Subconscious

I tossed and turned all night, like a baby bunny spiraling down its warren after its mother. In the dream you told me that I was the most sane person in your life right now. When I woke up, I realized I'd never felt crazier.

Are Clams Really All That Happy?

Clams may not be that happy, especially the ones that end up on my plate at Red Lobster, and later leaving crumbs all over my dress while I damn myself for not putting on a Red Lobster bib, but here are a few things that make me happier than even the most oblivious mollusk.


Happiness is:

Cool sheets on a sunburn.

The times when you're so smitten with someone that you've managed to whitewash away all of their flaws, as glaring as they may be, and you can't understand why they aren't the most adored person in all the land, but you're really glad that they aren't. Who needs the competition?

Watermelon agua fresca.

Drinking hot cider, crunching red and gold and copper leaves under your feet, wearing a jean jacket, and having a serious discussion on the intricate details of the perfect Halloween costume.

Swimming outdoors at sunrise.

Picking the perfect gift for someone really special.

A good cry.

The kind of hug that you can feel in your rib cage for a few minutes after the other person lets go.

Sharing a lobster roll on the pier and letting the coastal breeze tangle your sea salt hair.

A solo bicycle ride along the lake on a brisk day.

The satisfaction of a job well done.

The smell of my mother's perfume.

Babysnuggles.

The memory of a good bedtime story from a long ago childhood night. One that's still so clear in your mind that you remember the story and the pictures and how it felt not to have to worry about anything but how the story would end.

The smell of chlorine in your skin when it gets wet, long after you've gotten out of the pool.

A perfectly excecuted design in any area from a well put together outfit, to a technical drawing, to the most beautiful cake ever baked, to an Eames chair.

The feeling in your muscles after a good workout. That and getting to eat a huge breakfast.

Knowing that you have a lot of love in your life and that's why nothing is really and truly the end of the world.

Sisters.

Hop on Pop

Yes ladies, this is my dad, and no I do not have a brother...

The other day a friend asked me how my relationship with my family was, and honestly I should have sent him to this blog which is becoming a sounding board for how obsessed with them I am.

My sister and I hosted a surprise 60th birthday party for our dad on Sunday (though the surprise was spoiled by a person whom I suspect is my high school math teacher). Despite some electric emotions, I think the party was a success, and I'm pretty sure my dad had a good time.

I've always been a daddy's girl. I'm convinced that my hilarious, easy-going mother had no idea what to do with me when I came into this world, serious, no nonsense, and completely like my father. Imagine his pride and her confusion when I took to the streets as a toddler, with a snotty, deadpan expression, announcing to the neighbors, "People are Homo Sapiens" with all the conviction of a Rhodes Scholar. That's how I roll.

There were those years that I took offense when people told me that I was just like him, though truthfully it was because I wanted to be like my Mama because she was a girl. Can't argue with that, being a girl is rad.

Truth be told though, I'm proud to be like my dad, seriousness and all. If I ever come into any success in life, and yes, in my deepest darkest moments I sometimes doubt the eventuality of this, it will be because my father taught me the importance of hard work, perseverance, and a positive attitude in addition to how to swim, obviously.

Recommended Reading

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. If it is broke...

I've come to realize that sometimes people are just "broken" and as much as I personally battle to admit it, this is not the doll hospital. You can't just send the problem away and get it back, as good as new, like gluing on a disembodied foot, or reattaching a loose wig.

My current romantic interests have sent some very well meaning compatriots into states of confusion and shock, for a variety of very understandable reasons. I get this, dear friends, I do. Here's the simple answer to this question, though of course there is also a more complicated one.

This person is not broken. There is nothing here to "fix". There may be small flaws as in any person, but these flaws are akin to a slightly less aesthetically appealing element in a painting as opposed to a giant hole punched in the middle of it.

I need that.

I'm the lady, not the carpenter.

