2012, a Video.

Below is a little something I threw together to represent 2012.  Unfortunately, I did not video tape enough AT ALL last year, so while I wish I had more, it will have to do.  2012 was a hard year for personal reasons that I'll be sure to divulge at some point, but it was also an amazingly fantastic year in it's own way.  When I watch this, I try not to focus on my shoddy editing job and instead see how blessed and lucky we are.  And I also see how important it is to make memories like this one.  I've always felt pressure to be a historian of my life because you never know when you'll need to look back and "remember when"...

Click here for our Youtube yearly recap:  2012.

Unfortunately, I haven't figured out how to see the video on mobile devices yet.  I swear, I am such a NOVICE....at EVERYTHING having to do with keeping a blog! Ahh.

Okay, enjoy!

My Year...in manicures.

I do love me some painted nails.  Here are some few from 2012...

It's electric. Perfect for anytime, anywhere.

I wore this to a wedding where the bridesmaid dress color was black.

Holiday party nails!

This color stayed on my nails foreva. Twas amazing.

My nail version of the 90's double slouchie sock.

High gloss pale purp.

 A Remy approved Mermaid mani.

I may have a pale purple addiction

Christmas Day nails:)

Back to the beginning: Moving to NYC for 1 month.

So, as I've written before, Jeff and I met in NYC, lived in NYC, and then subsequently moved out of NYC a couple years ago.  We still live very close by as the train is a 10 minute walk or 3 minute bike ride from our home and the train itself only takes 35 minutes to get there.  Nonetheless, I still crave living there just a little bit. To not have to race for a train after happy hour or work is a beautiful thing.  This is why Jeff and I have decided to make the move back to NYC...for the month of October. 

In the past, living in Manhattan was AMAZING and TERRIBLE.  Period.  

It was amazing because of the vibe, the inspiration, the lower east side, the east village, the restaurants, the bars, the FOOD, the street noise, the people, the subway, and the never-ending list of things to do.  I loved just being there.  Walking down Orchard Street or sitting, perched on a bench on Avenue A with a bagel and cream cheese, people-watching.

However, things were not 100 percent rosy 100 percent of the time.  The apartment aspect was tough.  Whether you spend 1000 or 3000 a month, it's always pretty trying.  My first apartment was only 950/monthly and a dream come true for a recent college grad. I could live in Hells Kitchen, close to my work for under 1k a month? I'll take it! So I did...BUT, it was also an illegal sublet which basically meant that I had to hide from the landlady who lived in the building housing only 10 apartments for 4 months. Not fun. Also, I'm pretty sure the place was haunted. Oh, and it was above the subway, with my only windows positioned at a bus stop.  Buses run 24 hours a day. I did not sleep for 4 months.  

My second apartment was the best one.  It was a 3 bedroom in a hi-rise with a doorman and a roof deck.  I had 2 roommates and Jeff was actually one of them for a few months.  The only downside at all was the sharing a TV/living room/kitchen/fridge/bathroom/everything fairly between 3 people.  Not stepping on anyone's toes was like an olympic event in that place.  Also, I apparently did not take any pictures of this place in the 1.5 years that I lived here. Annoying!

Whoa. Bad hair day.

What a slob! But please note: this was a huge bedroom for me at the time.

My third apartment (just over 2k) should have been great since it was mine and Jeff's first home together.  And it was in the lower east side, an awesome neighborhood.  It really would have been great other than our drug-addicted, abusive next door neighbors who screamed and made up ALL day, every day.  I seriously don't think they even worked.  They also chain smoked cigarettes which would have been fine, if it didn't billow through our intercom into our apartment. Nasty. Ultimately, that did not even break us.  What did, was the no dog policy.  We wanted a dog!

Also considered "big" in NYC.

Our mini office. With a window looking onto a brick wall.

A very New York Christmas

Couch was replaced by bar stools shortly after this photo was taken.

The hallway that separated us from our wacky neighbors.

