I am George McFly

How many times have you ever said the phrase to yourself: "I just don't think I can handle that kind of rejection"?  I didn't even realize I was George McFlying myself until just recently, and it took such a long time probably because I had been doing this subconsciously.  I've been way too much of a chameleon at work and otherwise, and frankly I'm getting sick of trying to be the person I think those in proximity want me to be.  It's tiring.  I can't pretend anymore I give a shit about American Idol, office newsletters, OR1-4, how people do my job function in other parts of the world, or pretty much anything else at my job.  In fact, if I was a little more honest with myself a year and a half ago, I would have NEVER even accepted the offer.  I only show this one side of me at work and I'm getting really tired of hiding.

When it gets down to it, there is more in my life like my job than I realize, whether I do things I don't care for to pay the rent, pass the time, or serve as a distraction.  I don't think I'm ready to embark on a life overhaul, and I don't think it's particularly necessary,  but I guess I can start by being a little less scared of what people will think.  I started another blog, Drive Straight Home, which is something I'm SOOO not ready to share with people, but I guess it's my way of trying to change the future, to say to Biff, "hey you, get your damn hands off her."  When I am ready to share, I hope it might help one or two people, even if it's just me.  

It's all well and good to write about cookies, and I think it's very important to do so, but it's equally important to share the burnt underside sometimes.  Plus, I like burnt cookies.

Merde....Il Peut

Before I continue describing the wonders of last night, I need to reflect on this afternoon.  I was just leaving my house to go to the folks' when I found this on my front stoop:  

It was a package from Cheri in France!!  I quickly opened it and discovered more than I could have ever wished for: awesome candy, a toothbrush, an umbrella from the umbrella capital of le monde (Aurillac), and my favorite: a handwritten letter!

 

 I wish I could have sent her more than just a handwritten list of the contents when I sent her package (sorry Cheri), but I had to get to the post office before it closed.  So anyway, I loved the letter, candy, and the toothbrush looks awesome.  But here's the thing.  This umbrella is the best umbrella EVER for the following reasons:

 

a.  It has a curse

b.  It has a curse in a foreign language

c.  It has a curse in a foreign language about the rain

d.  It hilariously states the obvious.

I LOVE my new umbrella!!!

Merci, Cheri!  Je t'aime!!  

Speaking of India

So here are some pics last night from Neha's Sangeet.  It was AMAZING!!  I had the best time, and I can't wait to have time to write ALL about the amazingness.

What's in a name?

Well, it may not technically be wedding season for most, but it certainly is for me.  I will be attending three weddings in the next two months, and the first is this evening.  I can't help but go to weddings and imagine what mine would be like: who would attend, the flowers, etc., which is all rather new territory for me.  I and most of my girlfriends are of the breed of women who did not grow up fantasizing about our weddings; for us it was dreaming about future careers, whether it was doctor or meteorologist or fruit importer.  I'm left at these weddings with no definite idea of what I'd want and no history of my past desires now matter how silly or out of budget; I tend to feel a tad awkward and out of place.

The most awkward part of all of it is the name change.  Growing up, there were plenty of times I did not care for my name.  I've tried every version of a nickname and none of them really stuck, which is really ok for me right now.  I was much more neutral about the last name, but even if I hated it completely, it's still the definition of my identity.  To be honest, the real possibility of changing my name makes me frightened.  I will be a whole new person when I get married, and someone else's identity, no longer my own.  

The whole thing doesn't sit with me very well, not at all.  I can't imagine any of this, the wedding, the name change, new signature, passport, etc.  Why do the fundamentals of who I am have to change?  Do most women want this, or is this something they just feel expected to do?  Am I alone here?  

People have been asking me a lot lately if we're ready to get married, and I've been answering honestly: I don't know if I'm ready to get married.  Shouldn't a bride know these things about flowers and name changes?

My questioning aside, two of the three weddings this fall are my good friends (both brides) who are both very ready and very happy to be getting married.  They amaze me because they so calmly know these details and have this picture in their mind of Mr. and Mrs. which is still so fuzzy to me.   Congratulations to the Fall 2008 newlyweds!  Time to get ready for wedding number 1.

