thought.

so, the more i learn about graphics programs, the more i like making new and exciting banners for my blog. (you may have noticed).

does anyone want me to make them a banner for their blog? past efforts can be seen by clicking on the link marked 'mastheads' in the sidebar.

the first five to answer this question get a banner: who is producing david hasselhoff's upcoming hip-hop flavored cd? which olsen twin is in rehab or whatever the hell it is. with david hasselhoff.

drop me a line at shivery_timbers at yahoo dot com.

inevitability.

you build up scenarios in your head, how it's going to be and how you're going to approach it when it happens. i'd been dreading distressed notions of it happening when i was at my lowest, feeling weak and looking terrible; i'd been entertaining ideas where i was caught at my best, strong and together (and perfectly groomed). as it happened, i was neither, but somewhere in between. i was myself, in pure form.

it went better than i'd expected; going down in such a way that i was actually glad that it happened. i was safe, in familiar territory, relaxed, and--most importantly--ready. my head and my heart are back in a really good place, and that colors every facet of my life.

we chatted amiably, giving ourselves a few minutes to catch up by the bandshell. it was good to see him, better than i'd anticipated; less awkward, certainly. i half wanted to thank him, because everything that i experienced in relation to him had brought me one step closer to dom, one step closer to figuring some things out about myself, one step closer to where i needed to be, painful as it sometimes was along the way.

but i didn't. it's not exactly appropriate barbecue conversation. and we'd been doing so well at sidestepping awkwardness that i didn't want to sour it.

after eight months of wondering, r. and i finally met on the grounds of prospect park, and after eight months it seems we're both happy with where we ended up.

five of my favorite intersections.

1. 13th and 1st (manhattan)
2. summerfield and bennett valley (santa rosa)
3. st. edward's passage and king's road (cambridge)
4. bergen and hoyt (brooklyn)
5. 4th and 5th (brooklyn)

read on if you want to know what and why.

1. detour is a wicked jazz bar in the east village, and one of my favorite bars in the whole city. great music, friendly staff, good drinks and low light all add up to a venue that is my first stop with all out of town guests, and a great place to gather at the beginning of an evening out. even the fact that i got stood up by one of the bartenders here does nothing to diminish its glow in my mind. of course, that might have something to do with the fact that he still gives me lots of free drinks.

2. the intersection about a mile from my mother's house, which marks the beginning of the only stretch of road that i actively enjoy driving. this unlit, winding threat to humanity is a distance i've driven so many times, i could do it with my eyes closed. at 70 miles per hour. both of which i've tried before. this stretch of road is pastoral and exhilarating (just watch out for deer), and an unmistakable sign that i'm almost home.

3. the indigo coffee shop can be found at 8 st. edward's passage, and the time i spent living in cambridge, i found myself in there at least half the morning, reading the paper and nursing a huge hot chocolate with marshmallows. the place is tiny but friendly and lovely; the staff got to know me so well that one of the handsome baristas was able to identify me by my humming when i once walked past his house. it was my home away from home, and i am thrilled to discover that it's still thriving.

4. the brooklyn inn is where i met dom, where he lurked outside with a cigarette waiting for me to stop flirting with the married man and come and talk with him, where he made me laugh, where i played the only decent pool game of my life, where we kissed for the first time and where i decided to give him my phone number and not the false one i usually reserved for men i didn't really want calling me. where i finally decided to get over my obstinate emotional pain and take a chance that i have not regretted for a single second since. also, the bar has a great jukebox.

5. the gate is what roos refers to as the tribe clubhouse, and it's a great place to spend a summer afternoon, with a gaggle of friends and a delicious array of specialty beer.

and that's the story. your turn.

five things that got my attention on the internet today.

1. the college application i wish i'd written
2. mary kate and ashley's health tips. consider for a moment that most of these tips are meant to inspire pre-teen girls to lose weight (or, as my stepmother once told me 'maintain'). go on. consider. and we're surprised to find out one of them has an eating disorder?
3. if you live in the boroughs, this is going to sound awfully familiar. and the jingle--it has WORDS! who knew?
4. occasionally, there is justice. because i'm a humanitarian, on behalf of these guys i hope it at least bathes once in a while. and doesn't insist on calling them 'bitch.' well, maybe just once.
5. some of these are creepy, but oh how i enjoy.

ten things that feel good.