That brings me to our 4th (dog-friendly!) apartment.  This place was so darn spacious.  Something we had never dreamed we'd have. Right in the east village, with a view.  Not an easy thing to acquire in that part of town since there aren't many tall buildings.  But of course, it wasn't all peachy.  There was a problem. A HUGE one.  The apartment. was infested. with mice.  Nothing could stop them from coming in and honestly, it drove me mad.  It was awful, petrifying and disgusting.  They drove Remy insane, as well, and they made me want to throw up on the regular.  We didn't even make it to the end of that lease.  We needed to get OUT.  

Our last place was supposed to solve all of our problems. It had a HUGE outdoor deck, so that we could feel free and not boxed up.  It had an upstairs office, separated from our downstairs mini kitchen, mini living room, mini bedroom and bath.  It was also on the 5th floor of a walk-up building.  Hellooo exercise!  This place was clean, renovated and actually pretty awesome.  The only real setback was that we were too darn big for it.  Remy had no place to run or play and the freedom deck was not as amazing as we'd hoped.  It faced inwards and kinda felt like a jail.  Oh, and I could hear my neighbors burp. Thanks, paper-thin-walls. 

I do think that if we'd never gotten Remy (our lives would be awful) we would probably still be in the city.  There are TONS of normal not-pet -friendly apartments that would have worked for us.  But I'm glad we didn't live that life.  Remy is our everything and our house and town that we live in now is unreal, amazing. Ultimately, I'm thankful that things went the way they did but I still can't wait for our month back in time.  Back to when we lived in a tiny space. In a walk-up building. Surrounded by restaurants and a bajillion people.  This one month trip is going to be so amazing and I can't wait!

xoxo
L

Sinks are more fun than my rebellious uterus.

Since I've been home from taking the best vacation ever, life has been HECTIC! With a capital...everything.  You see, for the past year the hubs and I have been dealing with some rather annoying issues pertaining to a certain body part of mine that hates complying with the reason it is there to begin with.

Basically, my uterus is not up to snuff.  I first found out that things were amiss in May with doctor 1.  However, upon switching doctor's (to doctor 2), I found out that YES my uterus was still crazy-pants, but I was previously misdiagnosed.  Blah blah blah, surgery was needed (I was excited), a septum had to be removed and it all took place last week. I'm in the healing phase now and will hope to hear how things went on Monday.  Obla di, obla da.

However, I am a TERRIBLE waiter (both laying on the couch and working in a restaurant). I have the shortest attention span and I simply cannot sit still for too long. How long is too long? Probably around 29 seconds.  So, since I've already rearranged (aka - told Jeff where to move things) multiple rooms in the house, I figured it was time to focus on our 3 x 4 miniscule bathroom again.  Hooray!  

Out with the old sink (in the above link) and in with the new...

I can't wait for it to get here!  I mean, with the extra 4 inches of space we'll be getting, who knows what will happen! 

xoxo

L

Flashback: The Wedding

Since I've been consumed with editing the road trip video and an upcoming surgery to fix something that needs fixing (I'll explain later), I haven't had much time for much of anything.  However, over the weekend, the hubs and I found our missing wedding video and finally posted it to Youtube.  Only 3 years later. Go us. 

Anyway, here it is:

Kast/Thompson Wedding Music Video - 9/25/09

I'm obviously trying to plaster this thing everywhere, so that it CAN NEVER BE LOST AGAIN. Whew.

A few details:

Took place at The Knoll West Country Club in NJ

Edited by me

An amazing day, not an amazing edit of the day.

Happy Tuesday (?)

~L

Quirks.

Everyone has a quirk or two.  Even if you aren't aware of what they may be, they're there.  Some more out there (eating cocktail skewers, laundry detergent, or dating an inanimate object?) than others.   

However, as a public transportation user, I don't have the luxury of seeing people at their best or most normal.  Nope.  On trains/subways/buses/planes I am witness to these quirks EVERYDAY.  What is it about a subway that makes us all a little loco?  Are we a tad too trapped with our thoughts?  Are we simply too close to our fellow riders?  Or are we too close to ourselves for comfort?

