Today I met Ricky Martin. Five words I never thought I would be able to say and yet on this momentous day, November 3, 2010, I have done just that. It all started with an email, (seems to be a recurring theme in my life when life altering events are involved; my husband and I were brought together by one little email, it's true). So I received this Borders Books email on Monday and didn't discover it until Tuesday afternoon, less than 24 hours before this event was to take place. Ricky's memoir ME came out yesterday and to promote it, he was having a book signing at the Borders at Time Warner Center today. Well, I saw that email and was beside myself since this bookstore happens to be a mere two blocks from my place of business. OMG!!! I was suddenly 12 years old again and Menudo was like the most amazing musical group in existence. Here was my opportunity to meet my childhood idol and I was not about to pass up a day 26 years overdue. The short version? I bought the book yesterday afternoon, stood on line this morning at 8:00 (I am usually just rolling out of bed at this hour! yet I have to be at work at 9, needless to say, I am late to work, A LOT), with my pal Lola, got a wristband, and went to work.
Four hours later I was standing face to face with the man whose music I grew up listening to and adored, the man who rocked the world with his revelation that he was a "fortunate homosexual man" on March 29, 2010, and the man that I had watched on Oprah (another idol of mine) just the day before! Yeah...I would like to say I was cool as a cucumber when I walked up to that table and stuck my hand out to say "Nice to meet you", but I was not. The moment I shook his hand I spazzed, began blinking uncontrollably, my voice was as wobbly as my knees. I was utterly starstruck and a complete mess. I was so shaken I could barely speak. The whole thing mercifully lasted about three or four seconds. I got my handshake and his autograph, but he looked concerned that I appeared to be having a stroke before his very eyes. It was over before I could redeem myself and we were quickly ushered away from the area and that was that. What I took away from my brief brush with greatness was that he seemed genuine, genuinely happy to be there joking and laughing with everyone. His smile was real, there was nothing forced or contrived about his nature and it was pretty great to see that he was the same individual in person that you see on TV. He has this energy surrounding him and it is more than just the fact he is famous. It is the type of energy that radiates from within. It is infectious as evidenced by all of the people who showed up today to bask in that glow. This is more than just a gush from a fan, it is real, it is tangible and I can only hope to one day be able to meet him once more if for no other reason than to show him I CAN TOO!! string a coherent sentence together...
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
A Little Revenge and a Whole Lotta Crazy
I don't care what anyone says, we have all at one point or another wanted to be mean or do something outright evil to someone who deserved it. I would be the first to admit that if someone crosses me, I mean really crosses me and makes a victim out of me, things will get ugly. I am not proud of this, I am merely stating a fact. I grew up Catholic, so it was all about turning the other cheek, do unto others as you would have them do unto you, etc...you get where I am going with this. However, while some may take the unpleasantness they have been subjected to and turn it into a life lesson and something they learn and grow from, I take a turn at "Enraged", hang a left at the corner of "Not Having it" and "Hell Mothafucking No You Didn't" and end up at my local precinct.
There is a whoooole lot of crazy up in here and I don't tend to unleash it often, it takes some pretty dire circumstances for me to lose my shit and let my diabolical side take over. And only one time have I (in the other person's opinion-certainly not mine), taken things too far. If there is anything I hate more than a liar, it is a man who lies to me. You know the kind of gutter trash I am talking about. The one who promises you the sun, stars, moon and universe, and assures you it will happen at some unclear not too distant point in the future when he finally leaves the woman he has been in a relationship with for 8 years. Hmmmm. Now of course, immediately I am not going to be immediately perceived as the victim at this point since I was at the time knowingly involved with someone who was already in a relationship. Well, in my defense let me just say that I was 26, a single mother who was feeling lonely and going through more than my share of hardships emotionally. I was at probably my lowest point that I had ever been up until then. My self esteem was non-existent and it may sound like I am making excuses but this dude came at me with everything I needed to hear, how beautiful I was, how he couldn't believe I was single and how amazing I was. It did wonders for my ego, to be so worshipped and I selfishly wanted him for myself, no matter that there was already someone else in the picture. Needless to say, from the beginning it progressed like some outrageously bad Lifetime movie where he threw every cliche in the book at me, and I despite having seen the movies and read the books knowing how all of those stories turned out, fucking fell for it. His word was gospel and I became so brainwashed that when my friends tried to interfere I dismissed their concerns unable to face the reality of my situation. Then he said those three little words "I love you" and I was lost. He began to promise me and my son a future. A future where we could live our lives out loud and not have to resort to three minute phone calls or sneaking around. I was so wrapped up in all of the bullshit, I did not see that a year and a half had gone by and nothing had changed despite his repeated promises that he was going to leave her because he didn't love her, he loved me....blah, blah, blah...