1. that moment when you get your sense of place and reality back after waking up from a nightmare.
2. scratching a mosquito bite.
3. being comfortable enough with your body to let your lover touch every part of it.
4. sunlight on your toes the first day it's warm enough to wear sandals.
5. playing hooky from work and spending the day sitting under trees in the park.
6. knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt when a decision you've made is the right one.
7. thoughtful compliments, such as being told that when you blink, it looks like butterflies.
8. realizing that when you promised to take care of each other, you both meant it.
9. hearing a song that's so good that your body moves in time with the music--and it takes you until the last verse to notice that this is happening.
10. having people who love you enough to pick you up off the floor (physically and metaphorically) when you really need it.

objects of desire.

1. a shortscale violin bass.
2. a pedicure.
3. gumdrops, though an apple flavored jolly rancher would do.
4. a nap.
4a. a sunbeam to curl up in during said nap.
5. green contact lenses.
6. someone to trim my bangs.
7. my father's home phone number.
8. a uk passport, to which i'm technically entitled.
9. the return of my security deposit.
10. more studio time.

what do you want?

five reasons that today turned out to actually be pretty darn good.

1. i got taken off of envelope stuffing patrol, which while really not that bad, stepped over the lines of the provisions set down by my boss in order to facilitate my being lent out to the other department. stuffing envelopes, it seems, falls out of the range of skills that typically fall under my job description (and i was lent out on the understanding that i would only be asked to do things that could reasonably be applied to my job). and the boss was not down with that. i'm not sure why it is that i think that rocks so much, but i do.
2. not only did i get a refund on the reactivation-fees-that-should-never-have-happened from assurance hosting, but i got refunds on all the bundled services that we didn't want in the first place but weren't given a choice about. fifty bucks is fifty bucks, but actually successfully navigating customer 'service' is priceless.
3. my friend raski is in town for a week after nearly two years with the peace corps in kazakhstan. and i'm so excited to see her that i'm thisclose to swinging into full on twitch mode. i mean, really. i had two friends in college, and she was one of them.
4. i'm seriously considering replacing my long-gone smoke breaks with afternoon snogging breaks, because today's brightened up my afternoon JUST THAT MUCH. i just have to convince my partner in crime that coming into manhattan in the afternoon for that purpose is a really good idea. no, really.
5. japanese strawberry milk candy. it's like cheesecake in lozenge form. and cheesecake in any form is okay by me.

ten things that i consistently forget just how much i love.

1. mini pretzels.
2. getting a seat on the subway during rushhour.
3. lip gloss that not only smells like cherry vanilla ice cream, but is so tacky that it could be used as an adhesive.
4. singing.
5. chick lit.
6. fabrics that are tactilely gratifying.
7. stringed instruments.
8. bubble baths.
9. trees (specifically being able to see them through my window, close enough to touch).
10. les negresses vertes

what do you consistently forget just how much you love?

what i learned on my not-quite-summer vacation:

1. increased lung capacity rules. nothing like completing a short run and not feeling like you're going to vomit from lack of oxygen.
2. the ones that you love the most can really bring out the worst in you. (i did not learn this firsthand, so no gossiping. i am not the teaching aid in that lesson)
3. no matter how grown up i think i am, i never stop getting really hurt by the fact that my father doesn't bother to respond to my emails/phone calls/what have you. ever.
4. tempeh is not nearly as gross as i am sure you think it is.
5. margaret cho is frighteningly, frighteningly funny. and i admire her. in an industry that says that you need to be homogenized, skinny and of one of several very specific ethnic backgrounds--being male is encouraged as well--she is overweight, asian, and female. and funny as fuck, proof that you can do what you love if you're good at it. and stubborn. even if you don't fit the 'profile.'
6. assurance hosting can bite me sideways. because all the domains that i set to auto-renew in FEBRUARY did not, in fact, auto renew. grrr!
7. i am a complete snuggle junkie. and i'm not ashamed to say it.

footie.

there's a theory that each sign of the zodiac rules a part of the body. for leos, it's the back (just ask biscuit). for pisces, it's the feet.

you'd better believe it. the fastest way to make me purr is to be kind to my tootsies.

the sad thing is, feet rarely get the attention that they deserve, because for reasons unknown they have been saddled with a terrible stigma: the general consensus is that feet are kind of gross. to my way of thinking, that is beyond tragic, because your feet are two of the hardest-working contraptions affixed to your body, and they deserve special treatment from time to time. especially if you live in a non-car culture, such as can be found in this city. especially if you're a girl and wear ridiculous fabulous shoes all the time. if you have ever injured your foot, you know how difficult life is when they go on strike. best to keep them satisfied, really.

i am a female biped living in new york with a love for walking and a passion for high heels. my feet, like the rest of me, require special attention from time to time in order to remain at peak functioning levels. sometimes, this means a pedicure; other times, if i'm very, very lucky, it means a foot rub from dom.

