Honesty Is The Worst Policy

I don't remember my first flight. Which is fine, considering I was only a few months old and my passport photo from then features a head of hair so fine and white blond you could barely tell I wasn't bald.

The first flight I DO recall was when I'd just turned seven years old. My parents had taken me out of school one week prior to the start of Summer break and we were on our way to London, England.

The plane was a double decker, actually the only one I've been on to this day. We had two seats on the upper level and two on the lower. A spiral staircase connected the floors and the cabin crew was given the daunting task of repeatedly telling my brother and I to return to our seats during the duration of the seven hour flight.

My brother, who was almost 10, sat with my mother initially as I was your typical Daddy's girl and I suppose you could say my brother was a Mama's boy. I think the origin of this being that they both liked to shop and keep up with the latest fashions whereas I was perfectly content to be dressed in cute-enough-to-make-you-barf matching jumpers and animal print leggings.

So I was sitting next to my dad on the runway, a couple spots back in line to enter the sky, when the realization of what was about to occur fully hit me. I turned to my father and asked him if planes ever crashed during takeoff. To which he replied, do you want me to lie or tell the truth? I said the truth and obviously he then said that yes, they do.

I don't remember if I said anything after this. That's the end of that memory. I do know though that on every flight since then this exchange will replay in my head as we prepare to leave the runway. Seeing as how in the past three months alone I've been on 13 different planes (direct flights are a luxury, one which I'm not privileged with often), I think its safe to say over the past 17 years I've recalled this memory hundreds of times.

The other 'highlight' of that flight which sticks out in my mind is a stewardess and my mother holding paper cups over my ears while I wailed that the cabin pressure was unbearable. Sometimes I'm tempted to do that now, as well. But I guess chewing Juicy Fruit will have to do.

I'm Not Bitter, I'm American

Life is full of little ironies and "fuck you" moments. Take, for example, my present situation. Here I am, currently in the smack dab center of the 1st legitimate vacation I've taken in literally five years where I'm not with a boyfriend, a kinda sorta boyfriend (see: boyfriend) or have a boyfriend (kinda sorta or otherwise) at home. I'm not seeing anyone, lying to anyone or lying about anyone. No guy next to me at the bar wondering how many more drinks I'm going to insist on ordering before requiring help back to the room, and no guy a plane ride away wondering who is going to help be back to the room in their absence. I am 100% totally and completely single. Not only am I single, but I just may be on that little thing known as the rebound.

I'm traveling with my -also single- girl friend Jami and her elderly father. Island hopping the Mediterranean on a cruise ship equipped with all the necessities (numerous bars, dance floors, drink specials, a casino and more) for an unforgettable eventful time full of somewhat fuzzy or forgotten events and bad decisions. You'd think this wouldn't be hard to accomplish, taking into account a few of my last cruises which included (but aren't limited to) a threesum-gone-wrong with a somewhat odd young couple from upstate New York who may or may not have stolen my Coach bag and credit cards before depositing me at the door of my cabin where my then boyfriend (for about, oh, another week or so) was happily waiting for me with open arms. Or not.

Or a couple years later when I went away with my kinda sorta boyfriend whom I began referring to as my kinda sorta ex by the 2nd night after ending up half naked (OK, it could have been fully, but half sounded slightly better) in an empty conferance room at 2am with a sweet guy from Jersey. I say sweet mainly because he had a girlfriend back home, so nothing REALLY happened. Pretty sure by the end of that week I'd thrown a beer bottle at my kinda sorta boyfriend's head in the diner one night and then the next night almost got into a physical altercation with another girl for making a negative comment about my kinda sorta boyfriend's appearance. Come to think of it, I have no clue how I didn't get thrown off that ship. But anyway.

Then last year I went away with my 78 year old godmother and fell head over heels in lust (and in bed and in the hot tub and in the back of the ship) with an ex heroin addict I'd found a 'true' connection with after six or so drinks. Nevermind the fact he was technically breaking his parole by having those drinks with me or that he couldn't over exert himself due to his bad heart from all the drugs hed done in his past (and unknown to me at the time, would continue to do in his future). I think we convinced both each other and ourselves by the end of that week, that wed be able to have an actual relationship afterward between Connecticut and New York. One extended weekend at his Aunt's in Westchester and a year of spiradic text messages back and forth later, I have to admit I think the spark is gone.

