What's Just Around the Corner

Last night I had the opportunity to catch up with an old friend over some great drinks and a very long walk.  It was a warm night, and there was just something so incredibly poetic about the entire experience.

I didn't know what to expect, as this encounter was more than unexpected.  So we just let the conversation flow as naturally as possible.  And I began connecting the dots, between his experiences and my own.

Perhaps because we are both writers and a little prone to emotional indulgences, we both ate up the nostalgia as if it were the most delicious main course in all of New York City.

But then, just as sudden and unexpectedly as the moment we ran into one another in a crowded market just a few days ago, the gravity of the situation hit me and I came to a startling realization; we never truly know what is just around the corner.

Isn't that absolutely magical?

I have to tell you that the past five days have been like something out of a movie.  There are young couples strolling hand in hand around almost every corner, kids blowing perfectly round bubbles the size of grapefruits along the paths in Central Park, and each scene is perfectly scored with some kind of pure and equally enchanting source music.  It's frightfully wonderful.

Every corner unfolds some depiction of life, love, survival, creativity, work, struggle and yes, the ever impressive American dream.

We are all in this place because it is feeding something within our hearts that is down right demanding to be heard.  In fact, the buildings themselves are demanding in their own right.  They stand over us; towering and impressive.  They have their own unique voices and dresscode.  The buildings provide me great company.  They are my beacons, my mile markers, and my way of navigating from one corner of the map to the other.

All these people I see around me have completely overwhelmed my senses.  And I find myself struggling to find the words to express what I feel each day as I walk through the countless blocks and stretch of concrete.

I can't very well explain it.  I can't really figure out how to quantify the countless moments I catch myself in awe.

And I know that this feeling will inevitably fade over time as I too, am cast alongside this wonderful hit show that is Manhattan.  But for now, I still catch my breath each time I turn a corner and am presented with granduer and wonderment.

Tomorrow I start my job.  And then, I will have officially taken my first big bite of this 'Big Apple.'  I will have my own routine and semblance of a life as a proper city girl.  Who knows what is waiting around the next corner... maybe the best is yet to come.

Until then, this corner is looking pretty good.

Today

Lil Nicky

1oz Vodka
1/2 oz Pama Liqueur
Splash of Soda
On the rocks with a lime wedge.

Road Warriors and Multi-Taskers

Imagine every annoying encounter you've ever had while commuting to and from work.  You're sitting behind the wheel of your compact car, listenening to the radio, and tapping your hands on the dashboard in hopes that your constant vigil over the endless sea of cars ahead of you will enourage the momentum to inch along just a little bit faster.  Then, for no logical reason whatsoever, some silver hybrid cuts in front of you as if that that extra five feet made all the difference in their drive time.  But you're no fool.  You know you're all stuck and not going anywhere fast.

Now imagine a similar scenario, but instead of being surrounded by countless cars, you are simply surrounded by hoards of people.  Now let me tell you, foot traffic is far more entertaining than car traffic.  

What I have whitnessed upon entry in New York City, would make any person feel a twinge of anxiety. These people are hysterical... comical really. 

I mean, who continues to read their novel while walking off of the subway and down a flight of stairs while people attempt to merge around you, beside you, and in front of you??? From what I gather so far: several dozen NY women.  

I stand behind these marvelous multitaskers and think, are you really going to read that book while going down a flight of stairs??? Really lady????? 

Just like the rules of the road, there are most certainly pedestrian rules as well.  The foot traffic rules are as followed; don't text and walk or read a book while going up or down a flight of stairs in the subway, DO pick up after your dog, and gladly step aside to double check the Mets scores, and please, under no circumstances engage in small talk.  

I find myself knocking over old ladies, getting impatient with tour busses who block the crosswalk when the go light is on, and moving almost effortlessly around the slow moving texting-walkers. 

All in all, I definitely feel like I am in the flow of the legendary pace of the daily walkabouts that I've always heard about.  New Yorkers do walk fast... but I walk faster.

Oh wait... this is a commute, not a race... 

I will have to remember that the next time I am merging with distracted pedestrians... It's not a race, it's not a race, it's not a race...

Yesterday, as I rolled my luggage down the eleven-block stretch of concrete that spans between my two friends' apartments, I couldn't help but notice that I was still mowing over everyone else!!!

I don't know... Maybe the pace they set is one of the multi-tasker.  But don't count on me writing my blog while walking through Midtown.  No sir.  

I'm just not that stretched for time... Thank God. 

Today:

Screwdriver

1 oz Vodka 

Splash of orange juice. 

Pushing Buttons

I once heard it said that 'it's our family who are the most capable of pushing our buttons, because they are the ones who installed them.'  I don't know about your family, but in mine, I would say this is quite true.  People tend to think of this phrase in a negative way, but I am fairly certain that my family's circuit boards are well equipped with all kinds of buttons: some extra sensitive, some are capable of great destruction, while others are mostly pushed to send a resurgence of warm thoughts, shared hopes and love.

It's funny how we tend to carry on whatever our parents, grandparents and favorite uncles instilled in us.  When we are young, we think we are so different from our parents.  And yet, as the years go by, the similarities creep in more and more.  I can only imagine how this will mold and shape the generations to come.

It can be a scary thought; passing along whatever nuggets of wisdom or peculiar traits we pick up from our upbringing.  How much do you borrow from your parents? And which things are you better off checking at the door??

Is it like a recipe that we feel the need to keep secret and follow to the very letter? Or, should we attempt to improve upon the recipe all together??

It's a sticky subject, but in this day and age, I think it is a rather necessary one to consider.

As a writer and storyteller, I tend to sit back at observe others whether I am consciously aware of it or not.  And I can't help but get some sort of bizarre satisfaction over the dialogue that I overhear on a daily basis.  The things people do and say while at work vs. their home environment is rather amusing.  And I am sure, the same can be true for my own little quirks and sense of humor.