I, of course have my own.  Upon entering a train, I will most likely scout out the bathroom...you know...just in case.  I almost NEVER use it, but what if I needed to?  What if it wasn't working and then the train stalled, trapping me there for hours? Or what if the car with the bathroom was crowded with people?  These are all things that make my mind race.

Other than that, I like to have a window seat, but I probably won't act noticeably if I cannot.  Oh, and I don't like to touch people.  AND if the person next to me is picking/biting/doing anything that I deem as bathroom behavior, I usually excuse myself as soon as possible.

Those are mine.  Here are some others:

On average, a dozen girls per subway car will cover their hands in their sweaters before hanging on to the subway pole for support. I'm not sure if it's better to touch the thing to maintain a better grip and wash your hands asap, or do this.  I sway between the two.

Every single day, dozens of people stand to exit the train 5-10 minutes before we even enter the station.  I understand the urgency, but unless you are in the center of the train car, I think there is very little point in doing this. You may save yourself 23 seconds. However, the energy expelled in this practice is so addictive and I've found myself doing it too. Follower.

On a subway one time, I witnessed one woman pressing her eyes shut while repeatedly telling herself that she was "almost there" for 12 grueling minutes until we arrived at her stop.   Also hating the idea of entrapment, I felt her pain...but moreso for her quirk than actually being trapped in a vehicle that was taking her where she wanted to go.


Last week, I watched as a young lady dressed in her fancy work garb paced the entire length of the train a good 7 times before getting to her stop (or maybe it wasn't her stop).  Back and forth she went.  Knocking into people, constantly excusing herself. It was painful to watch because I knew she was having some sort of internal struggle, but what could anyone say..."I'm sorry for your brain"?

Yesterday, I sat beside an enthralled Kindle reader and nail biter who spit his nails OUT in the direction of the train aisle.  I'm sure he didn't even realize he was doing it, but you can be sure: This  made me want to vomit.

And today a man jumped into my subway car and proceeded to lay out a small area of newspaper to rest his weary suited bum on. No he wasn't a puppy and it wasn't his litter box. He merely thought the newspaper would be less dirty than the seat.  Of course, I then spent the rest of my ride wondering if I agreed with this action and upon arriving at my destination decided that I do not.  Ink on my pants seems like a messy situation to fix...but then again this was his quirk and not mine.


Whenever I start to feel like a freak or anxious about something or another, I think it's important to look around. Really look around. Everyone's got their thing.  I'm not alone.  We're all just so consumed with our own stuff that it's hard to see...humans are quirky. All of them.

xoxo
L

Relax to Survive.

This morning, I boarded the train, took my seat by the window and pulled out my notebook, ready to get some script-writing done before work.  A man walked by me wearing a hilarious jean jacket circa 1984 that attracted my eyeballs.  I stared as he passed and saw that all down the backside of his jean dream was embroidery that read, "Relax to Survive."   I thought about it. 

It struck a chord.

Reason being: I have anxiety. I'm not someone who you would think has such a thing (because I'm pretty even-keeled and laid back most days), but I do.  It hit me like a brick to the face in 2005 as I walked down the grassy aisle of my college graduation field, changing me in an instant.  I was about to take my place among my fellow hungover about-to-be-graduates when I suddenly became dizzy.  Within minutes of finding my seat, the president of my college took to the podium and something inside me burst.  I had to get out of there.  So, I ran. Off the field, through the crowds, hyperventilating, searching high and low for a bathroom, and basically dying. Or so I thought.  

I used the bathroom, ran back out onto the field and sat. Things turned black.  I became dizzy again. Nauseous again.  Heart pounding again.  I was about to die again.  Once more, I ran off of the field like a mad-woman cloaked in a black cape to search for the bathroom again.  Afterwards, I ran to the ambulance that had been parked on the sidelines in case anybody happened to be dying. Like me.  The paramedics checked me out and told me that I had heat exhaustion.  I disagreed, telling them, "No, It's not the heat, it's everything. Everything is wrong."  