Which brings us to the now. The now being day five of an 11 day cruise, and the only guy I've shared a drink with has been Jami's father. Granted, due to time zone changes and a Rx bottle of Sonata sleeping pills curtosy of my therapist (I feel as though I should send him a thank you card. Possibly Hanukah themed) I've been in bed by 6pm almost every night and have slept more these past few days than I have the past few weeks combined, so I could be hindering my opportunities of meeting people, but from what I've heard from the few people I've conversed with, I'm not missing much

.

Maybe its the time of year (finals weeks for college student, all of the holidays) or maybe its the economy (the airfare was dirt cheap! Really!) Or maybe its the itinerary (I can see how the Carribean may sound more appealing to my generation over pyramids and Greek temples) but whatever it is, this ship is all but devoid of anyone between the ages of 21-31. Those that are, are either newlyweds or don't speak English. Neither of which are much fun to socialize with in my current mind set.

I chatted with one couple at a lounge yesterday evening during happy hour. They were from Oregon and might have been fun to hang out with were they 15 years younger and not only trying desperately to pretend that they were. I almost wanted to tip the wife off that having their eight year old daughter sitting between them at the bar sipping ginger ale out of a champagne glass (oh, how cute! She's in training) while her parents got sloshed over predinner drinks was probably what was giving them away.

And so I'll have to conclude, at least thus far, that there will be no threesums, drunken brawls or late night hot tub adventures during the course of this cruise vacation. Although that's not about to stop me from ordering a more likely than not sickingly sweet drink of the day. The Acropolis. Thank you, Athens.

Oh. And bartender, I think the eight year old will take hers in a sippy cup, you can just send her parents the rehab bill.

(402): i was just texting to let you know that my facebook chat is working again so you can talk to me more.

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true love, baby

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That's all it takes, really. The significance an online relationship status change can have in an IRL (ahem, in real life) relationship is astounding nowadays. Due to our constant "communication" and total access we've given to one another, its come down to sheer lack of communicating that eventually dooms these same relationships.

Hearing a person say they care about you face to face tends to have a greater impact than words and symbols read off a screen. Yet we've shorthanded our lives to 140 characters or less and <3's have replaced saying to one another how we actually feel. If you've already texted the play by play of your day to someone, what's left to tell anyway? Even if it was just the abbreviated version.

Anyone who knows me knows that my Blackberry is pretty much an extension of my hand (expect when it's being drunkingly left in a cab...or burger king...or bar bathroom...or - Okay, you get the point). I've all but forgotten that yes it is rude to read and reply to text messages mid conversation with someone who is actually right in front of you. That blinking red light has become my heroin and when it vibrates the world will end if I don't check it that very moment. After all, Victoria's Secret's 20% off sale is ending tomorrow (!!!) and there's no way I could have lived without knowing this immediately.

Smart phones aren't even the half of it. It's the overexposure we've all grown accustomed to indulging in divulging these past few years. It started way back with beepers (suddenly we could reach out to each other no matter where they were and let them know we needed to speak to them RIGHT AWAY) , then evolved through INSTANT messaging, cell phones, text messages, online blogs (oh! hi =] ), social networking sites whose sole purpose is to tell the world just what you're doing at that very moment in time and everything in between. Yes, even websites devoted to broadcasting the dumb shyt we'd felt the need to share with people the night before.

But with all this so called 'communication', is anyone even saying anything anymore? I've said, and been told, countless times that emotions are all but impossible to decipher via an LCD screen. That as long as you throw a smiley face or strategically placed "LoL" into what you're typing, you can get away with anything. Hell, we even have an emoticon for when you just don't know what to say.

Isn't this evolving? Isn't this progress? Aren't these all ways to bring the world closer together? Sure...kinda. But whatever happened to that age old adage "absence makes the heart grow fonder"? Cause I for one know that even if you don't have physical contact with someone for weeks, months, YEARS even, it's more than likely that you'll still have a general idea of what is going on in their life. And no, not even through the grape vine of spoken communication as was done back in the dark ages of the early 1990's, but rather right here on the screen you're currently staring at. Progress has taken us so far that we need to hit a "block" or "ignore" button in order to erase a person from our lives.

