexy in a wedding dress (aren't brides usually described as demure? Blushing? Beautiful?) but damn if Snap didn't WEAR that DRESS, if you know what I mean. Pippa Middleton had nothing on this.

At one point over the weekend, someone asked me if I'd ever thought Snap would get married first. I responded that I had never really thought about who might get married first; only that from very early on in Snap and Sweet-T's relationship, I knew they were going to get married. Sometimes you just know. And with them, I just knew. I think everyone did.

I think the only part of the whole weekend that actually saddened me was the knowledge that it would fly by, and Snap and Sweet-T would be back on a plane to San Francisco. And then maybe I'll can catch them at Christmas next year. The one part of the whole deal that chokes me up is that Snap had to move 3,000 miles away.

I guess I need to plan a trip to San Fran.

Also "murried off" last weekend was Catalano. It was heartbreaking that I couldn't go to her wedding, but, well, Snap got the request out prior. How it's possible that I had two such good friends from different circles get married on the same day in 2011 is beyond me. Oh, well. At least I got to go to Vegas for Catalano's bachelorette.

Wedding fun is over for now, work is back in full swing, and it's running, running, running in anticipation for the Survivor 7-miler in June.

Oh, and Lee is turning THIRTY next week. Let us not forget this crucial and important fact. OLD. In a couple of weeks, I will be a mere babe at 29, but Lee will be THIRTY. OLD.

Summer's on it's way....

Because...Whatever....Um...Yeah.

When she moved to San Francisco, Snap gifted me many things.

Among them, her collected library of photography from grad school which approximates somewhere around five thousand prints. I'm sure all those lovely friends who helped me move a few weeks ago were thrilled to see all the boxes of Snap's Lebenswerk amongst my neverending possessions.

Also in this treasure trove, however, and entrusted to me are her middle and high school diaries.

Snap has asked me to give a toast at her wedding.

The potential here is just staggering.

In other news: getting settled into luxurious new house with luxurious bathroom all to myself and luxurious stairs (that don't scare the hell out of me with steepness and narrowness) and a luxuriously large kitchen and other luxuries. How luxurious.

In other news: Vegas with Book Club in two weeks.

In other news: 80 degrees tomorrow? Yes please. Although this authenticates the rumors flying about that there will, in fact, be no spring this year. We will transition directly from damp, bitter, 40-degree disgunstingness to direct summer with high humidity and pounding heat. Lies, I had thought, but apparently my opinion was not solicited.

In other news, Pandora has been very good to be lately. Although a friend of mine recently pointed out that NO MATTER WHAT genre/band you have, Pandora will ALWAYS throw in the "Over the Rainbow" cover by Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwoʻole'. It pops up on my Indie Boys station (Kings of Convenience, Andrew Bird, Belle + Sebastian), my Friday-night Katy Perry Station (which apparently Bruno Mars and Far East Movement hijacked), and even snuck its way onto the Christmas station I had running back in December. It's like the Kevin Bacon of covers. It finds its way into everything.

"Totes Inappropes..." Bachelorette Mayhem

Fifteen years ago, Snap and I were frenemies who dated each others' exboyfriends. After finally realizing in high school that we actually loved one another quite muchly, we stalked each other online through college via now-antiquated LiveJournal. We both attended grad schools in the south and bonded further over Academia and the fish-out-of-water acclimation we both endured moving from the mid-Atlantic. Post grad-school, we shared a lot of heart ache over terrible jobs, terrible boyfriends, terrible bills, and terrible car problems.

Last night, we donned pink furry mustaches and glittery sashes and bar hopped through downtown Annapolis for Snap's bachelorette party. In May, she'll marry the best dude for the job. And, somewhere around 2am in a dark kitchen over some quite-delicious greasy pizza from that place downtown where we both worked at various times in high school/college, we re-enacted the history of our friendship for the entertainment of other old friends and soon-to-be-family members. We recited old diary entries, dredged up first kisses, and acted out the moments that were linchpins in our shared histories.

Fifteen years, and you're still my most favorite bitch, Snap. And you damn well better believe I am bringing middle school diary material into my speech at your wedding.

Sleepovers

I don't have any sisters, which is a point of contention that will most likely arise in therapy at some point in my life. My charmed life ended when I was 3 1/2 and my parents brought home my baby brother, thus rudely ripping the center of attention away from me. Growing up, I was always 100% sure that if they had brought home a girl, my life would feel more complete. Girls didn't attempt to hijack Barbie sessions with war games. Girls didn't hit back. Girls never tagged along after my friends and I, ruthlessly challenging my already-shaky status of "cool."