Some characteristics are intensified while surrounded by my family.  And I truly believe it has a little something to do with those buttons I mentioned earlier...

The truth is, I think I've finally come to grips with how similar I am to various members of my family, and on the flip side, how very different I am as well.

The most unfortunate souvenir we carry along with us is this business of needling the people we love the most.  I am not sure who decided way back in the day that picking on their loved ones was some fascinating display of affection, but it seems quite common not only in my nuclear family, but also among other families and within relationships that I see all around me each and every single day. Maybe its the way we manage to stand the people we share our past, present and future histories with. Hmmmm...

But overall, I think we could really do without it.  I wouldn't mind if instead of needling one another, we tried harder instead to build each other up.  Now that is a button I wouldn't mind dusting off for the betterment of all our sanity.

Why not try a little harder to keep our hands to ourselves and leave other peoples'
(more sensitive) buttons the hell alone! Or in the very least, press some positive buttons to build each other up while your're on a roll...

I think that would be a refreshing change of pace for sure!

Today:

Gin & Tonic! 
1 oz Gin
Splash of Tonic 
On the Rocks with a Lime Wedge!!
Delicious, refreshing and so simple!!!

Here with my big brother... the ultimate picker and best friend!!!  

Below: Two future buttons pushers (my nieces)!!

Something Out of Nothing

Guess what I am doing at this very moment? (Que Jeopardy music for a ten second pause.) Did you guess blogging?? Well duh.  Aside from the obvious answer, I am actually sitting in a Little Caesar's Pizzeria enjoying my very own large plain cheese.  I am a girl on a budget remember??

In a last ditch effort to shake the money tree, I have gotten fairly... ummmm -----.  Not desperate! No, no... CREATIVE!!  Yes, let's call it creative.

I rounded up about ten years worth of winter jackets, skin tight blue jeans, boots, wedges and host of other miscellaneous accessories and hauled them off to a resale clothing store.  They estimated that the sorting process would take roughly forty-five minutes and so I decided to kill a few birds with one stone.  Eat some lunch, write my blog and hopefully, turn a decades worth of laundry into some cold hard cash.

Let me tell you something folks; I'm getting really good at this part-time business of turning a little somethin' something out of a whole lot of nothing.  

Here's a few tips and tricks I have learned under the gun... or more specifically, a budget. 

1. Someone may actually pay you for those 6" high heels that were a complete mistake/impulse purchase.

2. Little Caesar's Pizza always sells "Hot 'n Ready" large pizzas for $5.00

3. If you want to insure that your $5.00 pizza is actually fresh, make sure to order a plain cheese pizza instead of the pepperoni.  They typically only have pepperonis sitting on stand by, and not plain cheese.  So if you have ten minutes to spare, then you will have a fresh large pizza right out of the oven for five bucks!

4. All that spare change stuck together in your vehicle's cup holders actually amount to something! And if you are patient, and can multitask while watching a movie, you can roll about six hundred pennies in about thirty minutes.  Well six bucks, may not seem like much, but it does buy you that large cheese pizza we were just talking about.

5. A smile and friendly small talk goes a long way.  (The lovely manager at the pizza shop threw in a free drink for me after I told her what a great job she was doing.)

Sometimes it really pays to get creative!!!

This summer I bought a brand new pair of running shoes, an airline ticket to NYC and a full tank of gas, all with the loose change I had stock piled around my apartment in jars, purses and yes, my car.

It just goes to show that you can make a little something out of what you may have thought was nothing.

So if you'll excuse me, I have to pack up the rest of this pizza and walk over to the resale shop and see how much all that loot has earned me!!!

Just one more small step on this road to the big city.

Count your pennies and your blessings!!!! And by all means, get creative!


Today:

Woo Woo

1 1/2 oz Vodka
1 1/2 oz Peach Schnapps
3 oz Cranberry juice
on the rocks!

Baggage

Well, there is no mistaking it; I've got a lot of baggage.  Literally... As I look around the apartment at the three empty suitcases that I'll inevitably fill, I am suddenly overwhelmed.

Getting ready to go on a trip for an undetermined length of time is a somewhat daunting process.  Do I pack work clothes? Bedding? Winter boots, jackets and scarves?  Do I pack light and have some things shipped if I stay longer?? Oy...

Meanwhile, my poor little dogs are hovering around the luggage and pacing the apartment.  As soon as I pull out the suitcases, they look at them wide eyed and nervous: not this again.

I won't be able to take my dogs with me yet.  It would make the settling in process about a hundred times more difficult.  And if I can spare them the added anxiety of roommates, city traffic, and late nights, then there is no question that I ought to leave them behind... for now.

It's crazy.

I look around and see a patchwork quilt of my life, post graduation.  I feel lucky to have experienced so much over the past eleven years since high school.  What a wild ride.  From the West Coast to the  great Southwest, then down to the Mid South and up to the Midwest; my life looks more like a stack of postcards rather than the images I see in most of my peers' family albums.  But that's just me.  That is the nature of change and adapting to whatever circumstance I seem to be in the midst of. It's an amazing thing, to have had the good fortune of living life in so many wondrous places.

But the baggage I accumulated over the years is bulky, heavy and perhaps excessive. There are some things I am holding on to that may not serve me on the road ahead.  Like my wedding china for instance; someone please tell me what I am supposed to do with that??  The delicate place settings, serving bowls and coffee cups have lasted much longer than my marriage ever did.  And I carry the box around from state to state with precision and care... And I am over it.

Sometimes I imagine taking a trip to Greece, where upon arrival, I unwrap the delicate wedding china and hurl it at the pristine white floor and let it smash at my feet while shouting OPA!!! In this fantasy, I am dancing around the shattered pieces, wearing a crown of olive leaves and a sleek white dress similar to Aphrodite's.

Hummus anyone?