i was baffled the first time he offered to give me a foot rub; most people don't want to touch my feet, much less spend quality time with them, up close and personal, of their own volition. but really. when a pisces is offered a foot rub, she's a fool if she questions it too much. so i didn't. and damn if i haven't been spoiled for all other men for all eternity now, because no one will ever please my feet the way dom does (to say nothing of the myriad other ways and means he has to make me light up). the man has a unique ability to approach my poor, angry aching feet and transform them into cheerful, giggling piggies with just a few minutes of stroking and massage. it's amazing, and it takes a disproportionate amount of willpower for me to keep from asking for one every few days.

as it is, my waitress feet and i look on it as a great treat and blessing that they get that kind of loving attention from time to time, and keep the constant knowledge that we are lucky, lucky girls.

closing time.

you know, it's utterly impossible to sustain a good testy funk when someone promises you wine and iced coffee in exchange for just coming home.

it's like high school, only without the inferiority complex (but all of the shallowness)

the scene: my office.
the players: the two youngest members of our office, girls fresh out of college (and only a year younger than i am, i would like to point out) and very impressed with their personal cool quotient; the vaguely nebbish law intern who is hopelessly smitten with both of these tiny, lithe girls.
the choice quote of the conversation: "ohmygod, you know jerry seinfeld? like, jerry seinfeld?you used to wash his car? his CAR? oh my god i love him. which one? you know he just bought, like, an entire garage because he has SO MANY CARS. i love him."

it's totally just like high school, down to the realization that once again my place in the social hierarchy is to be the sarcastic bitch, just as theirs is to be pretty and conscious of social standing.

at least i dress better now.

happiness is...

sitting by the window in your beautiful new apartment, listening to the radio thrift shop with laura cantrell and smelling the trees in the backyard after a very long week.

happiness is home.

miscellaneous listery

things for which i have utterly no use:
aggressive telemarketers. vanessa carleton's cover of 'paint it black.' poor grammar. the price of ink cartridges. the fact that the pens on my desk keep disappearing. guilt. the fact that oasis' 'definitely maybe' was voted best british album ever by Q magazine.

things that make me unbelievably happy:
bubble baths by candlelight. johnny cash's cover of NIN's 'hurt.' the fact that cair paravel actually exists. green contact lenses. lip gloss. the Q train. coming home to someone. the fact that there's a picture of me in my underwear out there on the net and none of you know where to find it. i mean, except you who posted it, and i expect you to keep mum!

savage.

spotted on last week's savage love:

"From a European perspective, it is both baffling and hilarious to read the vitriolic, pious, unhinged views that the whole fat "thing" provokes in the USA. To all but a tiny handful of Europeans it is so self-evident as to preclude all possible debate that being anything above about a size 16 (which translates to a size 10/12 in the U.S., I believe) makes you a lardy, lazy, unhealthy, sweaty, smelly,, unattractive piece of soon-to-die-early shit."

it is people like that who make me, an american who remains within the confines of what this cretin has decreed "acceptable" (albeit the upper end), ashamed of the way i look.

nothing like someone else's hate-filled diatribe to start your day off right. i wish that people could harness that kind of vitriol and use it for something constructive, such as getting hail to the chimp out of office or making plan b available over the counter, instead of simply telling other people that their appearance makes them worthless. less than worthless; a drain on society.

fuck this beauty-as-currency nonsense.

fuck you, mister letter writer, for making me question my own worth because my beauty doesn't conform to your social ideal.

and fuck me for allowing again this insecurity into my heart. because it's a hard one to banish.

but there you are.

vectorize!

i've recently been asked to assume the mantle of graphic designer in this office of mine. this works well for me, despite the fact that i am receiving no extra pay to perform these two jobs. but you know, for the time being, that's okay. because let me tell you--nothing makes the day fly by like obsessing over something i'm creating in illustrator. just as in college i could labor for six hours over a single cut in whatever film i was working on, i can nudge and manipulate a vector graphic for HOURS.

today, i spent the entire afternoon drawing a checker cab. as i said to dom, accomplishing that leaves me caught between an immense feeling of self-satisfaction and a bit of shame that i spent an entire afternoon drawing a car.

but, as he said: i should probably take a moment to consider that at the moment, i'm being paid to draw cars.

right. perspective. more than just a function of the transform menu in photoshop.