And there are definitely times when my text messaging privileges should be revoked...namely after about three or four drinks (LoL).

18th and 2nd

Published: 5 hours, 59 minutes ago by Karen.w.



p.s. And just for the hell of it, I was on Look Books today =]

What I Really Meant To Say Was Nothing

Someone told me recently that because I'm such a seemingly open person that I must keep the darkest secrets to myself. This baffled me, because in all honesty I'd been just that...honest (well, with this person at least). If anything, maybe -probably- to a fault.

One of the few things I was able to take from my brief encounter with community college and my Oral Communications class many years ago (apparently they require you to actually go in order to pass courses and gain credits. Who knew?) was that relationships (either romantic or platonic) are built upon and grow from mutual disclosures about ones self. This can range anywhere from your favorite flavor of ice cream to being touched by your uncle when you were little (no, this is not implying anything about myself! I swear!). It's gradually testing the waters between the two of you and determining when it's okay to go a little deeper.

Most people keep a lot to themselves, I've learned. Which is understandable. There's a lot about me that, say, my parents don't know and for good reason. But then there's been people I've known who've lived entirely double lives even to their boyfriend, fiance, husband. Whether it be concerning their job, an addiction, a fetish, a health disorder, whatever. And that just seems exhausting.

My problem is pretty much the opposite. If I feel comfortable with someone, and want to be with someone, I open up entirely too soon and say things like the fact I'd most likely make myself throw up ice cream sooner than I'd say what flavor it'd be. Just as an example. I have a few theories as to why I'm like this. There's the "shock & awe" theory, to simply intrigue them with my extreme life stories, for fear of feeling boring otherwise. There's the "weeding out the 'weak'" theory, which means this is me, if you can't deal with me, don't waste either of our time...which could probably also be referred to as the "scare them away before they get close enough to hurt you" theory. Or there's the "I'm just being honest" theory which is that I feel not saying something is the same as lying about it.

Or maybe it's a little of all three. Needless to say, whichever or whatever it is, hasn't really worked for me thus far. Apparently you shouldn't tell a potential partner things you wouldn't tell your therapist and putting up walls is the best way to let someone in. This seems to be what "normal" people do at least. What my friends who've been with their significant others for years, are married and have kids do. They just...fail to mention that aspect of their past or current life. And if it never comes up? All the better.

Everyone has their skeletons. Most people just keep them in the closet whereas mine come out to the bar with me. I guess this must mean I have something even more sinister and dark in my closet. Like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

You Are Here.

You can speed it up.

You can slow it down.
You can even freeze a moment, but you can't rewind time.
You can't undo what is done.
- "Cash Back"

Sometimes its hard to believe the past actually happened. That memories are real and I did live the life I recall having lived.

I think this has always been the main driving force for my need to keep a journal, a blog, some sort of documented proof and account of how I ended up where I am as I write this. Living the 'now' that will eventually be looked back upon in the future the same way I recall my past at this moment.

When I was a little girl I'm not sure what I thought I would be doing with my life in November of 2009 (probably not typing this entry on a plane flying from my parent's home in Mexico to my Brooklyn apartment wondering how I'm going to get the money to turn my 'temporarily disconnected due to nonpayment' Blackberry back on, I'll say that much at least). To be honest, I didn't think about the future much at all. Just as I still don't. Its too vast, unknown and uncharted. It's admitting and accepting the fact I'm going to get older, and only continue to do so until I don't. Taking into account my chipped sparkle nail polish, the panda print t-shirt I'm wearing and a stuffed puppy named Wrinkles tucked away in my luggage beneath the plane, I think its safe to say this is a concept I've still yet to accept. The main difference is that 20 years ago, it'd have been a stuffed kitten named Copycat who now resides on top of a bookcase, her stitching worn thin and her traveling days over.

