Only In New York

I get in the cab this morning and the driver hands me a green bracelet.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for you. Wear it and get good health, stay beautiful. I will explain it to you…”
He puts on a song sung in Hindu and starts translating for me:
“Our eyes met from across the room –
She was beautiful, an angel.
I’ll never forget the night I met the girl in green.
My heart is on fire,
Like a fish without water.
I’ll never forget the night I met the girl in green.”
Then he pulls out a packet of bindis and says, “pick out your favorite color.”I pick orange and he pulls the cab over and puts it on my forehead.
“Now we are married! You will remember me forever. You are going to work today and will tell your friends
And you will all laugh about this. You came into my cab looking sad and now you are smiling.”
I tipped him $3.

Here Comes the Bride

Yup, I got the ring. Well, first I found the right man and then he was smart enough to pop the question. I was smart enough to say “yes.” It’s been about four months since we became betrothed and now we are faced with the dreaded and inevitable task of – gulp – planning a wedding. And while I have long been known to be an attention whore, the thought of professing my love and devotion to someone in front of a live, familial audience fills me with absolute panic and terror. To top it off, I just cannot justify spending thousands of dollars on a wedding, on a party that will last a few hours, on a soiree in which I will spend the majority of the time worrying if my guests are having a good time. (Full disclosure: As a publicist, all you do is throw events and parties and work your ass off to make sure everyone is happy and having fun and it is just dreadful; it’s my least favorite part of the gig.)

Don’t get me wrong – I am not dreading getting married. In fact, I can’t wait to be Mrs. Wahoo and, yes, start having a family. But the wedding thing? I dunno, I was just never the little girl who fantasized about her wedding day. Yes, Freud, it probably does stem from my parents’ divorce and how I grew up with very realistic expectations of love and am always very cautious about matters of the heart. But now I am very much in love, very much ready to commit my life to one person, one man who I feel betters and enhances my life. A man who I want to be the father of my children and who I want to grow old with. But $5,000+ on flowers? No fucking way.

So why not just elope you say? Well, two reasons.

1. My family. I always scoffed when my friends would bend to their parents’ wishes when it came to planning their weddings. But after hearing how happy my mother and grandmother are about this engagement/wedding, I just feel like I owe it to them to give them one. I often think about how I would feel if I was a mother and my daughter was engaged – I would probably want to see her get married too. So that’s the heart of the dilemma – I think they deserve a wedding – my wedding. I am my mother’s only daughter and my grandmother is 90 and may not live to see the weddings of her other granddaughters, who are 18 and 12.

2. A groom who wants a wedding. Ella’s fella would really like a wedding – a church wedding with a reception. And why should I deny him this? Hell, he asked my parents’ for my hand in marriage. It’s important for him to get married in a church (he’s religious, a trait of his that made me fall in love with him). It’s his wedding too, not MINE. If I can’t compromise now, I probably shouldn’t get married at all.

So the real problem now lies in having a NYC wedding. It’s so unbelievably expensive. An editor I know – who got engaged at roughly the same time I did – is getting married this August for about $11,000. But where is she getting married? DELAWARE. What can we get for $11,000 in NYC? Um, vows in a church and, if we are lucky, a reception at Ellen’s Stardust Diner. No, seriously. That’s how expensive it is to get married in this town.

So, we’re working on figuring it out. Trying to find a place that won’t bankrupt us before we even tie the knot. If anyone has any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.

THANK YOU

to this country...

for renewing my faith in democracy.
for renewing my faith in equality.
for renewing my faith in hope.
for renewing my faith in america.

for denouncing my fear of bias.
for denouncing my fear of racism.
for denouncing my fear of hipocracy.
for denouncing my fear of regression.

god bless you.
god bless me.
god bless us.
god bless america.

obama january 2009...

Palin-digestion

I am a registered Independent because I really will vote for whoever the best candidate is.

But McCain has lost my vote by nominating a woman in such a cheap manner. He did so to show that the Republican party can be "liberal" by finally embracing someone with ovaries. However, what is masked behind this facade of equality is the fact that Palin is a radical conservative who believes in denying a woman's right to choose, who has no respect for the planet or its threatened species, and who governs in a fashion akin to being student council president in junior high.

As a feminist, I long for the day when a woman will sit in the White House in a strong capacity....but i won't cast a ballot for a woman just because she's a woman. and that's just what the mccain campaign is trying to make happen - all while trying to hide the fact that she is nothing more than a conservative sheep in lipstick.