authority song

it is a little known fact that i have issues with authority figures. not that i feel a need to rebel against them, but that i'm afraid of them. i'm not sure why that is, exactly, as i've never really been bullied by them (my time at my old company notwithstanding; there, bullying was a way of life), but i find it hard sometimes to ask for what i want. i'm afraid that i'll be laughed at, or fired, or stared down in that alarming way that people who have power frequently have. this causes biscuit no end of consternation, because he has to keep reminding me that most authority figures are actually humans, not ogres or other assorted frightening creatures.

and i tell you, as i tell him, i'm working on it. i am getting much better, really. it helps that i work for people who behave the way normal people do, who aren't walking automaton drones spouting corporate dogma in lieu of basic courtesy.

but let me tell you, even though i was armed with this knowledge, i still got all stuttery when i marched into the boss' office and requested two days off in July (because, technically, i don't have vacation days till august), so that i might accompany dom to the UK and meet his friends and family on his birthday. despite the fact that i would have been more surprised if my boss had denied my request, i was still palpably relieved when he granted my request with a wave, a smile, and an easy 'of course! done.'

i swear, one day i will learn that not all bosses (or assorted other authority figures) inherently suck. i really will.

there's no place like it.

i was kidding when i asked dom if the state of the apartment was going to make me cry when i got home on friday night. but walking in to the place, stuffed as it was with a tower of boxes that utterly obscured the floor, i came awfully close. it didn't, however, deter my excitement--friday was our first night in our new apartment, the first night of us officially living together (never mind the fact that we've been unofficially doing so for months, shuttling back and forth between our apartments), and i was over the moon.

the weekend that followed was a blur, a seemingly endless cavalcade of unpacking boxes and hanging hooks and assembling doorknobs and unleashing the shower curtain and buying the entire stock of bed bath and beyond. we have more books than we have shelving (by an obscene degree), and most of the pictures haven't been hung, and we're still marginally colonized by piles of boxes (empty this time, however)...but last night we finally managed to clean things up enough to enjoy our home, by relaxing on the couch with a home-cooked meal, a glass of wine and each other.

and it was good

it was actually idyllic enough to help us overlook the fact that cooking the meal had caused us to set off the smoke detector no less than three times.

we've got a musician and an actor on the eighth floor. they're drinking wine. call the police.

it's not like biscuit and i ever need an excuse to get all dolled up in our finest togs, but if we did, i can't think of a better one than to get free gourmet munchies and unlimited wine help a good friend.

in the eye

as i read the freebie newspaper on the train this morning, i stumbled across an article proclaiming that the world's most beautiful women (of all time) had been shortlisted, and here was the definitive group: grace kelly, audrey hepburn, cate blanchett, angelina jolie, grace kelly and liv tyler.

while at least three of those women would have made my own personal shortlist--of the most beautiful actresses of all time, i am absolutely outraged that someone has felt the need to actually sit down and quantify the beauty of women, ALL women, using such a small representative pool.

of course, i probably shouldn't be terribly surprised--the judging panel was a committee of 'fashion and beauty experts,' people who make a living exploiting the sartorial and self-esteem-related weaknesses of others. these are the people who tell you that you as a woman are sub par if you have cellulite or last season's clothes--and then make money off you. of COURSE they're going to ignore the beautiful girl in seattle, or the knockout in manila, because these are not the women who will be inadvertant poster children for high end goods. 'fashion and beauty experts' don't want you to believe that the secret to glowing skin is actually the oatmeal in your pantry, or that a ten dollar tee shirt from the gap is as flattering as a seventy dollar one from dior. they want you to buy the $100-an-ounce face cream that the stars use. they want you to think that if you shell that out, you too will be as luminous and lovely as cate and liv. that you'll realize that you're SUPPOSED to be as lovely and luminous as cate and liv, and that if you aren't, you're a failed example of humanity.

fuck that.

beauty is not in face creams, beauty's not even necessarily in your face. or your body; it's certainly not in your clothes. beauty is about so much more than what can be quantified with a cursory glance or even careful topical examination. beauty is in the ring of the laugh and the tenderness of the touch, beauty is found in the shoulder to cry on and the arms to hold with and the warmth of the smile and the sentiment behind the statements.

and yes, i do think the ladies they've shortlisted are lovely and luminous to look at. but i think there are many, many, many other women in the world who are equally luminous and lovely, but who were not considered for such an honor because they lack notariety, or because their feet are 'too big' or their breasts 'too small.'

and that makes me furious, because it's rankings and listings like this that result in television shows like 'the swan' and terrifying collagen lips--convincing women that they have to look a certain way to be beautiful and inspiring them to disfigure themselves to get there. it's a tragedy, really, because we mere mortals are just as beautiful as the stars. because we're complicated, and unique, and real.