The only definitive action I knew I had to do was to write. Poetry, journals, diaries, dreams, even attempts at literotica (really). I have boxes of notebooks, some filled cover to cover, others abandoned half way through, beginning around 1990. Age five (yes, I already owned Copycat. Just in case you were wondering. She was my "show & tell" EVERY show & tell throughout kindergarten). I think it's due to this fact that my memory is as keen as it is (although there's a lot I wish I could forget). I knew that words, and the ability to manipulate them, was a powerful talent to possess. Words can get you what you want, they can transport you to different realities and they can tear a person apart from the inside out.

The thing about writing though, at least when it comes to writing ones own experiences and viewpoints, is that there IS no illuminated path to follow towards an ultimate predisposed destination. You can only write about the past or the present, and there's not much point in writing about the present (or more accurately, it's not really possible), so that leaves you with the past. Whether it's 20 years ago or 20 hours ago, its already happened and there's nothing more you CAN do but document it. You just have to be careful not to get hung up on or attempt to live in it - this will only cause your present to be put on pause resulting in a future not worth looking back upon, much less drowning in.

Sometimes I look back on my old diaries and wish I could reassure my past self that whatever was causing me to hurt would eventually cease. That the heartbreak of losing a hamster or losing a lover would subside. That time would pass, no matter how slowly it may seem to at the moment, and before I knew it I'd be an "adult" who should know better - but still doesn't. That I should just enjoy the present because eventually it will only be a memory, something to write about, and who wants a book full of long ago pain, no matter how trivial it will eventually become (or how well tragedy sells)?

I wish I could go back and tell that little girl this.

I wish my future self would come back and tell me this.

Even if she does still have a stuffed animal to keep her company.

Copycat Stock Photo

Copycat 2009

'Cause If I Remembered, It Wouldn't Have Happened

Drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness.
~Seneca

The worst part of blacking out isn't forgetting everything that's transpired during those lost hours -no, if anything, that's the forgiving part. The worst part is that everyone else remembers. At best, you'll have walked into some doors, had a conversation with a plant and fallen asleep in the bathtub. These are the type of blackout nights where the only repercussions are being the punchline of a few recurring jokes and possibly a sore neck (next time, try to remember the bath mat is more comfortable).

These are also the types of blackouts which distinguish "us" from "them". A normal (smart? Responsible? Sane?) drinker would see this as an eye opening occurance and make it a point to never let themselves get That Way again. It'd be a story retold for years, laughed about and chalked up as an experience. "You haven't lived till...!".

Then there's the rest of us. Or rather, just "us" since I guess this category would put us in the minority here. For us, waking up and being told the worst thing we did was talk to a plant would be a sigh of relief. A neck pain would be all but expected. No major bruises? No swollen fingers (did I punch something...one?)? I'm wearing all articles of clothing and that's not an unfamiliar ceiling I'm staring at? Awesome. So, what bar do you guys want to hit up tonight? Are the liquor stores delivering yet? And so it goes.

Then the bad nights happen. The nights of narrowly being missed by ongoing traffic, of sleeping on friend's doorsteps, of losing panties in bar bathrooms and going home with strangers. Or so you learn the next morning. When the question isn't "did we have sex?" (although you'll ask that as well) but rather "did we use protection?".

It's the mornings of waking up in your own bed (thank God, thank God, thank God) but having a multitude of angry text messages from friends informing you of how ridiculous you were acting. That is, assuming your phone made it home with you at all. It's waking up and being told your behavior the night before, whether you remember it or not, has made someone important no longer want you to be a part of their life.

I'm not sure when the slip from 'being there' to simply...not, occurs exactly. If I did, I guess that would solve the problem. If I did, then the list of drunken nights I've blacked out, to some degree, wouldn't be longer than the list of those I hadn't. Sometimes I can recognize when I'm starting to lose awareness. I realize I'd slipped for a moment but have now returned to regain my mind, body and actions. If I'm lucky, this occurs around 4am or when the bottles are empty and I'm all but forced to "cut myself off". Usually though, I haven't made it that far and it just seems easier to wave the white flag of defeat, step back (from my mind, not the bar) and wish myself good luck. One day it may be "good bye" and my consciousness will have done nothing more than abandon a sinking ship.

But hey, I'm only an alcoholic when I drink, right? Right? I get funnier after a drink or two...I get even funnier after YOU'VE had a drink or two.

Ha...