Well about six months before it actually ended, I tried to break up with him for all of the obvious reasons. However, he did not want to let me go and would call me and beg me not to do this, to give him a little more time and I inevitably relented. I woke up one morning six months later, a year away from turning 30 and no closer to the end of waiting for him to piss on the pot or get off. I called him and asked him to meet me for lunch downtown which he did nearly everyday anyway. And at our appointed time, I met him we walked to the Public Atrium on Wall St. where I proceeded to lay into him and tell him what a worthless piece of shit I really thought he was along with a few other choice words. There was no doubt this was it, it was over. All he said when I was done was, "I'm sorry". I felt numb, devoid of any thought or emotion. That's it? He wastes two years of my life with his bullshit and all I get is a lame ass "I'm sorry"??? I walked with him back to the train station and surprisingly I felt no sadness, no loss. I was angry. He went down the stairs and disappeared into the train station. No doubt breathing a sigh of relief that it was over. I however must admit my resolve faltered a bit and what triggered my crazy in the end was the fact that I had called him several times after that day to talk and he never answered the phone nor called me back. Ultimately I know that I came off stalkerish and psycho, but I had just had my heart broken AGAIN and I had been made a fool of AGAIN, and this time I was not just going to go gently into that good night, no fucking way. I enlisted my fellow nutcase, "Nutty" and together we hatched a plot so diabolical, to this day when I tell that story, people's jaws drop.
Some women can be ditched and just suck it up and move on with their lives, mourning the relationship in private, taking care that the "ex" never be aware just how wrecked they are inside. I used to do that too...Fuck that. Now someone fucks me over, it's on like Donkey Kong. Crazy? Psycho? Yes and Yes. But I don't care about how I look to others, in this case I only cared that I was hurt and humiliated by someone I trusted. Nutty was the only one who stuck by me in my quest for revenge. My other girlfriends tried to talk me out of it, saying that all I was doing was showing him importance he didn't deserve and showing that he still has me "like that" so much that I am willing to go off the deep end because of it. To me, I wasn't trying to hear all that noise. I pressed ahead and with the help of Nutty's computer, I took his picture and plastered it over "our story" which chronicled our relationship from beginning to end including all the lies he told me to make me believe we had a future. When we were done, it looked like a WANTED poster of sorts. It started with bold 18 pt font that screamed WOMEN OF (THE TOWN'S NAME) BEWARE. One weekend soon after it ended, Nutty and I rented a car and went down to his neighborhood in the middle of the night and waited until it was good and late and basically wallpapered his entire neighborhood with this poster. After we got one on everyone's car up and down the block, we drove over to where he gets his coffee and paper on Sundays and left a ton of them there as well. We also drove over to a mutual friend's block which was nearby and left some there too. When we were done, we got in the car, laughed all the way home and waited for all hell to break loose.
Our mutual friend called the next day asking me what had I done? Apparently what's his face was pissed! My response was, "He shouldn't have lied to me, he got what he deserved". My friend laughed and promised never to double cross me. I felt a little cheated in that I didn't get to see his reaction when he saw all of those posters everywhere. I would have paid money to see it! But I had the extreme satisfaction of knowing I had stuck it to him and that would have to be enough.
It did not end there. It would seem he was very angry about what I had done, so angry in fact that he had taken the matter to the police who called me and asked me politely to come in, but I was also told that if I did not show up, they would come and get me. So I showed up alright. I took Jordan who was 2 and a half by then, my friend Antonella and her daughter who was 3, and Nutty came with her boyfriend. So when I rolled up into Manhattan South with an entourage and the detective who was going to question me saw us, he just shook his head and said, "Oh my God". He asked everyone to step outside and took me into a room which had probably seen criminals much more hardened than myself. He threw a black plastic bag on the table full of my flyers and I laughed. He didn't think it was all that funny. He asked me "Are you responsible for this?" and I said "Yes I am, he deserved it." The detective said he believed that judging from my looks vs. that of my former beau and I took it as a compliment nevertheless he informed me that my actions had earned me one count of aggravated harassment and some other shit, since I used a Xerox machine to commit my crime and was essentially defaced city property by putting up the flyers. I told him it was not libel because what I had written was true. The cop said that it didn't matter, what I did was still illegal. He fingerprinted me, had me smile big for my mugshot and I waited and waited until my prints cleared all 50 states before I was finallly released. The cop was a really pleasant guy who did everything he could to make me comfortable. He told me he hoped I had learned my lesson in dealing with assholes. He called the douchebag, "a pussy" for pressing charges against me for something he so clearly brought upon himself.
I went on my way, with a court date to follow. On the appointed day, I showed up and the asshole didn't so charges were dropped and the officer had said that if I keep my nose clean and stay out of trouble for six months straight, my record would be wiped clean.
I am sure that his intention was to "fix my wagon" for doing what I did and scare me from continuing to "harass" him. What he didn't know was that I no longer needed to do anything to hurt him beyond what I had already done. I got the revenge I wanted and he got what was coming to him. It was a win-win...for me anyway.