As my graduation continued without me, I remained on the sidelines, head between my knees, with someone else's grandmother applying a wet cloth to the back of my neck.  Then, my number was up. It was my turn to cross the stage into graduation land.  Other-persons-grandma told me that I didn't have to go, but I did.  Shaking like a leaf, I stood up, I crossed the stage, took my diploma and shook the president's hand.  Every step felt like an eternity and every thread of my being begged me to stop because I was obviously having a heart attack. 

My hand escaped the president's and as I turned to the graduation day photographer waiting for me, it was gone.  The shakes, the nausea, the heart pounding, the dizziness.  All of it was gone.  I was no longer dying. Just like that.

That was my first full blown panic attack even if I didn't know it at the time.  Since then, I've had some years where my anxiety acted as a hidden ninja, pouncing only every so often...and other years were plagued with constant anxiety mind games brought on by myself.  Nowadays, it's mostly gone.  I have ways of dealing and overcoming, but that doesn't mean I don't think about it. Often.

Which is why today, when I read that man's coat, I couldn't help but think how correct the words are.  We have to relax or we're not going to make it.  To survive...and really, really live, we need to relax.  A little more each day.

Thanks for the insight, jean jacket man.

xoxo

L

The Rebel Toothbrusher.

I have a mini rebel living within me (it's like a mini-pony, but in my brain).  It makes me enjoy things that are not supposed to be enjoyed merely because they are different and being an oddball excites me. How to deal? Growing up, I'd flunk a test here or there, draw/paint/vandalize my own bedroom walls, walk to parties instead of drive (and driving was way cooler), or NOT even attempting to have a sip of alcohol at Woodstock '99 when I was 16 and definitely could have gotten away with it.  Isn't being different fun?!  Nowadays, I still have my quirks - the walking thing, not getting an iPhone, not reading Harry Potter or Twilight, or wearing "name" brands.  There are a million things that I find myself being a little rebellious with on the regular.  And toothpaste is one of them.

As a kid, my parents would HATE how gross I allowed my toothpaste container to become.  They weren't even being mean, my toothpaste was nasty...and did no small wonders for making the hallway bathroom appear tidy.  Still, no matter how many times they begged/thought I was brain dead/pleaded for a cleaner toothpaste tube appearance, I couldn't shake my love for a freeing toothpaste application experience.  Oh, kids. So silly.

Now I am almost 30.  I have a career. I have a husband and a super-mutt.  I have my own house...with my own bathroom (see where I'm going with this).  I have my own toothpaste. And it looks like this:

Just enough room for miniscule portions of paste to squeeze out. Perfect.

This glob is hidden when houseguests are around. Don't worry.

Being a mini-rebel is tough. And somewhat disgusting.

Sorry Mom!

Flashback Friday

From an early age, I realized that I was verrrry different from my peers in one very huge way: I had parents who did not give a crap what I looked like when I left the house...SO I dressed like a crazy person.

From ages 5 and up, I had free reign of my abysmal hand-me-down filled closet, allowing me to show the world just how disheveled and wildly unkempt a kid can look.  Jealous?  I understand.  Two things came out of this life experiment: I lived a pretty creative existence as a kid AND I have horrendous childhood photos.

Here is a gem taken from the back seat of our mini-van as we drove to North Carolina:

Happy weekend!

Whyyyy?!

I am beyond tired today.  It's like...impossible...to just...be. 

I have the day off (thank you, freelance world), so I guess that's a positive even though I'm not sure it really is.  Working is inspirational, unlike today.  I really wish I had the energy to edit my book, send out a query letter, or even find a kickass dinner recipe for tonight.  Alas, I do not.  Why must days like this exist?  My brain is processing thoughts slower than sludge slipping through a pin hole and it isn't cool.

Oh fun.  I just received an email asking me to work on a new Lifetime show next week.   I guess I can feel somewhat accomplished now, even though it's kinda sad that RECEIVING an email is my big whoop for the day.  Well, that and going to Whole Foods with my sis and neph.  That counts for something, right?