¡Feliz Dia de los Muertos!

Halloween is around the corner. Everywhere I turn people are talking about the East Village parade, what clubs and bars will be hopping, their roommate's sister's house party, but most importantly what it is they're going to be this year. Because since before we could walk, someone was putting us in a pumpkin costume or a clown suit (trust me, I have proof) and telling us how cute we looked dressed up as not ourselves. Halloween is when it's a-OK to don the fishnet thigh-hi's, the giant diaper or be the violent superhero your mother forbid years ago. It's a day to be someone whom you'd never get to be in "real" life. Different name, different face, different persona.

How exciting.

24 hours from now I'll be on a plane which has just left Laguardia en route to Mazatlan, Mexico. This is less of a vacation and more of a necessity for myself. There won't be any rabbit ears or colored wigs packed in my suitcase, and I don't plan on ingesting a single fun sized candy bar. Just like the last four, I'll vow to attend the parade next Halloween. Next year. It's not as though I don't enjoy dressing up. Playing a part, being someone else. It's not as though I don't already own all the makings for at least four costumes (last year I got to be a [sexy] bunny, a [sexy] witch, a [sexy] cowgirl AND a [sexy] nurse - go me). Nevertheless, this Halloween I'll get to just be 'me'. And it's almost a relief. Actually, it just is.

Sometimes it can be really confusing to remember who that person is. That I like to read books and figure out Sudoku puzzles. I like to spend hours on allrecipes.com and plan out the perfect multi course meal. I'd rather walk than take a cab, and I can imitate Blue from Blue's Clues perfectly. Every now and then I'm even capable of writing something worth reading. Those are all the 'me' things I forget at times. Cause there's nothing too intriguing about my fastest puzzle time (4:07...told you) and hearing about carrot fritters won't make your heart race. Sometimes it's that much easier to play dress up and "let's pretend" 365 days out of the year, rather than just one. So I figure as a change of pace, this Halloween I'll just be 'me'. 'Me' in Mexico, sipping an alcoholic beverage whilst tanning by the pool, but it's a start, right?

Next year though, I swear I'm going to make it to that damn parade!

Don't Send Your Mother To Hell Just Yet

My mother has a Facebook.

I'm not sure why this surprises me at all. After all, even my dog has a Facebook. In fact, my mom and my dog are friends with one another on Facebook (even though they've never met in actual face-to-face terms - gotta love the internet). As for myself, well, I'm a 24 year old adult. I haven't lived with my mother in a very long time and while we're not as close as maybe I'd want to be, there's no hostility or anything. So, of course when I logged on to Facebook and saw that I had a new friend request, and upon opening that link seeing that this new friend request was from the very woman who'd birthed me, I did what any mature intelligent adult would do.

I left her in Facebook purgatory.

Now, for anyone not familiar with this term, Facebook purgatory basically refers to when you neither accept nor decline a friend request. This way, the option of acceptance is always still present, rather than declining and possibly regretting this decision further down the line, only to have to return the friend request, thus proving you'd declined them in the past (and again...gotta love the internet).

I think one of the reasons I haven't accepted my mother's friendship request is because...well...she isn't my friend. I remember noticing the lack of closeness we have for one another as early as the first day of kindergarten (how old are we then? Five?). I remember watching other children cling to their mother's waists while I wondered what the big deal was - after all, I'd been attending nursery school since I was three, my parents would go on week long vacations since long before that, so I knew the drill at this point. The other kids seemed to be receiving a lot of attention for these actions though so I started to whine and put my scrunched up game face on but before I could get through my first sentence, my mother leaned down and essentially told me to shut up or I was going to be smacked. Fine, whatever, you can't bullshit a bullshitter. I could deal with that.

And that's how it went ever since, really. Throughout grade school I recall being envious of my girl friend's relations with their own moms. Eating countless dinner's at various kitchen tables with other people's families. Being given the birds & the bees talk via a shoebox filled with a typed up letter and various packages and books left on my bed. Watching season after season, year after year, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dawson's Creek on our couch together just so that we'd have something to talk about, something we shared.