There is a whoooole lot of crazy up in here and I don't tend to unleash it often, it takes some pretty dire circumstances for me to lose my shit and let my diabolical side take over. And only one time have I (in the other person's opinion-certainly not mine), taken things too far. If there is anything I hate more than a liar, it is a man who lies to me. You know the kind of gutter trash I am talking about. The one who promises you the sun, stars, moon and universe, and assures you it will happen at some unclear not too distant point in the future when he finally leaves the woman he has been in a relationship with for 8 years. Hmmmm. Now of course, immediately I am not going to be immediately perceived as the victim at this point since I was at the time knowingly involved with someone who was already in a relationship. Well, in my defense let me just say that I was 26, a single mother who was feeling lonely and going through more than my share of hardships emotionally. I was at probably my lowest point that I had ever been up until then. My self esteem was non-existent and it may sound like I am making excuses but this dude came at me with everything I needed to hear, how beautiful I was, how he couldn't believe I was single and how amazing I was. It did wonders for my ego, to be so worshipped and I selfishly wanted him for myself, no matter that there was already someone else in the picture. Needless to say, from the beginning it progressed like some outrageously bad Lifetime movie where he threw every cliche in the book at me, and I despite having seen the movies and read the books knowing how all of those stories turned out, fucking fell for it. His word was gospel and I became so brainwashed that when my friends tried to interfere I dismissed their concerns unable to face the reality of my situation. Then he said those three little words "I love you" and I was lost. He began to promise me and my son a future. A future where we could live our lives out loud and not have to resort to three minute phone calls or sneaking around. I was so wrapped up in all of the bullshit, I did not see that a year and a half had gone by and nothing had changed despite his repeated promises that he was going to leave her because he didn't love her, he loved me....blah, blah, blah...
Well about six months before it actually ended, I tried to break up with him for all of the obvious reasons. However, he did not want to let me go and would call me and beg me not to do this, to give him a little more time and I inevitably relented. I woke up one morning six months later, a year away from turning 30 and no closer to the end of waiting for him to piss on the pot or get off. I called him and asked him to meet me for lunch downtown which he did nearly everyday anyway. And at our appointed time, I met him we walked to the Public Atrium on Wall St. where I proceeded to lay into him and tell him what a worthless piece of shit I really thought he was along with a few other choice words. There was no doubt this was it, it was over. All he said when I was done was, "I'm sorry". I felt numb, devoid of any thought or emotion. That's it? He wastes two years of my life with his bullshit and all I get is a lame ass "I'm sorry"??? I walked with him back to the train station and surprisingly I felt no sadness, no loss. I was angry. He went down the stairs and disappeared into the train station. No doubt breathing a sigh of relief that it was over. I however must admit my resolve faltered a bit and what triggered my crazy in the end was the fact that I had called him several times after that day to talk and he never answered the phone nor called me back. Ultimately I know that I came off stalkerish and psycho, but I had just had my heart broken AGAIN and I had been made a fool of AGAIN, and this time I was not just going to go gently into that good night, no fucking way. I enlisted my fellow nutcase, "Nutty" and together we hatched a plot so diabolical, to this day when I tell that story, people's jaws drop.
Some women can be ditched and just suck it up and move on with their lives, mourning the relationship in private, taking care that the "ex" never be aware just how wrecked they are inside. I used to do that too...Fuck that. Now someone fucks me over, it's on like Donkey Kong. Crazy? Psycho? Yes and Yes. But I don't care about how I look to others, in this case I only cared that I was hurt and humiliated by someone I trusted. Nutty was the only one who stuck by me in my quest for revenge. My other girlfriends tried to talk me out of it, saying that all I was doing was showing him importance he didn't deserve and showing that he still has me "like that" so much that I am willing to go off the deep end because of it. To me, I wasn't trying to hear all that noise. I pressed ahead and with the help of Nutty's computer, I took his picture and plastered it over "our story" which chronicled our relationship from beginning to end including all the lies he told me to make me believe we had a future. When we were done, it looked like a WANTED poster of sorts. It started with bold 18 pt font that screamed WOMEN OF (THE TOWN'S NAME) BEWARE. One weekend soon after it ended, Nutty and I rented a car and went down to his neighborhood in the middle of the night and waited until it was good and late and basically wallpapered his entire neighborhood with this poster. After we got one on everyone's car up and down the block, we drove over to where he gets his coffee and paper on Sundays and left a ton of them there as well. We also drove over to a mutual friend's block which was nearby and left some there too. When we were done, we got in the car, laughed all the way home and waited for all hell to break loose.
Our mutual friend called the next day asking me what had I done? Apparently what's his face was pissed! My response was, "He shouldn't have lied to me, he got what he deserved". My friend laughed and promised never to double cross me. I felt a little cheated in that I didn't get to see his reaction when he saw all of those posters everywhere. I would have paid money to see it! But I had the extreme satisfaction of knowing I had stuck it to him and that would have to be enough.
It did not end there. It would seem he was very angry about what I had done, so angry in fact that he had taken the matter to the police who called me and asked me politely to come in, but I was also told that if I did not show up, they would come and get me. So I showed up alright. I took Jordan who was 2 and a half by then, my friend Antonella and her daughter who was 3, and Nutty came with her boyfriend. So when I rolled up into Manhattan South with an entourage and the detective who was going to question me saw us, he just shook his head and said, "Oh my God". He asked everyone to step outside and took me into a room which had probably seen criminals much more hardened than myself. He threw a black plastic bag on the table full of my flyers and I laughed. He didn't think it was all that funny. He asked me "Are you responsible for this?" and I said "Yes I am, he deserved it." The detective said he believed that judging from my looks vs. that of my former beau and I took it as a compliment nevertheless he informed me that my actions had earned me one count of aggravated harassment and some other shit, since I used a Xerox machine to commit my crime and was essentially defaced city property by putting up the flyers. I told him it was not libel because what I had written was true. The cop said that it didn't matter, what I did was still illegal. He fingerprinted me, had me smile big for my mugshot and I waited and waited until my prints cleared all 50 states before I was finallly released. The cop was a really pleasant guy who did everything he could to make me comfortable. He told me he hoped I had learned my lesson in dealing with assholes. He called the douchebag, "a pussy" for pressing charges against me for something he so clearly brought upon himself.