And what about the other items I have hauled around from place to place: pictures, dresses and books of poetry? Shall I stand at the mouth of the East River and toss it in as some sacrificial offering to Manhattan... to my future?? 

Or shall I continue to leave it happily collecting dust in my storage, as I have done for the past few years? The boxes are stacked high; one on top of the other... Talk about excess baggage.

I know that the day will surely come when I will know what to do.  I can sense that I am inching my way closer to the answer with each passing season.  I don't want this much baggage.

I don't need it either.

But the answer hasn't come to me yet.  But I have a hunch that it is waiting for me in this next place I explore: probably under a shady tree, speckled with October's rose and amber hues in the midst of Central Park. Perhaps then I will know what to do and how to shed these bulky items that are no longer serving me. Alas, I continue to pack.

*Note to self: have fun, work hard, be safe and travel light! 

Today:

Cape Cod

1 oz Vodka
2 oz Cranberry Juice
Garnish with a lime wedge
On the Rocks!

The Zen of Broke

You know what the best thing about being relatively broke is?? If your answer was a unanimous 'Nothing,' then you are sadly mistaken.  I know, I know... it's very chic of me to make this case for the awesomeness of minimalism! 

So very zen of me; packing up the bare necessities for an undetermined length of stay in one of the United States' most expensive cities.

Well, all that being said, that isn't exactly the message I was going for, but hey... I can surely lean on the 'Less is more' approach when the time comes.  What I was actually going for here, was to build a case for making the most with the dollar you've got.  

Let me paint a very realistic picture for you.  

In two weeks, I will board a plane to New York City.  And when I arrive, the already dwindling numbers in my bank account will instantly subtract.  Cab fare to Astoria will cost approximately twenty dollars.  And I can assure you, that will be the only cab ride I will take when I am in NYC.  I simply cannot afford to take cabs everywhere I go.  But when you are just getting off an airplane at 10:30 p.m. with two full suitcases in stow, and all alone in the big city... well, it's the only way to go. 

Next up is the inevitable expense of an unlimited monthly metro card. This will cost somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty dollars.  Ok, at least I've got my transportation covered.  

Next comes food.  

Well, as you can imagine, the possibilities for cuisine of every variety are virtually unlimited in a city like Manhattan.  However, they are very limited when you are working with a tight budget.  Which leads me to my grocery shopping adventure in my very favorite market: Trader Joes.  (Dear God, Thank you for making sure to put a Trader Joes in NYC. You are so loving and kind.) And the good news about a tight budget for food is, I could probably stand to lose five pounds anyway.  

Alright, well that covers food and transportation.  Good. 

Now, let's talk about space.  In New York City, space is very limited.  It is the hottest commodity that is always in demand.  Square footage is one of those really really luxurious things that people like me don't even consider, because we simply cannot afford to.  So, what do you consider?  Well, in my shoes... not much.  

For an undetermined length of time, I will share a room with a friend of mine who recently moved back to NY from a long stint of living in Nashville (where we met three years ago).  Now, friends are key to surviving in NYC. But while space may be cheaper if shared, it still ain't free.  So, I will chip in the cost of one half of one room.  But I am fortunate to share a room with someone I know and trust... because trust me, it could get pretty rough otherwise.  

So there are the basics: food, transportation and shelter.  

Last night I came across a great coupon for a three month gym membership that is right around the corner from my shared room.  I have decided that this is a worthwhile investment, especially when living with a bunch of boys and girls.  

I need my own little escape.  And a place to wash my hair without the looming fear of taking all the hot water in the borough.  So, I think this is a good investment. 

And that about covers it for now.  

So, what's so great about being broke you ask?? Wasn't that argument the whole point of this little essay??

Okay, thank you for reminding me. Here is my zen theory of broke: if I have very little, I can only lose very little.  Genius!  

This is very similar to walking into a glitzy casino with fifty bucks in your pocket... but only fifty.  LEAVE YOUR CREDIT CARDS AT HOME PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

If you count on losing the maximum of what you have on you the moment you walk through that door, well then you ought to have a great time with that fifty and make it last as long as possible.  If you somehow manage to build on that fifty, then great! But you better not count on that odd. 

Where people get in trouble is when they keep going past a certain threshold.  The way I see it, I don't have too far to fall financially.  So, knowing that, as I enter the glitzy, money-sucking black hole of the city... well then that's good.  No big surprise when I am ready to cash in my chips and find a gaping hole where some semblance of a savings used to be.  

I am going to be really zen about this extreme phase of dwindling down.  Because while I can put a price tag next to almost everything in life, I cannot quantify the worth of an experience like this.  

To travel. To spend time with good friends. To see the leaves in Central Park turn with changing season is a luxury I can afford.  And if it cost every last penny I have, I figure this kind of opportunity may only come along once in a lifetime. So, I'm going all in.  You can bet on it. 

A budgeted girl in an expensive world; sleeping on the floor, walking through the park, releasing the fear of being broke and eating rice for every meal, you can't get more zen than that. 

Today:

Poor Man's Margarita

2 oz Tequila

1 oz Sprite or 7 Up

1 Lime wedge

Pinch of Salt. 

Live a Little

You know how people have bucket lists; all the things to see and do before you die?  I often wonder how mine would compare to someone else's.  Would it seem unrealistic or crazy?  Probably not.  I guess to my way of thinking, it is really quite simple.  I don't really have items to check off that are super dangerous or exotic.  In fact, you might even say it was kind of... a short list.

A short bucket list.  Huh.  Well I suppose that is the good news...  Shouldn't be too difficult to accomplish, right?  Eh, wrong! 

I may not have any desire to climb Everest, parachute from a plane, or anything extreme like that, but I do want to live a little.  

The older I get, the more I realize how difficult it is to accomplish all the things you imagined for your life, when you were young.  And although I am not old per se, I am old enough to understand that my bucket list may be a lot more difficult to execute than I had initially anticipated.  