Do I think my mother was a bad mom? Yes, completely and 100%. Do I hold anything against her for this? No, not really. That's just who she is. She's not a bad person, and nothing she did was necessarily wrong. Just not the way most people would do things.

A little while back, I was asked what kind of mother I thought I would be. If I would raise my own children the way my mother raised myself. I answered that despite realizing the faults in my own upbringing, I'd more than likely carry them on to my own kids. Raising them with a detached hand, hiring housekeepers and Au Pairs (live in nannies) to do the job for me. It wasn't an answer given much thought or seriousness. After all, at the moment I'm 24 years old, broke and in debt, barely able to support my four legged "children" adopted off the street, much less an actual other human being. I don't see many Au Pairs in my future, except maybe as my own colleges.

There's no way to really know until you're in that position as a mother. My own mom sacrificed a lot, namely her own career and dreams, in order to give my brother and I the life which we had. And like I said, I don't hold it against her...I just leave her in purgatory. Which ultimately, is not where I'd want to be in my own children's future. I'd like them to think of me, and want me to be, more than just a friend of their dog's.

Subconsciously Motivated Natural Instinct

"He who controls the present, controls the past.
He who controls the past, controls the future."
-George Orwell

Control is such a scary concept. Besides getting here in the first place, the fact you were even born despite the infinity amount of odds working against you (don't ever say you've never won the lottery) there's not much in a person's own life which they don't control partially or entirely (for the sake of this article, let's assume if you're capable of reading this then these concepts pretty much apply - and oh! Look! Your lottery jackpot just got bigger!).

In today's society we've developed, and are forever working towards, ways to control the few remaining uncontrollable aspects of our lives. Aging? Pssht, what of it? Botox is nothing compared to how far we'll eventually take this goal, I'm sure. The Twilight Zone touched upon this concept numerous times, most notably in the episode Number 12 Looks Just Like You. I won't go crazy into details, but essentially it's about a transformation everyone is expected -required- to undergo at age 19 which makes them "beautiful" (a.k.a. like everyone else) and capable of extending their life time by hundreds of years due to immunity defenses. Doesn't sound like such an implausible feat anymore.

Besides these limited control examples, it is greatly debated when a person should be deemed responsible for their own actions, or in control of their own life, but in my own personal experience and belief this begins at a very young age.

According to William Glasser's Control Theory (hey, the disclaimer is right there on the side bar - I told you I feel as though everything has already been written about, so these are just my own viewpoints) the three components that dictate how a person behaves in an attempt to control their life are what they do, what they think and what they feel. I think even that is giving us more credit than we deserve. Cause really, all it comes down to is what we do. Actions speak louder than words (thoughts) and feelings can be indescribable so thought processes reign over feelings (sad, but true. I think it should be the other way around in terms of thoughts and feelings...and maybe that's my basic problem. The Beatles had it right.).

So here we all are, existing in our own worlds that we control completely, and god DAMN is that overwhelming. Everyone deals with this in a different way. They devote themselves to their career. To their lover. They collect 5,760 Rooster statuettes. Or they don't deal at all. Which IS their way. Psychosomatic illness, alcohol addiction and other radical rebellions against our own responsibilities and sabotages of our own thoughts and feelings are synonymous with "not dealing" which eventually results in the illusion of no longer retaining control. Cause sure, maybe that 1/2 bottle of vodka went straight to your head (go figure) and you DID give up your ability to control your actions...temporarily. The next morning, the next week, the next lifetime is still in your own hands.

Which is why I've always had a problem with any type of program based on the 12 steps - The first of which says we are powerless over what plagues us (I don't want to get stuck in an AA mind frame, so don't assume this has to be a substance) and that our lives have become unmanageable. It says when you give up control your life will become easier...but wasn't that the initial problem??? If anything, I think it's when you feel as though your life has become unmanageable, you should STEP UP (sorry 12 step program, no pun intended) and reclaim your actions, thoughts, feelings...and control.

I Wanna Scream "I Love You" From The Top Of My Lungs

I have a confession to make.

I'm in love.