I went on my way, with a court date to follow. On the appointed day, I showed up and the asshole didn't so charges were dropped and the officer had said that if I keep my nose clean and stay out of trouble for six months straight, my record would be wiped clean.
I am sure that his intention was to "fix my wagon" for doing what I did and scare me from continuing to "harass" him. What he didn't know was that I no longer needed to do anything to hurt him beyond what I had already done. I got the revenge I wanted and he got what was coming to him. It was a win-win...for me anyway.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Hello? Is There Anybody Out There?
I haven't written in five days. It feels like an eternity to me, but I have been in a funk the past few days so I guess that is the main reason why, along with the chaos of life a full time job, three kids and a husband (no partridge in a pear tree though) I have had almost no time. It is genuinely next to impossible trying to sit down and focus when one or both of my little ones are interrupting me with some crisis or other every five minutes. Like the Barney DVD is over and Chloe, my three year old daughter nearly has a nervous breakdown because I have not immediately dropped what I am doing to go press play on the player for her. Any activity is difficult with constant interruptions, writing especially and especially when no one but your friends are reading your posts. Then I start to think, if I really wanted to get down to it, who am I writing for? For myself, first and foremost of course, because God knows I love the sound of my own voice and blogging gives me the golden opportunity to ramble my ass off as much as I want and there is no one out there to shut me up or better yet, interrupt! However, that is also not such a great thing for it means my readership is virtually non-existent, save for my trusty pal Squishy Kuma. So in the great vast unknown that is cyberspace can anybody hear me?
Lately between bouts of despair and distractions, I have been making somewhat of an effort to write more in order to have something concrete to submit to whoever is willing to read my stuff and publish me. Until then I am on my own to try to establish a link between my blog where I have decided to start, and the outside world. If I have no followers, then essentially as much as I may be writing, I have no blog. It's like that old saying, "If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one to hear it, does it make a sound?" If I am writing but no one sees my work, can I call myself a writer?" I believe the answer is yes. Mostly because thinking the answer might be no, could discourage me from pursuing this lifelong dream on the cusp of turning forty. Whether I am writing here, on my stationary at work, I am always doing it with the idea in mind that at some point in the very near future all of my work will pay off. And there are nights when the planets align just right, the kids are asleep at a decent hour, all is quiet and I settle down with my laptop. The conditions for some massive productivity could not be more perfect and then comes my second biggest problem in writing. What the fuck do I say?? I buckle down and say "I WILL WRITE" and it's almost like trying to shit when you're constipated. You can't. You feel like you have to go, and you strain and strain, but nothing comes out. Trying to force myself to write is a lot like that and almost as painful. And sometimes I even end up feeling sweaty and feverish afterwards. I know, not the most appealing analogy, but it is what comes closest to how I feel when I try to make the words come. At the risk of sounding like a whiny four-year old, I hate hate hate that feeling and it really sucks. Sometimes I ramble on and on and that is probably easiest to do because I can throw together whatever is in my head at the moment, then go back to attempt to make sense out of it all later. But I live for the days when my inner skies open, words rain down, and I fall in love with the art of the written word all over again. It is these moments when I am happy to be so productive. Even if it's only those closest to me who will see. By the same token, I would soooo be lying if I said being followed by people I actually don't know isn't that big of a deal to me. It is a VERY. BIG. DEAL. I want what every aspiring writer wants, to be seen, acknowledged and praised for work brilliantly done. Surely that is not too much to ask for...is it? to be continued...
Lately between bouts of despair and distractions, I have been making somewhat of an effort to write more in order to have something concrete to submit to whoever is willing to read my stuff and publish me. Until then I am on my own to try to establish a link between my blog where I have decided to start, and the outside world. If I have no followers, then essentially as much as I may be writing, I have no blog. It's like that old saying, "If a tree falls in the forest and there is no one to hear it, does it make a sound?" If I am writing but no one sees my work, can I call myself a writer?" I believe the answer is yes. Mostly because thinking the answer might be no, could discourage me from pursuing this lifelong dream on the cusp of turning forty. Whether I am writing here, on my stationary at work, I am always doing it with the idea in mind that at some point in the very near future all of my work will pay off. And there are nights when the planets align just right, the kids are asleep at a decent hour, all is quiet and I settle down with my laptop. The conditions for some massive productivity could not be more perfect and then comes my second biggest problem in writing. What the fuck do I say?? I buckle down and say "I WILL WRITE" and it's almost like trying to shit when you're constipated. You can't. You feel like you have to go, and you strain and strain, but nothing comes out. Trying to force myself to write is a lot like that and almost as painful. And sometimes I even end up feeling sweaty and feverish afterwards. I know, not the most appealing analogy, but it is what comes closest to how I feel when I try to make the words come. At the risk of sounding like a whiny four-year old, I hate hate hate that feeling and it really sucks. Sometimes I ramble on and on and that is probably easiest to do because I can throw together whatever is in my head at the moment, then go back to attempt to make sense out of it all later. But I live for the days when my inner skies open, words rain down, and I fall in love with the art of the written word all over again. It is these moments when I am happy to be so productive. Even if it's only those closest to me who will see. By the same token, I would soooo be lying if I said being followed by people I actually don't know isn't that big of a deal to me. It is a VERY. BIG. DEAL. I want what every aspiring writer wants, to be seen, acknowledged and praised for work brilliantly done. Surely that is not too much to ask for...is it? to be continued...
