What Your Mom Should Have Read You Before You Went to Sleep.

A relationship is nothing more than two people who get together because they like to fuck and like eachother's company*. Beyond that, it's a crap shoot. Until marriage there are no guarantees**. Don't listen to some bitch who calls you a home wrecker because she is too dumb to see her relationship for what it is and imagines herself to be one of the Disney Princesses. Blindsightedness isn't your fault. See your relationships for what they are, never call a woman a home wrecker.

The idea isn't to "go the distance" it's to help each other grow for as long as you're lucky enough to be together. Create one life, from two, greater than the sum of its parts.

And when it's time to separate say thank you and appreciate the opportunity to help someone else grow and be helped yourself.

Don't get romantically invovled with someone who doesn't help. Graciously accept whatever (growth) help you're offered, from anyone, but don't project more on to it than what the other person wants it to be. Don't be afraid to ask, no sooner than one month and no later than two. Accept the answer respectfully. Make sure you love fucking yourself and enjoy your own company.

* A lot of people project romantic, egotistical notions on to the simple fact of enjoying the company of another person. "We're on the same wavelength! We like the same books, movies, brand of grape jelly! He gets me! I can be myself with him!" Get over yourself. You (plural) like to hang out. Being yourself, btw, is up to you and not another person.

**Marriage is not always a gurantee either, obviously. But, it is the public act of an explicit and mutual promise. Respect it.

Just like Home!?

After four years of living on the dark side of the moon, I've finally started to feel like it's home. And I realized something today that came about four years too late. Any way that you can bring a touch of home to a new place is helpful. Any sense of the familiar can fill you with warmth and positivity, even on a rainy day.

I used to grocery shop at Trader Joe's back home. There are two in New York, one in the city, one in Brooklyn. I used to buy this indian dish that was incredible. Some kind of red mush that left my mouth on fire and made a complete meal with a slice of naan. This was a staple for me at home. Cheap and filling. I was sad when I moved away, I would never have Trader Joes' Pav Bijal again.

Cut to about yesterday. I know this sounds ridiculous but I realized that the Trader Joe's in Brooklyn is actually not far from me. A few stops on my train line, a 10 minute walk and I was there. So, I took an adventure after work and went. I was beyond delighted to see the familiar signs and decor. I picked up items that were special to TJ's and was about to get in line when I saw it. Pav Bijal. My heart leapt, angels sung, the heavens parted. I had almost forgotten it, having signed it off as a cost of moving long ago. I even settled for my local grocer's Indian--yuck.

Coming home from the shopping trip, it was cold and rainy for the first time in months, I was lugging two bags of groceries on my shoulders for about a half an hour. But I was on cloud nine.

About a week ago I was in Duane Reade and decided that it would be a good idea to get a plug-in air freshner for my room, to help mitigate stale smoke smell. I got whatever scent had the Febreeze label on it because Febreeze "eliminates" odors. So, I plug it in. Sitting here now, with the faint smell wafting through the room, I am reminded of home for the second time today. Something about air freshners, or that fresh laundry smell is just so...Midwest. And comforting.

PS

And the most influential book of all goes to...duh duh. The story of how Louis Pasteur found the cure for rabies. I read that book like a thousand times in my early developmental years, after I was taught how to read, of course.

Self Help

I was just thinking about the books I've read that have taught me something I consider to be indispensable. As much as we like to value fables, parables and allegories for life lessons, I'm not sure how many of those "lessons" in fiction I've retained and applied to my life.

Maybe it's just me, but the stuff that I seem to remember is what I've learned through nonfiction. The three most influential books in my life thus far have been:

"Who Moved my Cheese?" sound ridiculous? I found this book sitting in my Dad's basement during a time when I'd dropped out of college, totalled my car and moved in with my Dad's second-marriage family because he just happened to live within walking distance of my job. It's a short book, and I'd heard something about it so I read it. One line that got me and I'll never forget the message of, "sometimes it feels like you're moving one step forward and two steps back" cliche, I know. But the book went on to explain why in spite of that it's better to feel like a failure, after trying something new, then just stay in the same place. Amen. That snippet planted the seed that eventually led to me finishing school and moving to New York. It was the reassurance I needed, to know that someone out there knew it wasn't a cake walk--and that it's okay to not know what you're doing and fall on your face.

"The 48 Laws of Power" I picked this book up because I loved the way the author used historical references to back up his laws. Lots of juicy bits about military strategy, dodgy politicians and con men. As I read the book, I realized how the laws had been used on me--and how well they worked. Although the book had nothing to do with handling romantic relationships, it gave me a feeling of empowerment to stop whining and reacting to what other people did. I could, instead, allow people to react to what I do. This book gave me back my confidence after a nasty and prolonged bout of post break-up blues, especially when I started using the laws myself.

"The Black Swan" This is one of those Malcom Gladwell type of books. The venerated mathematician/scientist comes down from his lofty ivory tower to impart knowledge to the masses. As a genre, I'm over it. And this book is written in such a meandering way (the author desperate to prove he has a sense of humor in spite of making a living as a quant) that it feels tedious. Not to mention the guy is such a genius that he just can't do without his SAT words. I've taken statistics and econometrics courses and still found myself going, huh? The message of the book could be put into laymen's terms in probably about 10 pages. Life is a hell of a lot more random than we like to believe. The most important events in our lives (all our big breaks) are completely unpredictable. So, there is no sense in waiting around for anything to happen. And I mean anything. You might as well just go after what you want, and have a hell of a good time doing it.* As bored as I was during much of the book, I suppose all of the science-y talk made his point seem more valid and that was worth it. *This of course is a great argument for not tying yourself down with kids too early.