Sure, we have our fights, our disagreements, even our periods of separation (everyone needs a break, absence makes the heart grow fonder, all that good stuff). Sometimes I feel I'm only being used for my money (but then I remember I don't have any) or possibly my looks, but they don't even seem to notice on my worst days. Or if they do? They don't care :). Sometimes they think I'm too passionate and extreme. But then they realize if I weren't, I couldn't handle them, either. And I wouldn't be me. I love them despite the arguments with cabbies, the countless (seriously) lost phones, the hour long subway rides, the forgotten nights.

We have fun no matter what we do. With others, or just the two of us. Whether it be listening to music or drinking on the pier...in the park...at Sunday brunch...at bars...parties...OK, so we both definitely share an affinity for Happy Hours [and I think any hour is worth being happy ;) ] but we're always forgiving to one another for the drunken messes which occasionally take place. And it's not all about the alcohol. It's about the sunrises and long walks (even if its raining), the people watching and all the damn too-cute-for words dogs (anyone who pays attention to my Facebook mobile uploads knows how true this one is!). The insightful conversations and openness to teach and be taught. The fact each day together is like a play date and the feeling we're the center of the world (cause in a sense, we are.). That I can wear anything from pajama pants to mini skirts and it's perfectly acceptable.

I love them for the comedy shows, the not so comedic shows and the museums we've yet to attend, simply because that means there's always something to look forward to with them. A new movie, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, even a chili and chocolate festival.

And that's what makes them different from all my past relations. Besides the fact they're nothing like what I grew up surrounded by, what I thought I couldn't do without. Looking back, I don't even know what I saw in my past. Like I said, this is different. I never tire of them. There's something comforting about the familiarity. And exciting that there's still so much more to learn. As damaging as they can be, I still feel safe. Despite what others may think (some people think I'm stupid and in over my head, others tell me they're jealous, but either way it doesn't matter), and even if I were to go a different direction for a time, I'm sure that ultimately I'll end up right back with them. They're addictive and I'm addicted. They make me forget about my problems (although occasionally they ARE the problem, such is life) and put a smile on my face just thinking about them.

They've taught me so much about myself, and helped me grow in a way that couldn't have happened had our lives not crossed. I can only hope I bring as much to the table as they do. Or that they'll at least want me at my best, of course, but still want me even at my worst.

I just had to get this off my chest. I'm in love. And New York City will forever have my heart. (And Carrie Bradshaw, back off, it's mine).

Are IPods Ruining Our Social Life?

Hey editor, I'm undeniable!
Hey doctor, I'm certifiable!

I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine
What a match, I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet

So boycott love
Detox just to retox
And I'd promise you anything for another shot at life
Imperfect boys with their perfect lives
Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

Just part of my own chosen life soundtrack while sitting on the subway today. Of course the guy sitting next to me, the one bobbing his head and tapping his foot is more likely listening to something along the lines of Kanye or Jay-Z (OK, so there was a little stereotyping involved there, taking into account his fitted hat and gold chain...Oops. Maybe it's Miley Cyrus streaming through his headphones. That's besides the point).

The point is, the vast majority of us are spending more and more time lost in our own thoughts and heads (and Ipods) just waiting for someone to find us, but we're not making it very easy for them.

A couple of years ago, before I myself became one of the isolated music listening, dark sunglasses wearing type of person I'm talking about, I remember reading a book on the subway ( something I regrettably rarely do anymore ) and a guy took it upon himself to start up a conversation with me, using the book I was reading as an ice breaker. The book happened to be (OK, honestly I can't find the title/author of the book at the moment) Obviously it wasn't that memorable...but essentially it was about a British woman who was able to get a book deal writing about her own dating experiences resulting from the personal ads on Craigslist.

...

Yea, not much comment on that fact in general. And no, I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. Unless of course that type of thing interests you. In which case I could rummage it out of a box filled with forgotten "keepsakes" and you can borrow have it.

But anyway, this led to him talking about the 'missed connections' section on Craigslist (for those not in the know - firstly, cheers and here's a cookie. Secondly, it's an area on Craigslist where people send out creepy postings along the lines of "You - Wearing a mauve dress. Long blond hair. Me - Suit and tie. Carrying a briefcase. We locked eyes immediately prior to you getting into a cab on 46th St and Lexington Ave. Have been thinking about you ever since. Please respond".)

Like I said, creepy.