Friday, June 11, 2010
Silence Speaks Volumes
Everyday my place of business provides me with so much material, I could have written a book. Not bad material, funny stuff in my opinion (even if not in some others' opinion), and my own personal observations. Being of a snarky and sarcastic nature and at any given moment throughout my day there are comebacks on the tip of my tongue even if the conversation is not directed at me. Of course I keep my sense of humor to myself, I know all about appropriate time and place for everything, yada, yada, yada. I censor most of what I say at work and make sure that when I do get downright crass or tacky, only people who won't judge me for it are around. I know that not too many people can appreciate a story involving a gay friend, a cruising spot, a random encounter, sh**, and a toxic creek somewhere in Jersey, so I don't tell it at social gatherings. That got me thinking, I censor myself at work and I certainly censor myself here to an extent. Like my pal Squishy Kuma said, once you post, it is on here forever! This is obviously something to keep in mind when I am thinking about unloading my thoughts on the internet, where anybody can read them. Yeah, HA! I should be so lucky. Nevertheless there is no point in taking any chances. After all I still need a job, at least until this whole writing thing takes off. And it will, because to think otherwise would just send me into a shit spiral of depression the likes from which I may never recover...a bit dramatic I know, but, for reasons I cannot disclose here (as much as I may want to...and believe me I DO), it is not far from the truth...I could always plead Tourette's but that defense doesn't work as well when it is the written word. Boooo.
So rather than wallow in the muckiness of what I can't say and how much I want to say it, I choose to channel all of that negativity into the positivity that is Oprah. Yes, in my mind I have been on Oprah several times, first, promoting my memoir of how my husband and I met (which I am actually in the midst of writing, hope it makes the book club!) and second, to promote the film which has been made of my memoir (I have not decided who will play me as of yet, but Gael Garcia Bernal would be perfect for the hubbs). There is a definite resemblance. Anywho, so rather than go all postal from biting my tongue, I sit there and drift far, far away. Oprah is as lovely and as gracious in my head as she is in real life. And in my alternate reality I am a successful author whose insurance days are FAR FAR behind her, who can say anything she wants and who doesn't need to worry about stepping on any toes. THAT is who I am. Well, at least in my head, that is who I am. And right now when my voice is somewhat stifled my imagination is what helps maintain my sanity. As I remain quiet on the outside, on the inside I am as vociferous as I wanna be. And it is awesome!! It is these daydreams which keep me writing, and keep me hopeful that this effort (truly my "labor of love"), will someday soon make my flights of fancy an amazing reality that surpasses anything I could have envisioned. for myself sitting in my cubicle day in and day out. Acting as incentive to get things off the ground and into the stratosphere, is the fact that Oprah is set to end her show in two years...and if I am going to make that dream come true, I better do a whole lot more than sit on the subway or at work imagining what our interview would be like.
I have come to accept that there are certain characteristics about myself that need to be muted for the time being, but I can't wait for the day and opportunity to come when that will no longer be an issue. And when that time comes, there is no telling how far I can go or how loud my voice will be.
So rather than wallow in the muckiness of what I can't say and how much I want to say it, I choose to channel all of that negativity into the positivity that is Oprah. Yes, in my mind I have been on Oprah several times, first, promoting my memoir of how my husband and I met (which I am actually in the midst of writing, hope it makes the book club!) and second, to promote the film which has been made of my memoir (I have not decided who will play me as of yet, but Gael Garcia Bernal would be perfect for the hubbs). There is a definite resemblance. Anywho, so rather than go all postal from biting my tongue, I sit there and drift far, far away. Oprah is as lovely and as gracious in my head as she is in real life. And in my alternate reality I am a successful author whose insurance days are FAR FAR behind her, who can say anything she wants and who doesn't need to worry about stepping on any toes. THAT is who I am. Well, at least in my head, that is who I am. And right now when my voice is somewhat stifled my imagination is what helps maintain my sanity. As I remain quiet on the outside, on the inside I am as vociferous as I wanna be. And it is awesome!! It is these daydreams which keep me writing, and keep me hopeful that this effort (truly my "labor of love"), will someday soon make my flights of fancy an amazing reality that surpasses anything I could have envisioned. for myself sitting in my cubicle day in and day out. Acting as incentive to get things off the ground and into the stratosphere, is the fact that Oprah is set to end her show in two years...and if I am going to make that dream come true, I better do a whole lot more than sit on the subway or at work imagining what our interview would be like.