So I thought.

I never had any sisters, but I did have girlfriends. And we had sleepovers. Pizza, junk food, movies, dirty jokes, and whispers deep into the night. I was convinced that if I'd had a sister, every night would be like a sleepover. Doing each others' hair, painting each others' nails, discussing whether or not Whatshisface would ask me to dance at Whatshisotherface's bar mitzvah or if the band teacher was really dating the English teacher and, if so, were they like Ross and Rachel from that hit new show Friends? These were important matters.

Sleepovers were reserved for birthdays, summer nights, and the occasional blizzard. Every now and again I would find a friend with whom we could stretch one sleepover into two or three (especially in the summer time when parental authority was a bit more lax, and the opportunity to send a child over to someone else's house to play was welcome.) But, for the most part, they were rare and anticipated. Like Christmas.

I've recently had a lot of out-of-town houseguests, all of them girlfriends from various walks of life, and so I've been enjoying the influx of sleepovers. Even in our late-twenties-early-thirties, the lights going out signals moments of confession and whispered discussion that pushes far later into the night than anyone anticipated. Only now, our sleepovers are catered with dark chocolate and wine instead of Oreos and Diet Coke, and the subjects we discuss span heavier issues about big decisions, careers, and frightening aspects of adult life that are often too fearful to face alone.

These sleepovers still bolster me, and I have come to realize how these longtime friends of mine are, in a way, sisters of mine. Biologically I was blessed with a younger brother who makes me laugh and knows precisely how to get under my skin. But in my walks of life, I have been blessed with the presence of females who have been friends for many years and with whom I've shared countless sleepovers.

Anyone with siblings will tell you that the grass is always greener in terms of having a brother or sister, and it's entirely possible that a sister would have driven me batshit crazy. I certainly no longer romanticize the idea of having a biological sister, and I've long since come to terms with the fact that my childhood was mostly complete despite my lack of a kind, older sister who would braid my hair, loan me clothes, and pull me into the popular circles at school.

That and the fact that I never got a pony.

busybusybusybusybusy

...and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.
-American Beauty

Lately I've felt as though my life has been a revolving door of friends, family, experiences, and general goings-on. I think part of this is the onset of fall. There are already holiday plans in the making, as though this random cold snap has everyone scurrying. You'd think it was the first week in November, the way people are reacting to the random approach of fall on what used to be firmly in summer territory.


Not that I'm complaining. Once the New York trip was over, I kind of braced myself for the inevitable let-down that follows any trip that's been a long time coming. I get to see Stupid so rarely; New Kid as well, so that whole weekend it felt as though unnecessary elements like "sleep" were infringing upon our time together. But I got back from New York and found myself in a flurry of plans, from birthdays to kayaking to Fells Point Fest to Book Club and family dinners to another great friend in town this weekend...and all of these things have transpired and I suddenly realized that it somehow became October in there somewhere.
The marathon relay is in less than two weeks, which means that somehow my ten-week training program is supposed to be coming to a close. As much as I have loved it, I (and especially my legs) are ready for a break and I'm looking forward to a winter of yoga and writing and running when I feel like it as opposed to being locked into a training schedule. Even better- Lee got us all tickets for The Avett Brothers at Pier 6 that night after the race. So I'll be happy, tired, relieved, full of beer, and watching an awesome live show.

Two years ago, Snap and I talked about "fall" as being not only a time of year, but a verb. The "fall," the allowing yourself to let go and be caught up in something. Whether it's an undisputed moment with a particularly delicious cookie or a fantastic sunset or some titillating conversation. We're so distracted, we humans, with so much going on. Sometimes the first onset of chill, the first pulling of a coat or a blanket a little tighter around ourselves fixes a moment in time. Summer slips away and we're reminded of fleeting moments and passing time. Fall is a moment to do just that...before the stillstop of winter. Fall is a slide, it's a trip into a greater descent, only this doesn't necessitate a meaning of "downward." It simply means a transition. A snaking into the next season of life, like the board game.

Fall is here. Life is good. My happy, stupid little life.