I couldn't tell you any more about this guy other than the fact he'd been sitting on my right hand side. Age, race, build, facial features, nada. Just the conversation and that his last words as he got off at his stop were "Who knows, maybe you'll be my missed connection" and the fact I'll forever remember this conversation.

But that was then. Nowadays, I see (and use) those plugged in wires as a person's silent (loud?) way of telling the world "leave me alone".

Yesterday there was a girl - Kimberly, according to her multicolored bracelet - standing next to me on the 4 train. It amused me that here was someone who I'd never exchange a word with, yet I knew her name and could make an educated guess that her favorite color was green based upon her nail polish and I Phone cover connected to her -you guessed it- headphones.

For those of you Heroes watchers, maybe Emma has already come to your mind. Emma is deaf. Rather than have to deal with strangers inquiring about directions, asking her the time, or just starting up a conversation with her in general only to eventually realize she's deaf and give the 'required' smile and nod of sympathy, Emma wears headphones. Again, the universal "fuck off, world" accessory. Sometimes she accidentally leaves the dangling plug in plain view. But most people don't even notice.

So what am I saying? Am I saying that music is impeding our ability to actually interact with others in ways which would have been natural 10 years ago? Possibly. Or maybe I'm saying that some people should be left on the subway. After all, Mommy always said not to talk to strangers (or at least one of the many Au Pairs did).

It's OK To Throw Out Your Crystal Ball.

What goes around comes around. Three-fold law. Karma. The common denominator between ideas like this is that your actions in life and towards others will effect the outcome of your own future. Cheat and be cheated on. Steal and get stolen from. Lie and be lied to. Only worse. But this isn't so much because you did that one thing which caused that other one thing to happen. It's more just the type of people you interact with, or environment you put yourself in to result in being hurt yourself in the end.

You can say someone who has led their life selling drugs, ripping people off, lying, and so on and so forth who eventually meets their own demise via overdose did so due to Karma. But I think it's more the (karma induced) painful life they were leading DUE to selling drugs, ripping people off, lying and so on and so forth and resulting own self hatred which led them to eventually OD on the very substance they hurt so many people in the process of obtaining. That's more irony. Which is for a totally different entry.

Or, of course, there's the better side which most people don't think about when they use terms such as karma. Take in a stray dog off the street, and you'll be blessed with a loyal and loving friend for years. Give up your seat on the subway for someone who needs it more (they don't have to be pregnant or elderly, sometimes it's obvious a person's internal baggage is weighing them down more than they can handle), not only will you receive a gracious smile (hopefully - and if not then that other person's own Karma just took a dip) but you'll also just feel better about yourself in general, knowing that you did the right thing.

I think it's the better side of Karma which people should learn to focus more upon. Even if it IS for the "selfish" reason of feeling better about yourself. Who cares? As long as you don't expect recognition for the things you do, big or small, you'll more often than not be pleasantly surprised when you receive it after all. Not to mention the more people who practice this, the better the world would be as a whole.

And then there's intuition. Intuition is what I believe people such as Psychics and Spiritualists possess. Which is not to say that they're able to see the future...kind of. It's more that hightened intuition gives one the ability to look at the same scenario and see it for what it really is, more so than the average person. They're able to pick up on the little things that most people would miss. And yes, to have that "sixth sense" of sometimes unexplainable thoughts or feelings about something or someone. So it's not so much the ability to see the future...but more the ability to know how events will pan out based upon the parties involved or just...that feeling. Hmm...and after rereading that last sentence, maybe it's intuition which would help a person read that and understand the difference.

While it helps to possess this trait, it can hinder a person as well. Because while it's easy enough to decipher the problems and situations in another person's life, it's when the problem's and situation's are ones own that the gut feelings can be ignored, the little things missed and better judgment based on hindsight (which isn't even intuition at this point, only factual evidence) dispelled. And then you're left with the how did I not see this coming? thought process which is counteracted with how did I let this happen to me...and ignore what I did see?

Ignorance is bliss until it isn't which is why it is.

To sum it up, all these concepts and phrases have the ability to ultimately either control your life and the directions it goes, if you believe in such things...or control your life and the directions it goes, if you don't believe in such things. Or that's the belief, at least ;)