I have come to accept that there are certain characteristics about myself that need to be muted for the time being, but I can't wait for the day and opportunity to come when that will no longer be an issue. And when that time comes, there is no telling how far I can go or how loud my voice will be.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
For the Love of Verona
The first time I visited Italy in April of 2005, I found my senses wholly overwhelmed by the beauty of the country, its landscape, its food, its language, a culture steeped in thousands of years of history. It was a revelation to see up close and personal, places and artifiacts that I had only read about in books or seen in movies. My trip took me through Milan, Verona, Venice, Florence, Assisi, Rome, Naples and even Pompeii. It was the trip of a lifetime and it marked the beginning of my special sentimental realtionship to the country. Of all the cities I visited, Verona is the one I hold closest to my heart. On the day I visited Verona, it seemed to me the most romantic of all the Italian cities because of its obvious connection to Shakespeare and his play "Romeo and Juliet". It was and remains my most favored work by the Bard. I first read it in my freshman year of high school when I was scarcely older than the lovestruck protaganists of the story. We were taken to see the play and I was riveted, captured by the purity and intensity with which Romeo and Juliet loved one another despite their young age and the unfortunate circumstances that unfold leading to the infamous tragic ending. For a 14 year-old girl who had never experienced such a love, it really spoke to me about the complexities of life and love and how two people could be so devoted to one another, they would rather die than live without each other.
So now flash forward to April 12, 2005 where roughly 19 years after I first read the story of the star-crossed lovers, I am standing under the balcony at Guiletta's home where the famous scene in the play is set. Of course, there is controversy surrounding the story and its telling and retelling and whether or not the story is fiction, which from my online research it is not, but neither has Shakespeare been the first to document it. However, this post is not about the history of the play but rather its significance in the fair city of Verona where I lay my scene. Being a lover of the play I was fascinated by the 13th century structure and balcony and even the statue of Juliet in the corner of the courtyard, who it is said can bring those who place their hand on her left breast, good luck. Not so awe-inspiring was the cheesy souvenir/gift shop a few feet away which I am sure did not exist in the 13th century. The walls are graffiti-covered and there are post-it notes adhered to the wall with gum, covering almost every available surface lining the entrance to the courtyard. It is unsavory to look at it but only if you are missing the fact that on those gummed post it notes wallpapering the area along with the graffiti, are the names of thousands of lovers. Upon first glance it is this mix with the old and the new that strikes one the most.
On the day I visited, I did not have a name to add to the wall with mine but was content to be in this amazingly romantic inspiring city nonetheless. How fitting for me and my love of romance and of the story of "Romeo and Juliet", that on this day, in this beautiful city, surrounded by history, thousands of miles from home I would meet the man who would become my husband. Thus, the special place in my heart for Verona, not only for my love of Shakespeare but as the place where as sappy and as wacky as it sounds, I finally found my true love. I have since visited Verona twice more and my husband and I plan on returning early next year for the first time in nearly six years. It is a trip I cannot wait to make and will be extra special because we will be bringing the two children (a boy and girl) we have had along with my first son from a previous relationship to the extraordinary city where it all began for us. I know that universally, Paris is known as the "City of Love", but for me, that is and always will be Verona.
So now flash forward to April 12, 2005 where roughly 19 years after I first read the story of the star-crossed lovers, I am standing under the balcony at Guiletta's home where the famous scene in the play is set. Of course, there is controversy surrounding the story and its telling and retelling and whether or not the story is fiction, which from my online research it is not, but neither has Shakespeare been the first to document it. However, this post is not about the history of the play but rather its significance in the fair city of Verona where I lay my scene. Being a lover of the play I was fascinated by the 13th century structure and balcony and even the statue of Juliet in the corner of the courtyard, who it is said can bring those who place their hand on her left breast, good luck. Not so awe-inspiring was the cheesy souvenir/gift shop a few feet away which I am sure did not exist in the 13th century. The walls are graffiti-covered and there are post-it notes adhered to the wall with gum, covering almost every available surface lining the entrance to the courtyard. It is unsavory to look at it but only if you are missing the fact that on those gummed post it notes wallpapering the area along with the graffiti, are the names of thousands of lovers. Upon first glance it is this mix with the old and the new that strikes one the most.
On the day I visited, I did not have a name to add to the wall with mine but was content to be in this amazingly romantic inspiring city nonetheless. How fitting for me and my love of romance and of the story of "Romeo and Juliet", that on this day, in this beautiful city, surrounded by history, thousands of miles from home I would meet the man who would become my husband. Thus, the special place in my heart for Verona, not only for my love of Shakespeare but as the place where as sappy and as wacky as it sounds, I finally found my true love. I have since visited Verona twice more and my husband and I plan on returning early next year for the first time in nearly six years. It is a trip I cannot wait to make and will be extra special because we will be bringing the two children (a boy and girl) we have had along with my first son from a previous relationship to the extraordinary city where it all began for us. I know that universally, Paris is known as the "City of Love", but for me, that is and always will be Verona.
Friday, June 4, 2010
I'm Not a Drunk, Really I'm Not or Why Grey Goose is My Friend
Let's face it, kids, having them, raising them, it's never easy. It takes an extraordinary amount of love and supreme amounts of patience to hold onto your sanity when you have little ones. I should know. I am the mother of an 11 year old boy, a 3 year old girl, and my youngest is an 11 month old boy. They cry, they scream and they fight both with me and each other, A LOT. For the most part, I am used to the daily chaos that is robbing me of whatever hair and wrinkle-free skin I have left. I have accustomed my body to function on five or six hours sleep and lots of Red Bull. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will forever look like a raccoon without the proper, pricey foundation I have discovered to hide the circles around my eyes. Most of the time I am ok with all of these things.