Rock My Vote

When I was growing up, there was no greater political hero than JFK. For one, he was Catholic. And for all those nuns and dedicated secular teachers in my grammar and high schools, he represented the greatest achievement of all - that a serious follower of Jesus Christ could become President. Plus, for my younger generation of teachers not of the cloth, he represented their generation, finally taking reigns of this impossibly powerful country of ours.

I am 14 years younger than Barack Obama. However, I have never felt more akin to a political candidate. He’s young, still rather handsome. He has young children and a very attractive wife. He’s not as experienced as perhaps he should be. But you know what? Neither are most great leaders. Neither are most of those who actually end up making a difference.

I'm a registered Independent. While I have always voted for a Democrat in each of the Presidential campaigns I was legally allowed to vote for (shit, is this really my third??? I am fucking old.), I have tended to vote Republican in my city and state elections. (Go Bloomberg!!! Who should, seriously, be Mayor of NYC for his entire fucking life.) And so, I am not voting Barack because I am a Presidential Democrat.
So why am I?

1. He’s young and idealistic. He’s the next Kennedy and Clinton all rolled into one. Kennedy was a Christian and Clinton was black (oh, come on, he really almost was). I want someone who is still hopeful, still patriotic enough to aspire to be President – not do so because it was the next best job his Daddy could get him. (Come on now Republicans, even if you support G.W., he never showed even the slightest spark in wanting to be President.)

2. He’s black. Yes, I said it. I am voting for Barack Obama BECAUSE he is black. No, I probably wouldn’t vote for him if he weren’t the best candidate, but the color of his skin is a strong selling point for me. I think it is damn well time that this country start to expand its presidential pool and look towards blacks, minorities, and women as viable candidates. Most of the rest of the free world has already elected women and minorities to the highest cabinet positions. Why should we be confined to a white elite?

3. He will not deny my right to choose. I never intend to get an abortion. At this stage (and this romantic interlude) of my life, it wouldn’t be fair and/or justified. However, 4 and plus years ago, I don’t think I would have chosen to have a child. And I think that is my right. Many women in my life – both elder role models and peers – have had to choose an abortion for whatever reason they had at the time. And, no, I have never met a woman who was happy about the decision. Who wasn’t more torn apart than any fucking supreme court judge who had to cast a vote either for or against the right. John McCain went on live television and said that he would appoint judges to overrule Roe vs. Wade. I cannot, simply cannot, allow someone to enter the White House who will do such a thing.

4. He represents the next generation. No, George Bush is not very old. However, as most people will concede, he is very much his father and Dick Cheney’s President. Barack is extremely young by most political standards. He has admitted to using both pot and cocaine. Why? Because he refuses to be a pawn for the older generation. Yes, I am sure he regrets this, but most of us who will vote for him don’t care. We all used pot and cocaine – if not more. While Clinton was always cool with his deep-South roots and sax playing, he couldn’t even admit to inhaling pot. And that was a disconnect. Barack is who my generation is. A generation who very much valued our ultra-expensive and ultra-valued education but who still ventured and had a bit of illicit fun every once in awhile. He represents every kid who finally left his small town for a big city college (only to find himself overwhelmed and a bit out of his league); every kid who finally left a big town for a small college (only to find herself aching for something more); and every kid who couldn’t ever find the money of strength to leave for college (only to find that what was at home meant so much more).

5. He just seems to be like you and me. Yes, Obama is following his party’s politics. Yes, Obama is going to fall victim to what his delegates say. However, I really do think that the man is exactly who you and I would be if we suddenly felt ourselves thrust in the political spotlight. Yes, he is a Democrat pawn, you can argue. Yes, he isn’t really ready to be President. But who the hell is? Was Washington? Was Lincoln? Was the beloved JFK? No. No one ever is. It’s the hardest, most self-destructive job in the world. It’s a no-win situation no matter what political side you are on.

However in this election year, I am in favor of the idealist. Of the candidate who has dreamt more than he has made deals. Of the candidate who is championing rather than challenging. Of the candidate who will lead us into the future rather than parade us into the past. I am for Barack Obama. Not for his party ties but for what he will bring our nation – hope, faith, intelligence, and humanity.