None of these books were technically in the "self-help" category per se. But, Cheese and Power are close conteders for the reviled section of the book store. For the record, I'd just like to say that I think it's bull shit that people scoff at self-help readers and are embarassed to read books that provide information that could very well improve the quality of their life. All it takes is a sentence, really. And that sentence could be anywhere. And let's face it, where else are you supposed to get your advice? Your stoner friends? Your parents who have nuggets but no concept of the social landscape their kids live in? I mean the idea that we know everything we need to know in order to be content is absurd. The idea that experience alone is enough to make us perfectly whole, happy, beings is even more absurd. All anyone knows is based on their own limited experience anyway. That includes your shrink. It makes sense to get different opinions.

My Day So Far...

So I wake up, at 6 a.m., randomly. Starving. Decide to take a shower, hey maybe for the first time in two years I'll get to the office before 10! Post shower I lay back down in bed to let my hair air dry a bit before blowing it (my typical routine). I decide that yes, definitely, today will be an anomoly in which I will have a morning like a large percentage of American adults. Plus, I am still starving inexplicably and the way to breakfast is the city. I stand up, walk over to my closet to try and figure out what to wear then--just like that--I decide that I am actually still pretty tired and maybe a little nap would be in order before I get up for realsies.

Next thing I know, it's 10. And my morning has officially become like so many before it. No time for hair, makeup or wardrobe considerations. Must be out the door in 30 minutes or less to get to the office by 11.

10:58 I walk into the lobby. I guess spending Sunday in the LES drinking from 2 - 8 p.m. is what made me very thirsty and ravenous. Though, I don't feel hungover. Walk into the 'bucks. OH NO! late morning line, WTF? this never happens. Three words, European teenage tourists, who I'm pretty sure are all getting a frappucino, when I want nothing more than an iced coffee. The humanity. 'Why, oh why,' I wonder, 'are we not allowed to openly discriminate against tourists between the months of June and August?

I finally get up to the counter. I order my usual, but sadly my barrista transferred to another store because of a management dispute. Those left in his place, may or may not have downs syndrome. Because for the second time, I order the reduced-fat coffee cake and the girl says "which one?" OMFG. The ONE that says "REDUCED FAT" on the label. I literally had to explain to her that there is a "classic" coffee cake and a "reduced fat swirl coffee cake" and the fact that she doesn't know the difference and thinks they're on par with each other is just, absurd.

So here I am, it's almost noon and I've done NOTHING today except write this blog.

All I can say is...

Amen. This is what the word "curvy" was meant to describe. Note the large, natural chest and the difference between the width of the waist and hips. Note especially that the waist is smaller than the hips.

--waging a one woman war against chubby women having the right to call themselves curvy.

PS -- Chubby women: You probably could be (truly curvy)...eat well and exercise.

The End of the Road

Dear iPhone 3G,

I'm waiting on hold to activate my iPhone 4. The Indian guy on the other line doesn't understand my questions. And he put me on hold to determine whether or not this is an upgrade, or a new activation, even though I told him it was an upgrade.


I'm writing to tell you that watching you sit next to my new phone while you're being backed up for the last time calls to mind fond memories I've had with you. I was hesitant about you at first; I wasn't a mac, I was a PC. But you wowed me with your multi-functionality.


You are a phone, a minature game console, a portable music player and so much more. I read my first Sherlock Holmes books, Bram Stoker's Dracula and half of Moby Dick on you. When I needed time to clear my head I knew I could count on you to keep my hands busy with Diner Dash, or Pocket God, while I thought out life's most complicated problems.

You've taken in and let out so many phone numbers, I've lost count. Slut. But it didn't change the level of respect I have for you. You've seen text messages that would make Madonna blush, but you kept on keeping on.


iPhone four is a little bigger than you, a little taller, a little heavier. And I'm sure I'll grow to love it as I have you. But 4 doesn't have your charm. The scratches I've inflicted on you are my fault, my pride refused to buy a case, and the cracked screen you suffered one night at the rooftop bar in Korea Town was no way to treat you. I'm sorry. Best wishes, 3G. All good things must come to an end.

The Last Five Minutes of My Life...

Instead of making those Hamiltons, that stack up so quickly, I've spent the afternoon catching up on music videos that were made to be enjoyed by people who are at least a decade younger than me, and browsing iTunes. I was in the midst of deciding between Ciara or B.o.B when hark, the gchat bing caught my ear.

Dear Fran had written a short letter to Pink Berry detailing her disappointment with our Wednesday evening experience. She needed my help. What could I do? Although it pained me to tear myself away from such a productive and busy afternoon, I spent the last five minutes rewriting her letter.

To Whom it May Concern,

When I first saw an advertisement for your new watermelon flavor I was enthusiastic to try it. Pink Berry is one of my favorite frozen yogurt retailers, and I’ve been a loyal customer for over a year. As you can imagine, I was greatly disappointed to visit two separate locations only to be told the watermelon wasn’t available. I was further discouraged when I found out that your 5- to 7-p.m. happy hour included only one flavor of yogurt. Advertising the availability of a flavor at all locations and not being well stocked in it is an error to the detriment of your business. Leaving out key information in advertisements, such as the limited happy hour flavors, is blatant false advertising. --

Disappointed Customer, Fran Sizemore.