things i didn’t know i was missing

I was sprawled out on the couch, cuddling with the dogs. E was sprawled on the other, cuddling with a blanket. We were zoning, tired, unfocused. I don’t remember what we were even watching. But he looked over at me, and said “Come here.” I wiggled out from under the dog pile and stretched out full-length on top of him. He wrapped his arms around me, settled me into the crook of his body and covered me up with the quilt. He pet me, in long strokes down my back. “There,” he said. “Is that what you needed?” “Mmmprrrhhh,” I said. 

Yesterday was full of things I didn’t realize I needed, wanted, and had been missing terribly. After a frantic Tuesday back in the office, so much catch-up and a flurry of jobs re-scheduled and emergencies and staying late, Wednesday settled back down into a routine. I got a lot of freelance work done on the train, got to work in plenty of time and even had a moment for breakfast. I was scheduled all day with jobs I don’t mind doing–actually satisfying ones. People dropped by my desk, in waves–we missed you, how was your weekend. People said things like, we should get drinks. We should get sushi. You have my eternal friendship. You are awesome. Drinks? And I beamed all day, like a flashlight with new batteries.

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paying it forward

When you get weight-loss surgery, you lose weight very quickly, especially at first. At a certain point, you are losing something like a clothing size every month or month and a half, and it is dizzying and crazy and bizarre and it is hard for your head to catch up, but more practically speaking, it is really hard for your wardrobe to catch up. How the hell are you supposed to keep yourself covered up when everything is falling off you?

You wear things that are eight sizes too large, is what you do, you dig through your closet looking for the “skinny” clothes you kept around because you were hoping someday you’d fit into them again, and when you’re getting on the bus you step on the hem of the elastic waisted skirt that’s hanging around your hips and you yank it down, inadvertently pantsing yourself in front of a busload of commuters, which is among the not-brightest and shiniest moments of your entire life.

Sometimes, you have to go buy new pants, or a new skirt, or something, anything to cover your ass. Sometimes you’ll have to attend an event and need to spend a lot of money on an outfit and you know it won’t fit you within a couple of weeks, and it feels outrageous, wasteful, frustrating and that, there, is the hidden cost of weight-loss surgery. Forget the “possible nutritional deficiencies when you are 107 years old,” the clothing bill is the real place you get it stuck to you. Consider that carefully!

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birthday weekend

This weekend was perfect. It was pretty much flawless, from start to finish, and I don’t usually ask more of a weekend than for it to involve a little bit of not-work, some no-pants, some leisure time combined with some leisure activities, maybe, and if I am lucky and do not feel too guilty and wasteful of my free time, perhaps a small nap. This weekend, I threw away the idea of guilt, the idea of work, the idea of obligation and the idea of tomorrow or the day after, deadlines, to-dos, and musts, and instead I spent the whole weekend luxuriating in what I want and what I need and what am I in the mood for, now? And it was absolutely perfect.

Friday, I curled my hair terrifyingly and was a sparkly disco queen, and then we watched a terrifying movie with angry zombies, which was also extremely sad and even a little heartwrenching, and at midnight I was happy-birthdayed very satisfyingly. I woke up cuddled and loved on every side, with a bed full of dogs, trained into the city reading a very good book, and treated myself to some grooming, the likes of which I have too many thumbs to complete on my own without professional help–eyebrows, nails, lady-waxing (the gift that keeps on giving–to everyone), and I walked out delighted with my prettiness and my feeling of being taken care of.

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halloween cures all ills

Photo via Splash

Are you stressed? Are you sad? Are you sad and stressed and tired? It has become absolute scientific fact (because I read it on the Internets) that Halloween is good for you and will fix all problems, everywhere, for everyone. Research says that no matter how bad the economy is, that Halloween candy spending and costume-buying remains on the rise, with Americans spending over five billion dollars on the holiday. That is the kind of stimulated economy behind which I can get.

And with everyone all stimulated and stimulating the economy, cheerfulness goes up, wigs get broken out, and everyone gets even cheerier–Halloween as debauched, wild crazy time for adults has come back in vogue:

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lists of five

Five People (Dead or Alive) I Would Invite to My Ideal Dinner Party (Catered)

  1. Margaret Mead
  2. Maria Callas
  3. Dorothy Parker
  4. Rue McClanahan
  5. Bret Michaels

Five Things I Like About My Body (Biologically Speaking)

  1. The exchange of oxygen for carbon dioxide
  2. Clotting
  3. The orgasmic response
  4. The REM sleep cycle
  5. Serotonin 

Five Things I Am Afraid Of

  1. Fire
  2. Dying in a fire
  3. Zombies
  4. People I love turning into zombies and then dying in a fire that I have to set
  5. Fly balls

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on the beauty of naps


Weirdly, one of the things I remember most clearly about the first season of Felicity–do you remember that show?–was that the characters would sometimes cuddle up in the middle of the day and nap together, all snuggly and warm, and that comes close to my definition of heaven. When E and I were long-distance, we’d spend the first part of our visits very busy and cramming everything we missed into a few days, but the last day, we’d spend napping together in bed. Books, pillows, my face in the crook of his shoulder, the day going slowly but entirely too quickly. The day going perfectly.