Apology Accepted

“I’m sorry.”
It’s all I ever wanted him to say.
A few months ago I finally got the apology that I always thought I deserved, later struggled to justify, and finally declared I was entitled to.
I know that I am not easy to love. No woman (or man) really is. I know that I pushed men away both conscious and unconsciously. But I’ve also always known that it was – 95% of the time – the other party that caused me to behave so badly and irrationally.
The apology up for discussion came from The Musician. One of the more important men in my life, he is the one ex who has had the greatest impact on me. He came from money, yet never admitted it. He wanted to save the world, yet was always uncomfortable actually living in it. He wanted to be a struggling artist, yet refused to admit that art can thrive (honestly) without poverty.
Rather than embrace his upper-upper middle class upbringing, he wholeheartedly rejected it by joining the Peacecorp and moving to a ghetto town in northern New Jersey. He could never understand how much I wanted to work for a living and establish a more solid financial foundation than my parents ever could. I didn’t dream of money but rather upward mobility; a goal he could and never would quite grasp. He wanted to live a life of servitude and struggle in the hopes of both apologizing for his family’s good fortune and justifying his own artistic expressions. He hated me for working my ass off at a (semi-) corporate establishment. He hated how his father praised my successes as he struggled to cope with his son’s lack of. He hated how much I had to work for what he already had.
It tore me apart when we finally broke up. Yet throughout the entire relationship I always felt the same way: I was wrong for wanting to be successful while also believing that I could still be creative.
When he wrote me this past Fall and apologized I nearly fell off my chair in shock. I never thought he would come to admit that he had been selfish and ignorant. And, perhaps most importantly, I never thought I would finally be given the acknowledgment of not necessarily being right, but at least not being wrong. He told me he was sorry for the way he treated me and for the way he made me feel for trying to succeed. I forgave him. And it felt good. However, what has felt better is that I cannot remember a single thing about myself when we were together.
This is a breakthrough because – for years – I punished myself for not being what he wanted. I would stay up and scowl at my own personality for not seeing what he needed and providing it. Rather than just settling for the realization that we weren’t good together, I tormented myself for not trying hard enough to satisfy him. I thought that because he was so unsatisfied with who I was that I had made a mistake somewhere along the line and become someone that could easily be tossed aside.
I did what too many women do: I began to believe the excuse that he used to get out of the bad relationship.
It’s sad to admit, but there’s a line from “Pretty Woman” that really does hold true. And that is, “The bad stuff is easier to believe.” This is why it was easier for me to accept the breakup, because I just swallowed and digested that what I did was wrong. But recently, when he apologized, I was finally granted permission to believe that who and what I did was fine and ok. I was finally able to embrace the me that he never allowed me to be.

Work It

I worked at XX from September 17, 2001 until November 16, 2007. 6+ years of my life. A longer tenure than high school or college, a longer span than any intimate relationship or serious commitment held prior.
If there’s one piece of advice every young professional should receive, is that he/she shouldn’t spend more than two years at a first job. When you do you never understand your full potential, never truly know if you are doing a good job at your profession or if you are simply doing a good job where you work. And there is a BIG difference.
I recently left the only grownup job I have ever known with mixed results. On the one hand, I was miserable at my previous company – aching for more responsibility, yet not seeking such an important role there. Quitting was one of the most rewarding days of my life – the day I finally let go of the hold of an ultra-controlling boss and the day I finally decided I was in charge of my own professional fate. It was freeing, satisfying, and undeniably ego-boosting.
It has now been two months since I left said job and I am now settled into the new one – the one my current bosses OFFERED me (this was a first for me, as I previously only interviewed as an entry-level candidate). Much of me loves it – loves the newfound responsibilities and excitement that accompanies this role. Yet the other half of me is worried that I have still not found – or accepted – my real calling. After all, I am a publicist once more, working in a profession I said I would never do again.
Most – if not all – days, I enjoy it. But every so often, like today, I am filled with this overwhelming feeling that something is amiss. That my creative side is being quelled in favor of a career that I may or may not even want. It’s a tricky predicament, a confusing and anxious sentiment that I can’t quite come to terms with yet.
And that’s why I urge young people never to stay at a company for more than 700 or so days, as you will ultimately find yourself confused, exhausted, and unsatisfied. Miles away from the dreams you had when you first finished college.
In other words: I get a paycheck; I like my job; but I have not yet discovered what it is I am supposed to work as/for during my life.