Not every item on the list is something solely within my own power to procure.  Having a family for instance; it all sounds pretty simple, but it isn't something totally in my power or control.  Or is it?  You know, I will have to cycle back around to that one later.

In any case, having a basic outline of things you wish to see, do, experience or accomplish in your life is a good thing.  Checking those things off, is even better. 

In some ways, it's deflating to recognize how little I have actually done thus far to check off this list.  The Seven Wonders of the World for instance, may take years to see.  Seven widely distant, far off places; all requiring time, money and a current passport (if you want to see them all).  Anyway, you get the picture. 

After much consideration, I have made a minor tweak to my list.  I simply challenge myself to experience life (a little) outside of my comfort zone.  You know; try eating weird things with squishy textures, stay out walking with friends until sunrise, wear red lipstick like a fearless fashionista, audition for a broadway play, paint a portrait in the gardens of Versailles or Central Park, eat gelato on the back of a speeding scooter through Rome, or maybe even go on a blind date... 

I think it's time to savor the sweetness of life.  I've been a little scared.  I've been cautious. Because I have already fell on my face financially and romantically a few times this past decade, this shouldn't be too difficult a task.  

Life is for the living.  And I do believe that while we certainly cannot control much, we can do what is within our power to expand our horizons and push our own perceived limitations.  I think it's time to get out there and live life... if only just a little.

There's no time like the present.

Today:

Dirty Gin Martini (one of my favorites)

2 1/2 oz Hendricks Gin
Splash of Olive Juice
Swirl and strain into a chilled martini glass
Garnish with three olives.

Bucket List: Live in an Airstream

Fearlessly Eat Exotic/Squishy Foods

Have a little fun...

  

(Un)Limited Time Offer

Okay... it is time to divulge some seriously embarrassing personal information.  I've considered long and hard whether or not to tell you this, but today I woke up and thought that after two months of reading my blog every day... You've EARNED this juicy bite-sized morsel of autobiography.  Don't worry, you can thank me later.  

Once upon a time, I used to be a Vampire Slayer, a Warrior Princess and a Crime Scene Detective.  (See... I told you it was pretty juicy).  That's right ladies and gentlemen, I am a certified badass.  Or at least, I used to be.

I am pretty sure it was around the fourth or fifth grade when I took up secret training in the backyard of my childhood home.  I understood the risk of ever being found out, so I would pack up some snacks in a backpack and a few good pieces of wood and I'd set out on my own for a couple hours.

Since Vampires were actually a little scarce in my neck of the woods, I practiced my spear throwing at an old, dried up Christmas tree that was out by our horse barn.

I would practice doing flips and kicks while trowing these spears hard into the tree (aka "vampire").  When it occurred to me one day that vampires didn't seem to be as big a threat as my fellow man, I turned in my cross and wooden spears for a horse and a sword and deemed myself a warrior princess.  It seemed to be a natural progression for a slayer like me, and I rather enjoyed my newly regal warrior status.

I would take off on horseback and gallop up the side of the mountain just looking for a villager to rescue.  I spent a long winter scouring the valley for a battle or a villain, but never really found one.  And after months and months of this exhausting search and rescue effort, I decided to retire my sword.

Hmmm what role shall I play now??? 

There was a rather famous person on trial for murder at the time, and so I thought it best to try my hand at investigation.  I was already a skilled tracker and was not afraid of vampires, so how bad could a little detective work be??

I donned a white robe, I mean, a "lab coat" and went to work on the case.  It was a tireless effort of checking under the microscope and examining all the evidence.  And after all my efforts, and the glove didn't fit the suspect, well then I figured I ought to turn in my lab coat for my homework anyway.  After all, I was going to be in the seventh grade soon, and I knew my crime fighting days were numbered...

Or were they??

By the time I was twelve years old, I was already a skilled rider, spear thrower, and investigator; why should I give up on all these remarkable skills??

I suppose I just assumed that the days of make believe were a luxury I couldn't afford in the years ahead.  And in a way, I was sort of right.

To me, playing my hand at the imaginary mellow dramas of the 90s was just not a practical pursuit later on in life.  It was as if playing these various roles had a limited time offer.  

I almost believed that nonsense to be true; that I would someday have to give up on the thing I loved the most... storytelling.  Until one day, when I looked at myself in the mirror and made a decision.  I decided that if I had the discipline to practice my hand at all these roles each and every day after school, perhaps I could also be disciplined enough to never give up on my imagination.

I was correct that in some ways, life as a storyteller was a luxury I couldn't afford. That is, if I wanted everything that my peers could afford.  Classmates and friends have accumulated many things that I would surely enjoy: a house, a brand new car, a consistent paycheck.  Sure, those things would be nice.

But the day that I looked in the mirror and could still see myself as a warrior, a slayer and a street smart investigator, what I really saw was an Unlimited Time Offer.

And I made a decision to do what I love, no matter the cost.

Sure, sometimes I feel kind of like a loser.  To be perfectly honest, life as a storyteller isn't the most glamorous when compared to say, an Architect, Engineer, Doctor or Real Estate Tycoon.  But when I am faced with a severe care of "the flunkies", as I have dubbed it years ago, I can't help but remember the girl who felt like an indestructible BADASS circa 1995.

And it is the very spark I need to keep the fire ignited.

It is a choice.  I could either DO what I love or I could have the things I enjoy.  And what I have come to grips with is that as long as my imagination remains intact and I have the simple company of a few friends and readers... I actually have everything I need at this point in time.  And I am happy enough with that.

When you are passionate about something, well I believe that passion is to be honored.  Because passion and ability are God given gifts, not limited time offers.

So, if I have to imagine myself as the warrior, a servant, or the brave and fearless explorer... well then guess what; that is exactly what I shall do in order to press on and honor the Unlimited Offer of unlimited imagination.  