Tales from the trenches of a renegade life makeover

My current quest for self-improvement has shaken me up a bit, I'm not going to lie. I think this is a good thing, though. Unfortunately, I also seem to be hitting that rut where my love for instant gratification is well, not being gratified. Damn that. I can learn to be patient, je suppose. I have however come across some recent self-reflective gems that will hopefully inspire myself to keep charging ahead, full force, as it were, and maybe they will inspire some of you, or at least make you smile.

Recent self-realizations that are hilariously surprising and shockingly refreshing:


My sister is my best friend.

Whatever it is, it really probably isn't the end of the world and you really shouldn't waste your life sitting around wallowing in self-pity over it. It most likely isn't worth it.

Chocolate milk isn't that vile. Just pretend it's a melted Frosty from Wendy's.

I'm a lot more conservative than I'd like to let on, even to myself, and I think I might just have to be ok with that. This is not to say that I'm a Republican.

I will eventually get a job that isn't completely demoralizing.

If Julia Child can turn her life around at nearly 50, I can certainly do it now. What would Julia do?

I am capable of wearing high heels and they make me look skinnier, taller, and more professional.

McDonald's breakfast is actually NOT the solution to my problems. I wish I learned this while I was working at the frame shop.

I have a lot of people who love and care about me and are not disappointed in me, even though I am far too hard on myself.

"Be classy and act like a lady" is advice that can prevent a multitude of sins and potential disasters.

Just because I feel like I screwed up by not swimming in college, doesn't mean I can't start over now. I'm not that out of shape if I can place 69 out of 809 men and women in the swim part of a triathlon when the water is 58.5 degrees and I am decidedly wetsuitless.

I am a badass for not wearing a wetsuit.

Having a public tantrum is just not as satisfying at nearly 30 as it was at 3. A private one still feels pretty great, on occasion. Just don't be self-indulgent about it and don't punch a hole in the wall that can't be hidden by a piece of furniture or a well placed piece of art.

It is ok to love things just because they are beautiful.

It is paramount not to forget to put your shorts on when you insist on riding your bike in skirts.

When in doubt, and all else fails, refer to "The Little Engine That Could". It will never steer you wrong. Just ask my dad.

In short, buck up, put on some pearls and big sunglasses, brush your teeth, and face the day with as much strength of character as you can muster. If that doesn't work, you can always down a Manhattan when you get home from work. Anything with cherry in it will solve all your problems.


Recommended Reading:

In the Stella Cookies of Life, Sisters are the Butterscotch Chips: Wherein I Begin Sounding Like a Goopy Pink Greeting Card with Fancy Script

Use Fruit Roll-Ups to bribe your kids to kiss for the camera!
Let clowns hold your children.


My charming sister posted a heartwarming (five hankie tearjerker) post about her birthday over at her blog Curren Town. I shall now write a sister (yuk yuk yuk) entry about this little lady's birthday, considering I have now been saddled with a look-alike for one quarter of a decade.

Last year, on my sister's birthday, I joked that it was the anniversary of the worst day of my life, and her response was that maybe I was mistaken and had gotten worst confused with BEST. This year, on her birthday, I conceded that she was right.

Whenever we'd fight, whenever I was screaming my head off about how this creature, who already looked like me, also wanted to get the same Happy Meal, wear the same outfit, and have the same Barbie as me, our mother would say that we should learn to get along, because someday something would happen to our parents (gasp), or we'd fight with our best friends (horror), and all we'd have is each other.

Then it happened. The other day, I was in the car, and I was thinking, "if someone asked me who the most important person in my life is, what would I say?" I thought about it for a minute, and really, the answer is my sister. If I could pick just one bridesmaid, or pick just one person to be on my team, gotta go with Sister. Who else will let you wallow in self-pity for days at her house when your life is falling apart, or risk having a crabby baby all day and wake an infant so the whole family can watch your first triathlon?

I think she likes me back, because, let's face it, who else will laugh when her baby throws up down their officewear and tear up wet carpet from the basement in a dress? Nobody, that's who.

Sister, you are lucky I love you. I'm pretty lucky you love me back.