When I was working at home, my boyfriend used to tease me that I worked an hour, maybe an hour and a half, and then I spent the rest of the day napping. This is not a true statement–I never napped during the day. Maybe I napped once or twice. Sure, there were times when I would get home from a trip and spend the entire next day in bed, or I’d eat a heavy lunch (or something not-so-good for me) and then I’d find myself sacking out for an hour or two (carbs always knock me or a loop). But I did not make a regular habit of napping, as much as I would have liked to.

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things that are good-to-awesome: a love story

Hey, did you guys know I totally got a job? No, seriously. I know you didn’t realize, but it’s true. And it is true, also, that there is a lot to dislike about having a 9 to 5 (or 10 – 6) gig in an office, at a desk, working for the man every night and day. And it is true that I can wring thousands and thousands of words out of the indignity of full-time employment; it is additionally and finally true that I’m a little tired of writing about how tough things are and how so-tragic it is to have a job while the economy goes straight to hell.

We’re moving into a weekend, and I don’t remember being so grateful for the end of the week in all my long days. I have liked weekends before, but I don’t think I ever liked them the way I am crushing on this one right here. I would like to remind myself, as this first week of being back in the traditional workforce winds down and I have two days which I would prefer not be filled with dread and fear, that there are many things that are good, some things that are great, and one or two things that might even be awesome about this whole thing. Then I can move on to the other things there are to think about in the world, like candy corn and dancing girls and universal health care.

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looking like a dope and liking it


We danced at the wedding. I don’t even remember, any more, what music was playing. Even when it was something I was not familiar with, I had the usually unstoppable urge to fling myself out onto the floor and flail around happily, because I love to dance. I love the theatricality of it, and I love that it is a friendly, communal kind of act–everyone on the floor and they’re all smiling at each other. As you move around the dance floor, you catch someone’s eye, you grin, you stop and do a couple of hip bumps, a quick shake and shimmy like you’re saying “Hey! How are you!” And it is the most sincere hi oh my god, I am happy to see you I’ve ever encountered. There’s a joy in that shared experience of throwing yourself around the floor like you’re having a seizure.

I had to take a break, at some point, because my shoes were very tall. I wobbled away, stopped to talk to another guest. “You were dancing out there!” he said, because that’s the kind of thing you say at weddings. “I’m sure I looked ridiculous,” I said, because I am sure I did. “No!” he exclaimed,”You looked like someone who likes to have fun!” Which is code for: you looked ridiculous. The important caveat: but like you don’t mind looking ridiculous. And that is absolutely true. There is something about dancing that lets me be absolutely fearless. I don’t care if I trip over my shoes or if I am not exactly on the beat when I do the Shopping Cart or if my Running Man looks more like Lurching Drunken Zombie.

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reluctant homesickness

So that was the longest I’ve been in San Francisco since I had moved away, and also the longest I’ve done nothing at all on the Internet except check my email quickly on a really crappy free connection which was worth every penny, and both things are either equally disorienting, or have combined forces to create a new and magnificent level of disorientation such that my head doesn’t feel like it is on quite straight. On Sunday, the longing for everything to be normal and regular and quiet, to have Internet and E and my cat (not in that order, I don’t think) was overwhelming. The urge to call back for my things and have them all shipped (including my wireless router, E, and my cat) was stronger than it has been in a long time. I was homesick but also sick at the thought of leaving.

It was an astonishing week. I spent two days with K.T. and her two-month old. I propped little Tee up on my knees and she stared at me in wonder and I stared back at her in awe, and then she wobbled her head and looked at my left earlobe in bewilderment, and then she was puzzled by my chin and sort of listed over to the side and found much to consider in the couch cushions, and I cannot even tell you how spectacular it was, this weird little unfocused, amazed, confounded and lovely little human who keeps screwing up her forehead and concentrating very hard on becoming herself.

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the start of something good

When I was taking a writing workshop, I found out my instructor has a blog, and from that blog, I found out that he works for a film company, and from that film company blog, I found out that they were looking for writers. I sent him an email–hey, I’m not stalking you, but are you guys still looking for writers, for this serial film project you’re doing online? And he wrote me back and said hey, you would be perfect. Please apply.

I got an email a little while back from the director saying, Hey! You’re in! You’re going to be writing a couple of episodes for this project, and our first writing staff meeting is in a few weeks. Are you in? It took a couple of drafts in order to turn down the squee to an acceptable level, to sound rational and considered and not like a crazy person everyone would regret having on the team, for me to write back and say Hello! I am so pleased to hear that, and excited to be working with you guys. OMG WE ARE BEST FRIENDS. I backspaced the part about being best friends. I danced around my living room. I said Whee! a lot. A lot.

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