It doesn't get much juicier than that! 

Ok, now you can thank me... For you see, I am a fool for you; my friends on the other side of the page, the screen, and theater seats.  And to be honest, I don't see that offer expiring any time soon.


Today:

Vampire Slayer

1 oz Peach Schnapps 
1 oz Vodka
1 oz Grenadine
Fill with Orange Juice
Layered over Rocks! 

Pick Me! Pick Me!

Remember those games we used to play in school at recess?  We would line up across the lawn in a long row and wait anxiously to be called.  We were at the mercy of the person choosing the teams and I never much cared for this routine.  How lame do you have to feel just standing there, waiting to be chosen? Pick Me, Pick Me, Pick Me... Those are the words I would chant under my breath while standing at attention.

I was the name usually chosen midway.  Especially if it was Dodgeball.  The team captains always sized me up and chose the bigger, tougher kids first.  I was just girly enough to be called into question...  Every. Damn. Day.  You're gonna make me just stand there at the mercy of the other team?? Really?? Didn't I prove my athletic abilities at lunch yesterday?? 

Regardless, I would stand and wait for my name to be called just like everyone else.  The worst part was getting into the bottom three.  I'm pretty sure this only happened a few times, when the team captain was my ex boyfriend from third grade.  Catch up everyone, we were in fifth grade now, and he is on some kind of power trip.

So I'd wait...

Day after Day, the process would start all over again; and in one way or another would continue throughout the course of my life. High School dances, Equestrian competitions, college crew races and post grad job hunting all left me with that similar feeling of hoping to be the chosen one.  Pick Me, Pick Me, Pick Me.     


Perhaps that is why so many people fresh out of college are in such a rush to nail down a spouse, a home, a career and a family; the feeling of standing in line, hoping to hear your name called is simply exhausting after so many years.  So you declare yourself team captain and decide that there is no more waiting around.  Hmmmm... I wonder...

As for me, I've rather grown accustomed to repeating the words 'Pick Me' silently to myself over and over again.  As I watch the Emmys, the Academy Awards and various Special Bonus Features on my favorite films or television series, all I can think of is how badly I want to be chosen to play with them.

The actors, screenwriters, producers and directors all run around the set, playing tricks on each other and are having a blast.  They are living the life I have dreamt of since as long as I can remember.  And I just want for them to call my name more than anything.

Pick Me!!!!!! Pick Me!!!!!!!! Pick MEEEE!!!!! 

I want so badly to join their team.  It is what motivates me to keep writing each day.  It is my way of sending a message in a bottle every morning, hoping that one day my name will be called to come out and play.   To write, direct, act, produce... please, one day... pick me!!


Today:

Hollywood Martini

2 oz Vodka
1/2 oz Black Raspberry Liqueur 
Splash of Pineapple Juice
Shake and Strain into a martini glass

Someday...

My favorite Actress

Grace Kelly

Rear Window

My favorite film. 

It's a Jungle Out There

It's no secret by now that I am a thirty year old single woman.  Big deal.  Although I am not overly affected by my singular status at this point in time, there are some days where it would be nice to not wear the label of 'Single White Female.'  It's like wearing a raw NY strip around my neck while taking a nature walk through the Amazon.  It can be a bit... uuhhhh, uncomfortable.

A friend of mine convinced me  to go out last night to a local bar to celebrate my newfound freedom from my job behind the bar.  "It's your last shift, let me buy you a drink."

It's funny... Even though I am a bartender, I'm not much into the whole bar scene.  But the gesture was certainly sweet of her and I agreed that it was a night worth celebrating, so we went out. 

Looking around the crowed room, ladies were out numbered 2-1,  I suddenly began to wonder if I had made a mistake.  They were like a pride of big game cats, out on the prowl. 

While I was definitely in the mood to celebrate, I was not in the mood to ward off the local game.  Too bad.  

The first old cat swaggered up and took a seat next to me.  He was a walking, head-to-toe mid-life crisis;  sporting a white polo sweatshirt with a flipped up collar and a scruffy three day beard.  He launched into our conversation like he had undoubtedly been doing with stealthy precision for the past thirty-five years.  Oh great, thanks for telling me how beautiful I am while you try to conceal your wedding ring. 

It's so gross!  Please go home to your wife and leave us single gals alone.   

My friend is only twenty-two but can shut it down hard.  I guess she's kind of a pro at this sort of thing.  She somehow interjected a comment that I am still trying to process as to how it registered as an immediate deflection.  It was like magic.  He instantly shook my hand and turned to his friend. Game Over. 

Okay, back to OUR conversation.  It was difficult to focus on my friend as I could sense that we were being stalked by yet another overly eager male, directly to her left.  He popped into our conversation with one of the most awkward lead in openers ever... "What are you ladies drinking?"  Not only is that a.) Boring b.) annoying c.) none of his business and d.) completely unwarranted; it was also made all the more awkward when my friend assumed that meant (what it almost always does mean) and she informed him that we weren't really drinking anything anymore... we were just about done.  

I could see the look of rejection wash all over him and he slurred, "Well I wasn't suggesting I was going to buy you a drink, I was just curious what you ladies were drinking."  Okay creep.  You weren't offering, you were just curious?? Puhhhlease.... Ugh...WEIRDO.  

"Well that was awkward," I said to him, shaking my head.  

Look, I am not some stuck up chick who won't give a guy a break.  I appreciate an honest attempt at getting to know someone in the midst of a crowed room of hopefuls.  But, one thing was pretty clear to me last night after being approached by a married man and a few awkward open liners; it's a jungle out there.  

I may be out of my element there... at the local watering hole... but can't I just take my sip and move along without having to fend for myself? 

Is this what it's like everywhere???? 

*Consider this an open discussion.*  

If you have any suggestions or good advice of your own survival instincts/experiences in the jungle... I will gladly listen.