But I have discovered a secret weapon in the fight to retain my sanity which sometimes feels like it has been through a shredder. It is the elixir that rejuvenates me when I am ready to go into shock after a particularly hectic day or evening with the kids. It is Grey Goose. About once a week, I whip out my fancy Martini glass, (very SATC) and grab whatever juice I happen to have in my fridge. Pomegranate Blueberry is a particularly good one, and I add a shot of Grey Goose. Stir and sip. By the time I am done sipping, I can feel the edge starting to wear off, and my senses starting to respond warmly. If I have had the ultimate day from hell when the kids are just completely crazy and out of control, I will indulge in one perhaps two more. And by the time I am done, I feel more calm, subdued, and my nerves are somewhat returned to their normal state. And all is right with the world again.
There may be some who frown on this form of what I call "liquid therapy" but I am not abusing alcohol or mainlining smack to cope. I am simply unwinding with a cocktail or two, ok sometimes three. But it is not everyday, although there are days when I find myself wanting a little something something but not going through with the drink. The main reason for this is I want it to be something I treat myself to and indulge myself in when I have done everything for everyone else, here is something I enjoy that I can do for me. If I am drinking everyday, then it's hardly a treat, it's more like a drinking problem and as the child of an alcoholic, I have to be aware of my actions and exercise self control so that I don't end up in rehab.
The way I look at it is if I am only indulging occasionally when the circumstances call for it, then I am ok. Grey Goose has yet to make me sick or put me in the hospital unlike some other liquor I won't mention (whispers: tequila)...and we have a mutual understanding. Grey Goose takes it easy on me and I won't abuse our relationship. So far it has been a pretty decent working relationship. Only wrinkle in the fabric is that Grey Goose, being the "good stuff" is not cheap and can put quite a whole in your pocket if you are not careful. And though I love me some Grey Goose, at this juncture I am all about the Louboutins so I have kept the emergency cocktails to a minimum.
Nevertheless once the kiddies have been put to bed and the house is in a shambles and I have little Picasso paintings all over the walls, and have cleaned pee and poop off of every surface imaginable, and moderated no less than ten arguments, I sit and indulge in my little piece of heaven...at the end of a loooong day, the kids have their binkies and I have my drinks. Bottoms up, people!
But I have discovered a secret weapon in the fight to retain my sanity which sometimes feels like it has been through a shredder. It is the elixir that rejuvenates me when I am ready to go into shock after a particularly hectic day or evening with the kids. It is Grey Goose. About once a week, I whip out my fancy Martini glass, (very SATC) and grab whatever juice I happen to have in my fridge. Pomegranate Blueberry is a particularly good one, and I add a shot of Grey Goose. Stir and sip. By the time I am done sipping, I can feel the edge starting to wear off, and my senses starting to respond warmly. If I have had the ultimate day from hell when the kids are just completely crazy and out of control, I will indulge in one perhaps two more. And by the time I am done, I feel more calm, subdued, and my nerves are somewhat returned to their normal state. And all is right with the world again.
There may be some who frown on this form of what I call "liquid therapy" but I am not abusing alcohol or mainlining smack to cope. I am simply unwinding with a cocktail or two, ok sometimes three. But it is not everyday, although there are days when I find myself wanting a little something something but not going through with the drink. The main reason for this is I want it to be something I treat myself to and indulge myself in when I have done everything for everyone else, here is something I enjoy that I can do for me. If I am drinking everyday, then it's hardly a treat, it's more like a drinking problem and as the child of an alcoholic, I have to be aware of my actions and exercise self control so that I don't end up in rehab.
The way I look at it is if I am only indulging occasionally when the circumstances call for it, then I am ok. Grey Goose has yet to make me sick or put me in the hospital unlike some other liquor I won't mention (whispers: tequila)...and we have a mutual understanding. Grey Goose takes it easy on me and I won't abuse our relationship. So far it has been a pretty decent working relationship. Only wrinkle in the fabric is that Grey Goose, being the "good stuff" is not cheap and can put quite a whole in your pocket if you are not careful. And though I love me some Grey Goose, at this juncture I am all about the Louboutins so I have kept the emergency cocktails to a minimum.
Nevertheless once the kiddies have been put to bed and the house is in a shambles and I have little Picasso paintings all over the walls, and have cleaned pee and poop off of every surface imaginable, and moderated no less than ten arguments, I sit and indulge in my little piece of heaven...at the end of a loooong day, the kids have their binkies and I have my drinks. Bottoms up, people!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
This Post Is Long But Important
I recently saw "The Stoning of Soraya M." Quite possibly the most powerful, disturbing, and enraging movie I have ever seen. The film is based on the true story of Soraya Manutchehri, a 35 year-old wife and mother of seven in Iran whose abusive and philandering husband falls in love with a 14 year old girl and rather than enter into a polygamous marriage which is legal in the Ayatollah Khomeini's Iran of 1986, he decides it would be more economical and financially to his benefit to rid himself of his wife entirely. He accuses her unjustly of adultery knowing the punishment is death by stoning and together with corrupt officials of the small town they live in, she is "tried" and found guilty of adultery with basically no evidence to support the accusation other than the husband's word. She is then dragged into a hole buried up to her waist and what follows is the most brutal 20 minute scene in which the men of the town (including Soraya's father and even her own sons) stone her until she is little more than a bloody heap in the ground. It is heartbreaking to watch and even more heartbreaking is that it actually took place. I found myself crying even after the film ended and wanting to know more about Soraya and women like her.