NYSEP10=HEART

The Grid

42nd St > Herald Sq > hotel on 37th between 5th and 6th > Central Park > Coffee Shop Bar, 16th and Union Sq > Brooklyn Promenade > Heights Cafe > hotel > Stanton near Houston > Employees Only, Hudson > Times Sq > hotel> Times Sq > Union Sq > Punch, Broadway > East Village, St. Marks > VBar, 1st and St. Marks > Rockefeller Ctr > NBC studios > Shake Shack, Madison Sq Park > East Village > Bua Bar, St. Marks > Living Theater's 70's Porn Party > East Village bar crawl > St. Marks.

What a fabulous weekend. Wining and dining with some of my nearest and dearest. Am still recovering. More- plus pictures- to come.

Empire State of Mind

Stupid is coming tomorrow.

As if that weren't enough, we are heading up to NYC for the weekend.

I should mention here that Stupid is, of course, one of my Most Favorite People. We met in Florida when I was in grad school, and then she broke both of our hearts when she moved back home to Kansas City. A year or so later, I moved to Baltimore. And every year since, we have seen each other at least once. If not twice, like last summer. She flew out for my birthday, I flew out to surprise her for hers.

This year, we decided to eschew our home cities in favor of a bigger one: my favorite and her first time.

I'm not sure if there's anything better in the world then this formula:
(Excellent/Hilarious/Adventurous Company) + (Travel To A Favorite City)

Oh, wait.

We're staying with New Kid for a night. Who is also a Florida friend, who is also on my Most Favorite People List.

So

(Excellent/Hilarious/Adventurous Company)x2 + (Travel To A Favorite City)

= Glitterati is one happy girl right about now.

(I have no idea what this is...but I saw it in a store the last time I was in NYC and it said "Glitterati" on it. So, it's mine. Whatever it is. Some sort of....froufy, sparkly thing. Excellent.)

Home for FoundCat

Happy FoundCat!

FoundCat has a home, thanks to....a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. According to Whack, this woman recently had to put her beloved older cat to sleep and viewed our finding of a cat some sort of cyclic karma.

It's an incredible relief to us to know that FoundCat has a home. While she's charmed us with her easy-going and affectionate personality, it just wasn't viable for us to keep her.

It amazes me, too, the power of networking. Our message probably reached close to 500 people, if I add up the numbers of friends, family, and co-workers in the Baltimore area who forwarded on our plea. We wound up with so many kind offers of temporary homes, shelter ideas, or forwards to other resources and "try this person- he/she might be looking for a pet!" Within just four days, we found a home for a cat abandoned in a bag in a grocery store parking lot.

This means that in 2010 I have returned someone's lost wallet, volunteered in New Orleans, helped TWO cats find homes (one, actually, was returned to its distressed owners after it got out, making for a lovely reunion), and made some other pretty worthy deposits in the bank of karma. Selfishly, of course, because human beings are by nature selfish creatures; I don't find too much fault with people who do-good because it makes them feel good.

Karma isn't an eye-to-eye transaction, I know. Carrying out these actions doesn't mean an exact exchange will be refunded to me at some point in time. But I do know, all too well, that attempting to make the world a little easier/nicer/prettier/gentler/friendlier place to live goes a long way towards coming back around to you when you need it most. There are two ways to approach this life: with the attitude that it's a series of crimes and punishments, or that help is always just around the corner in some way.

Anyway, our hearts are glad for FoundCat though we will be sad to see her go. Her little mew and friendly head-butts have become welcome parts of our day, although my own cats are a little jealous, I think.

Thank you to everyone who helped FoundCat, whether by offering love and support, admonishing the malicious actions that led to her being abandoned in the first place, and forwarding, forwarding, forwarding our desperate emails!

In other news- I just want to say that my friends rock. All of them. All in their own way. I've been feeling a lot of love lately, from a lot of different venues, and I feel a lot of gratitude for this. Recently they've all been going ridiculously above and beyond in the friend department, and I'm feeling as though all this positive karma is manifesting in this way. Thanks, friends. And, subsequently, thanks world.

Smooches.

Never Grow So Old Again

and I will walk and talk
in gardens all wet with rain
and I will never, ever, ever, ever
grow so old again

Van Morrison, "Sweet Thing"

CONGRATULATIONS, SNAP AND SWEET-T!!!

My beloved Snap, my former varsity girls doubles tennis partner, the girl with whom I have shared no less than 2 middle school boyfriends, is engaged.

And to pretty much the best guy in the world.

I love you both!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!