Here is a little something I would like to say to all the married, sketchy crazies out there in the jungle-

Hey, Big Cat... You see, I'm more of a lone wolf.  I may also be out on the prowl in my own way, but I'm of the kind who mate for life.  We are a rare breed.  Kinda like penguins and swans. Please hunt someone more like you. Thanks.  

Sincerely, Not Interested.  

Today:

WHITE LION
3/4 oz. Fresh Lime Juice
1/2 oz. simple Syrup
1/4 oz. Raspberry Syrup
1/2 oz. Curacao
2 oz. Medium Rum
Shake all ingredients with ice and strain into white wine glass filled with crushed ice. Garnish with berries and a lime wedge. .

For this and other drink recipes click here!

Rocky Horror

If I had a nickel for every time I heard someone quote Rocky upon discovering my name, I probably wouldn't be a millionaire, but I would certainly have a whole truck load full of cents.  "Yo, Adriane, " is a phrase that I have encountered on a regular basis, in a hundred different affectations and a few dozen badly slurred impersonations, every year since I was eight years old.  In fact, it is a rare month that passes without having had been the butt of the old Rocky joke at least once.

And working behind a bar increases those statistics by an enormous measure.  The joke, if you can even call it that, is so worn out by now that I can hardly manage to muster up my own tired/clever response.  "Oh yeah, good one."  "Hey, now you'll never ever forget me."  "I haven't heard that one all day."  "No really, I've just never heard that before."  

When in reality, all I'm actually thinking is: You're a moron, please go away and damn you Sylvester Stallone. 

As a film geek myself, I suppose it is only fitting to have my name associated with a three time Oscar winning film. In that respect, I guess it's not so bad.  

I was born in the summer of 1983, in the midst of the Rocky mega-saga.  The film had already achieved huge box office sales and an entire cabinet of awards and nominations.  It was truly a smash hit (pun intended). 

Given the timeline of my own much anticipated debut, alongside that of the Rocky saga, many people assumed that my name was inspired by the fighting champion's main squeeze, Adrian.  In fact, the assumptions are alive and well today, some thirty years later. 

I had a nickname from K-12 that spared me from the Rocky ridicule most of the time.  My brothers, having been only a few years older than me, couldn't say the name "Adriane" when I was born, so instead, they settled on "Dede."  And then it began, round one of the epic boxing match of my life: the Dede vs. Adriane showdown. Ding! Ding! Round one! Fight!

So, wait, what's her name? Which one do I call her? Which do you prefer? 

Though I'm not entirely sure how it happened, around my junior year of college, people began addressing me by my formal name, Adriane.  And in social settings, when introductions were exchanged, I decided to give my childhood nickname a rest, and dust off my actual given name. 

It was after all, my dad who'd chosen the name to commemorate and honor his hometown of Adrian, Michigan.  As shocking or disappointing as it may be, I will clarify that I was not named after the Rocky saga.  Not even a little bit. 

By the time I was born, my dad had already circled the globe, having visited over forty countries.  And of all the places that left a lasting impression, it was his small hometown in southern Michigan.  I am named after a place, not a late 70's boxing flick.  

It's been a good seven years since I decided to own up to my given name.  While I have deep rooted affection for both names, Dede and Adriane, I have to say that I've grown into the latter.  It's not that I've grown out of my childhood nickname per se, rather that I've grown accustomed to both.  I find it endearing that half of my best friends and brothers still call me Dede, while the other half of my best friends, business contacts, professors and my father of course, refuse to call me by any other name than that which is imprinted upon my driver's license and diplomas.  

I have come to appreciate both names for very different reasons.  And I have also learned that whichever name you decide to address me by says a little something more about you than it does me.  It speaks to how you see me and what type of history we've shared or hope to share.   

No matter how it is spelt, across the board, Adriane means "dark and rich."  I'm not exactly sure how relevant the meaning is to my overall character, but it sure does sound intriguing.  

I doubt the Rocky horror name game will ever cease to exist.  I am fairly certain the bad Stallone impersonations will forever be entangled with my life.  Perhaps I need to work up a new, more punchy response.  Or perhaps, appropriately so, my response is as tired as the punch line. 

Alas, I do like my name.  It's strong, dark, and rich, and is associated with an idyllic place.  It is part of my family's history, and my father's legacy.   

Hello, I'm Adriane.  That's my name, don't wear it out. 

Today:

Rocky's Dilemma

1 1/2 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Grand Marnier 

Stir and strain into a martini glass. 

Photo origin Wikipedia.org 

Breaking Bad JuJu

Long ago, in a tiki-bar far, far away, a lowly bartender was in a fight to preserve her sanity.  It was known across the land as the Terrible Twos: a curse that afflicted this otherwise enjoyable second day of the five day work week.  Tuesdays had suffered a massive plague.  It was a mysterious curse, affecting only a rare few within the tribe, and she was one of them.  As the rain poured and her identity was stolen, she wondered; how will I ever survive Tuesdays and break the bad juju?? 

AH HA! I will have someone cover for me!! I'll take the day off and hopefully break the spell... And that is exactly what she did... And she lived happily ever ...

WAIT... We're not even close to the end of this story!

Let's re-cap.  Breaking the Tuesday curse has been an ongoing battle.  The bad juju had fallen heavy on the shoulders of many good civilians on both sides of the bar. But with some persistence and scheming, the past three Tuesdays have consistently evolved into a day of renewed rest and relaxation.  

And although I've relished in the newfound delights on this slain day, I have to wonder: did I really do it?? Did I really take back my Tuesdays and break the bad juju for good?? 

That first tainted Tuesday I had covered by a coworker was an improvement to be sure.  Although the weather was still a little drab and stormy, I somehow managed to sink down into my small vessel and stay mostly dry as the raft continuously crashed into the jagged tree branches along the riverbanks.  A metaphor you ask?  No no, this actually happened. 