The information I garnered from the internet is most horrifying. Women in many Middle Eastern countries are routinely stoned for adultery real or imagined, in the name of Islam and cultural standards that are strictly enforced by those in a position of power, namely men. It must be said however that Islam in no way, shape or form condones or mandates that women not be allowed out of their homes without their husband's permission, lose custody of their children in the event of a divorce, be stoned to death or raped by their husbands (which is acutally legally sanctioned in Afghanistan as it turns out). Nowhere in the Koran are any of these ridiculous laws found. It is those who continue to perpetuate the asenine notion that women are lesser beings than men, and therefore should be treated accordingly, who twist religious and cultural ideas to suit their own needs and ideals.
There are organizations who are calling attention to the plight of women in Muslim countries everywhere. Amnesty International, Women Living Under Muslim Law, Stop Stoning.org and http://www.stop-killing.org/ just to name a few are leading the way for fight for women's rights in Muslim countries. Amnesty International exposed the truth regarding a Somali female, Aisha Ibrahim Duhulow, who was stoned to death in a Stadium in front of 1000 people for adultery in October of 2008. The female was in fact a 13 year-old girl who had been gang raped and was seized by authorities and charged with adultery when she and her father tried to report the crime. The three men who assaulted her were never even charged with a crime. At the time the incident, some Sheik gave a radio interview in which he lied and said that Aisha was 23, was in fact guilty of adultery by her own admission and "happily" accepted her punishment under Muslim Law. Such is the "justice" still served in this day and age in countries all over the world.
As a woman it saddens and outrages me to no end that there are girls and women who are subjected to the tyrranies of men and are abused, mistreated and in many cases, killed in the name of a religion that is meant to provide its followers with faith, hope and something to believe in and turn to in times of crisis. Nearly nine years after the fall of the Taliban, there is not apparently not much that has changed. Instead women are now turning to self-immolation as a form of escape and protest. These are women who have taken to setting themselves on fire because life as they are living it has become unbearable. It is a way of taking control to an extent, governing their existence however inconceivable it may seem. At that moment they are in charge of their life, of their body and as insane as it sounds, I can completely understand the level of desperation it takes to set yourself on fire, though I don't know that I could personally do something so drastic. I would have to be in that situation in order to be sure one way or another. But I pray that I will never know that life and I pray for those women that live it everyday.
The information I garnered from the internet is most horrifying. Women in many Middle Eastern countries are routinely stoned for adultery real or imagined, in the name of Islam and cultural standards that are strictly enforced by those in a position of power, namely men. It must be said however that Islam in no way, shape or form condones or mandates that women not be allowed out of their homes without their husband's permission, lose custody of their children in the event of a divorce, be stoned to death or raped by their husbands (which is acutally legally sanctioned in Afghanistan as it turns out). Nowhere in the Koran are any of these ridiculous laws found. It is those who continue to perpetuate the asenine notion that women are lesser beings than men, and therefore should be treated accordingly, who twist religious and cultural ideas to suit their own needs and ideals.
There are organizations who are calling attention to the plight of women in Muslim countries everywhere. Amnesty International, Women Living Under Muslim Law, Stop Stoning.org and http://www.stop-killing.org/ just to name a few are leading the way for fight for women's rights in Muslim countries. Amnesty International exposed the truth regarding a Somali female, Aisha Ibrahim Duhulow, who was stoned to death in a Stadium in front of 1000 people for adultery in October of 2008. The female was in fact a 13 year-old girl who had been gang raped and was seized by authorities and charged with adultery when she and her father tried to report the crime. The three men who assaulted her were never even charged with a crime. At the time the incident, some Sheik gave a radio interview in which he lied and said that Aisha was 23, was in fact guilty of adultery by her own admission and "happily" accepted her punishment under Muslim Law. Such is the "justice" still served in this day and age in countries all over the world.
As a woman it saddens and outrages me to no end that there are girls and women who are subjected to the tyrranies of men and are abused, mistreated and in many cases, killed in the name of a religion that is meant to provide its followers with faith, hope and something to believe in and turn to in times of crisis. Nearly nine years after the fall of the Taliban, there is not apparently not much that has changed. Instead women are now turning to self-immolation as a form of escape and protest. These are women who have taken to setting themselves on fire because life as they are living it has become unbearable. It is a way of taking control to an extent, governing their existence however inconceivable it may seem. At that moment they are in charge of their life, of their body and as insane as it sounds, I can completely understand the level of desperation it takes to set yourself on fire, though I don't know that I could personally do something so drastic. I would have to be in that situation in order to be sure one way or another. But I pray that I will never know that life and I pray for those women that live it everyday.
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