Oh Coffee, why have I forsaken thee?

There's nothing like a good cup of coffee.  It's one of my favorite things in life, and yesterday I attempted to give it up due to stress, heart rate, etc.  My attempt lasted all of 90 minutes, then Mike woke up and put on a pot and I just couldn't resist.  It was one of the most wonderful cups of coffee I've ever had.  Oh coffee, I might not ever leave you, and I don't know if I'd ever want to.  Oh coffee, please forgive me.  

I remember trying my mother's coffee when I was little, and thought it was good only when dipping a cookie into it.  A few years passed before I tried it again, and I started drinking it regularly when I was 17 and moving to New York.  My sister used to joke with me about how I would become some beatnik the second I moved to the city, wearing all black, drinking black coffee, being snooty, and talking about Baudrillard and Hobbes and Margaret Mead.   To be perfectly honest, she wasn't very far off.  When I moved to the city, I lived an amazing life, the life I thought I should be living, but it was missing something.

I thought what I was missing was life experience, travel, and romance, but I still fell short.  When I moved out of the city, I thought I was just missing the city.  After spending a lot of time in NYC recently, and even visiting my old stomping ground at NYU, I realized what I was missing the whole time: myself.  I wrote a blog two years ago about the cookies in the Dr. Seuss cookie jar, and how I just tossed it aside and proclaimed it too juvenile.  I think about those cookies often and how I acted, and I always cringe.  I realize now my mother was trying to give me a part of myself, and at the time it was something I was desperate to toss aside.  

All of this clarity did not come all at once.  After all, there is a two year gap in this blog.  I started this blog as a quest to find myself, to return to the person I wasn't sure I knew anymore.  I decided then to concentrate on figuring out my favorite cookie; once you find your cookie, you find yourself and the richness in life.  

The thing is, I knew my favorite cookie all along.  I knew who I was, I was just plain terrified.  It's been a long two years, but really my favorite cookie was the kind in the Dr. Seuss cookie jar, those extra-extra chocolate morsels with a confectioner's sugar coating, the ones I didn't even finish.  It feels so good knowing this about myself, knowing I am only a recipe (and a cup of coffee for dipping) away from who I really am.

I am truly thankful for this clarity, and know I wouldn't have gotten here without Cheri's visit.  I hadn't seen her in three years, and it was wonderful to have her around as a reminder of our NYU days, but also as just a good friend who isn't at all enamored with the culture or excitement of New York.  I'm not going to lie, I still love New York.  I still love people watching, the crazies, and the unexpected.  But life is different and much more difficult there as an adult, and I didn't truly realize it until this week.  I don't just want to live or work in the city just to do so, I want a good quality of life.  It's really good to know this about myself.  I may still drink my coffee and talk about Margaret Mead, but at least now I will do it because I love it, not because I'm trying to be someone I'm not.  

Something Inrcredibly Impersonal/Uncomfortably Personal

I don't know about any of you readers out there, but I'm so sick of not telling the truth. Sick of being fake and sick of having to put on a smile just because I feel I should (or some stranger actually tells me to "SMILE" which in my opinion is the worst interaction ever. You can't be polite and say to them, 'look there is a reason why I'm not smiling and right now you're it.'). I've had so many incredibly impersonal "friendships" in my life and I'm just tired. In the event that someone from the past contacts me, I wrote out an uncomfortably personal script, which should save me some time. I'll just send them this link and call it a day.

Hey there. How are things going?

I'm doing well. Yeah, the job's going great, thanks for asking. Yeah it's a great place to work, I'm really lucky.

Oh, I love my new town, it's not difficult at all knowing two people here, one of which is away a lot, and the other I didn't see for three months.

The band? We're on a break what with my moving and needing a new job et. al. Now that things are settled, I'm ready to get back out there! I'm not at all scared of the one thing I want most in this world.

My family? Oh they're super! Yeah it's great that I was so happy about what they did for me on my birthday, I cried literally all day! And I really don't think any of them noticed, which really warms my heart!