Okay, so it wasn't the greatest start to breaking the Tuesday curse.  I was hungry, a little cold and hung up in the tree branches: causing ice cold water to rush over the walls of my little inflatable boat.  But on the bright side, my sweatshirt somehow managed to stay dry and I hadn't lost grip of my beer to the strong currents of the river.  I wasn't behind the bar that day, the first Tuesday in weeks, so I considered it to be one small step in the right direction.

In the Tuesdays that followed, I had somehow managed to gain the upper hand.  Camping on the boat in the harbor of an enchanted Island definitely proved to be the moment that I felt sure that the tainted Tuesdays were a thing of the past. 

Oddly enough, I haven't been scheduled to work a Tuesday in weeks.  It's weird... IT'S GREAT... But it's weird. 

Ever since I took action and sought out someone to cover for me that one time, Tuesdays have consistently been my day away from the bar, to relax and recover from the madness of the weekend rush.  

Dare I even go so far as to say that I have come to enjoy Tuesdays immensely?? Well, there it is...  Hello, my name is Adriane and I am a Tues-aholic.  

A few weeks ago, a reader had suggested that I post a follow up to see if I had in fact successfully broken the negative cycle.  So today, perhaps a little preemptively, I have provided an update to show the progress of taking back Tuesdays. 

Although I have yet to leave the house today, I suspect that it is shaping up to be a lovely day off (she says reluctantly while knocking on wood).  

My hope for you dear readers, after learning of this little modern day quest for vengeance, is for you to break the bad juju in your lives as well.  Perhaps it's a different day of the week that you find particularly offending.  Perhaps it is an unfortunate work environment.  Or perhaps it is an overall slate that could use a deep cleaning. Whatever it may be, I encourage you to think outside the box and take back the tainted days in your 52 weeks a year as well.  

It may be one small step in a week's time, but a giant leap for the overall quality of your life.  One week rolls into the next, and before you know it, a brand new season is just around the corner.

While we can't always be sure as to whether or not we've truly managed to press the reset button on the dramas that repeat on a seemingly endless loop in our lives, we can (at the very least) do everything within our power to try. 

So far, it appears that I have somehow managed to turn my Tuesdays around for the good of mankind.  And I imagine we are all a little better for it.  

Today:

Tuesday Cure

1/2 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Gin

Splash of Cranberry juice

Splash of Grapefruit juice

Twist of lime 

a sprig of mint 

Before:

After:

photo credit: fanpop.com

Xena Warrior Princess

              

   

Seizing Sunday: Rx Trading Spaces & Places

You know that feeling; when you just don't give a rat's ass?  When the cares of the workaday worries melt away into the furthest corners of your mind... until they disappear completely.  Are you with me so far?  Okay good...  

Well let's just say that when I woke up this morning, I hadn't quite surrendered to Sunday.  In fact, the rat's ass was front and center in my mind's eye.  Similar to the way smoke from a campfire has the bizarre super strength of permeating into your skin for days on end, so too had the remnants of a few stressful days behind the bar penetrated every pore and every molecule of my being.  I woke up exhausted and tense.  So tense in fact, I actually threw my neck out and have been unable to enjoy full range of motion as a result.  

The feeling is similar to that of being hungover... except you didn't get to experience the fun part preceding the impending headache.  So perhaps that is a poor example.  Okay, the feeling is more like a mental ass-kicking and the headache is the proof that you just barely made it out alive.  Yes, I do believe that adequately surmises the week I had. 

I woke up and almost instantly thought of all the things I had yet to do today.  I need to make that phone call.  I have to catch up on some laundry.  I am so hungry.  When am I going to have the time to sit down and write today?? The documentary screening is at 7:30 tonight, which gives me 7.5 hours to accomplish x,y and z...  Shower, coffee, phone calls, schedule some meetings... sit down and write. I need to write, to write, to write... Sigh...

STOP.  Seriously.  Just stop!  It took about an hour and approximately two and a half cups of coffee to snap out of the oncoming anxiety attack that was in full swing.  As if I was about to give myself my own mixed martial arts mental ass kicking on what should be a very restful and relaxing day off. 

After a long exhale, I decided to prioritize my 'Sunday Funday.'  And I decided that a long overdue phone call to my best friend took precedence over everything else: writing included.  

I have become quite regimented in my daily writing exercises; right down to the minute I begin and end.  And to a certain extent, this process requires a certain commitment level and discipline.  

But on the other hand, I've also realized how critical it is to practice what I preach.  

If I get so caught up in the To Do's of the day, I might deprive myself the joy of allowing life and creativity to flow freely from within.  The beauty of the writing process is how relaxing it is to get lost in the story, the words, the thoughts, the moment.   

So today, much like hitting the snooze button and sleeping in, I hit the snooze button on my To Do List...

And I am so glad I did.  At this moment (a few hours past my normal blogging schedule), I sit here with my laptop and my second mimosa: writing, sipping, thinking and smiling. 

Talk about killing two bird's with one stone!  

For most of the week, I stand behind the bar: serving, pouring and mixing.  Today, with gratitude, I have traded places with the bartender and sit happily on the opposite side.  It's a perspective that I need to indulge in, at least once in a while.  

If it's five o'clock somewhere, then honey, I'm there... And my worries? Well at this moment I just don't give a rat's ass. And if only for this one day a week, I have seized Sunday and followed my very own prescription for fun: trading places.  

Next stop... the beach.  The laundry list will have to just wait. 

Today: 

Top Shelf Mimosa

3/4 Glass of Champagne

Splash of St. Germaine Liqueur 

Splash of Orange and Pineapple Juices

Time Lapse

I have a secret to share with you.  There is a place, an Island, where time slows down to a quiet hush and is only measured by the four beat count of horses' hooves and the lull of lapping waves.  It is enchanted.

I first came to know this place when I was a small girl, about seven or eight years old I would say.  And  it is as perfect to me now as it was back then.  The wonderful aroma of boiling hot caramels and decadent fudge waft through the narrow streets.  Carriages of all varieties roll along the main street and turn the corner that leads to the Grand Hotel.  

Hundreds and hundreds of bicycles of every kind zip through the alleys: moving swift and effortlessly.   Tandems, cruisers, three speeds, tricycles, and mountain bikes race: armed with smiling faces and work-a-day refugees.  And if the hustle and bustle of the Island's main street proves too hurried for you, there is a way around it: literally.  Take your bike, your horse or simply trek on foot and follow the path that hugs the eight mile shoreline.  You will eventually land where you first began, but will have experienced a true lapse of time in between.  

Along the steep incline of the Isle's perimeter, stretch an impressive row of towering Victorians.  Like a footprint forever frozen on the lunar surface, these regal residences capture the essence of their place in time.  And from the fortress that overlooks the distant shores, the shocking burst of a canon erupts the morning stillness. And trumpets sound. The haunting tune echoes throughout the hull of our vessel: it is our signal to welcome the day.  

Somewhere in between the sunrise and sunset, without so much of a hint or a warning, you have been reborn.  You'll know when this shift has occurred because just after it happens, you will naturally follow the scent of freshly cooled fudge and before you even know what is happening, you realize that you have already eaten a half of a pound. 

Each time I come back to this place, I am reborn.  Something shifts.  And little by little I am brought back to the core of my being.   I am just... happy.

If you simply cannot wait for a little sneak peek, then rent the film Somewhere In Time, which was filmed here on the Island many years ago.  It is a cheesy love story of two people who get lost together in time, reminiscent of the film The Lakehouse; which, as a side note, I found to be extremely confusing, if not somewhat entertaining. 

This is the place I come to surrender stress.  It is where I rejoice in the simple delights of life: the way it is meant to be enjoyed.  And for a lapse of time, I experience a lapse of memory too: my job, my schedule, and my fears all fade into the distance. 

This is where I am this morning; writing from the galley of our temporary home.  It is an idyllic sanctuary and appropriately named Pipe Dream.  I have no cause, no plight, no profound offering to expound upon.  Rather a hope, that one day everyone can experience magic such as this.  

Yes, Mackinac Island is enchanted indeed.  And if ever you are fortunate enough to have your compass point in this direction, then you can smile while gazing out to the red lighthouse at the harbor's edge and  send a little thank you my way, for sharing this secret with you.  And if you have in fact experienced such a place where the tick of the clock is silenced, I am hoping that you might also share your secret with me. 

  

Today:

French Sunrise

1 oz Grey Goose Vodka

1/2 oz Grand Marnier

Orange Juice in a highball glass

Float with Chambord Liqueur 

Mackinac Island

  

    

Wishful Thinking

Last night, after I served yet another Saturday night behind the bar, I decided to join an old friend for a quick bite to eat.  It only took about three minutes of catching up, before the conversation made a U-turn and took us back.  Back in time.  Back when we were just little kids, skipping stones across the lakeshore.

I sat there, over my salmon salad, and fought the tears that were welling up.  I realized right then, at the exact moment I said the words aloud, that I wished things could be like they used to be.

I spent every summer here in northern Michigan growing up.  The summers were as magical as anything you would read about in a storybook: campfires on the beach, fireflies in the meadows, frequent trips to the movie theater, fireworks, festivals, miniature golf and long boat rides across the bay.

In that respect, this place hasn't really changed.  We've changed.  We are no longer those carefree kids, spending all of our weekends together.  When this occurred to me last night, I had the sudden urge to cry.  And I realized, how lonely it is this summer, all these years later.

Their family made our family feel at home here.  They are the kind of people who make everything in life a little extra special: birthdays, holidays and regular old every-days.  They are the kind of friends who stay in your heart, no matter the time or circumstances that life may have turned your way.

But history has a way of hanging around.  And we have so much history as friends and so on, that the picture I had imagined of a lifelong friendship, is a little blurry now.  And I wondered; can we all get back to that closeness we once shared? Or is this simply wishful thinking? 

Everyone has moved on.  Our lives are all very different from how they used to be.  Marriage, college, divorce, babies, travel, breakups, and new relationships are all a significant part of that picture these days.  Some have mixed feelings.  Some have no feelings per se, just wishes.  And as for me, I simply wish we could all cherish the past, and create a revised picture of our future together as friends.

When I came home last night, I stood under the great expanse of the night sky and looked up at the stars.  They twinkled in that way that makes you feel so small, yet so hopeful at the same time.  As I stared off into outer space, I lost track of time and began to make a series of wishes.

I often write about a better world; a kinder place to coexist.  I have strong ideals and hopes for this experience of living life: of learning and loving.  But unfortunately, the wish of one person might actually complicate or cancel out another person's wish entirely.  So instead of wishes coming true, it's more just like wishful thinking.  

The reality is, we all imagine our lives to be one way or another.  We have hopes that might not align with one another.  And so, it's for that reason, that you can't always get what you want, because it might really screw up what someone else wants.

I don't know that I will ever again enjoy the closeness I once shared with this family.  Perhaps it was a moment in time.  Perhaps it is selfish to want more time with them than I have already been given.  Perhaps more than any of that, they represent to me, a time in my life that was simple, carefree and was nothing short of magical. Perhaps that should be more than enough.  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

Throughout the course of our life, we split hairs over silly conflicts that don't actually exist.  And when one person is truly ready to "just be friends," the other isn't quite there yet.  I would love to know how to be friends again with some significant people I have loved in my life, without the past clouding the present.  I wish for so many things.

Moving on.  Getting along.  Acceptance.  I wish it were as simple as that.


Today:

Raspberry Martini

11/2 oz Stoli Razz Vodka
1/2 oz Chambord
1/2 oz Pama liqueur 

Shake and strain into a martini glass