Okay, this has to stop.  I'm forcing myself to do 29 jumping jacks followed by an hour writing in Diary Girl.  Ready, set...GET MOTIVATED!

NYC Love

I've been living in the city this week with my hubby (sans our super pup Remy) due to an unpredictable work schedule of mine.  I was set to have night edits starting at 6pm and ending...whenever they ended which left me a tad worried.  The last train to Maplewood leaves NYC around 1am and I was scared that I may not make it in time.  Missing the train would be horrifying; inevitably leaving me abandoned, homeless, with nowhere to lay my little head but Penn Station's urine soaked linoleum.  HOWEVER, as bleak as that sounds, I was even more scared TO make the train home and endure the 8 minute walk to my front door (train station parking is impossible) all by my lonesome to possibly endure a mugging or worse...a deer mauling.   Needless to say, (my imagination needs saving) staying in NYC was my only real choice.

With two of my best friends off for a whirlwind vaca/business trip to Belgium and Paris leaving their Hells Kitchen apartment wide open AND my parents willing to adopt Remy for the week, The hubs and I were sold.  It was back to the place we met.  Our old stomping grounds. NYC, baby!

We've been here for 3 days now and let me tell you...in the 1.5 years that I have not lived here, nothing has changed.

Immediately after setting my stuff down, I scoured my new territory for a cafe from which to work and landed on Cafe Europa across from the Letterman building. Inside, I grabbed my Hazelnut coffee and went-a-lookin for a seat.  What do you know? None of their 65 tables were free.  Of course not!  It WAS 3:15 on a Wednesday, after all!  Prime lunch/dinner/whothehellknows time for everyone.  I resigned to taking my coffee outside and people-watching from a little cement planter.  Work shmerk.

Next up, I met with my friend to grab a second lunch.  Do I normally eat two lunches, you may ask.  The answer is, "only in New York."  The second lunch was an old reminder that "if a friend is in your neighborhood, do ANYTHING to keep them there."  They're hungry, but you already ate?  Who cares!  Once they leave the confines of your 'hood, they're gone.  And let's be honest, you don't feel like riding out to Brooklyn to visit them, either.  In the city with the best mass transportation system, a subway ride can be as daunting as a plane ride.

After the second lunch on Wednesday, everything fell into place.  The 5 story walk up.  The crowds at 10pm on a Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.  The take out menus.  The happy hour specials that end at 11pm.  The huge dogs peeing all over the defenseless plastic newspaper holders.  The entire block that smells like throw up.  The feeling that you can't get where you're going fast enough.  And just everything.  New York was the first place that I ever really fell in love with because it evokes an actual feeling from me.  I may not miss living there every day...but I couldn't live without it.

Things that make me go hmmm...

Being a diary-keeping-kinda girl, it may come as no surprise that I gravitate towards true stories - old and new. Articles, books, short stories or photographs - I love it all.  I love to learn from other people's journey's, no matter where they've been or what they've experienced.  Some part of me wants grow from it, or at the very least, lend an ear.

So while story-listening is somewhat of an obsession of mine, I can't help but have favorites.  And it isn't glamorous.  I'm not in love with stories about puppies (even though I do) or courageous acts selflessness (also cool).  Nope.  Those are not my fave. I love... <drumroll please>....LOVE learning from people who have experienced any sort of mental disorder.  I guess I just want to know what's out there.  What our minds are capable of.

So...without further ado, here is an article on something I have never heard of before:

Orthorexia -  It's an obsession with only allowing the healthiest of foods to enter your system.  Like most disorders, it only gets bad when taken to the extreme.

Have a read:

http://www.cnn.com/2012/01/05/health/eating-healthy-obsessive/index.html?hpt=hp_t3

My commute...

Most days my commute into Times Square is a a mish mash of crowds, clutter, congestion, and noise. And yet somehow, it is almost always amusing.  Today, I had the pleasure of witnessing:

-A business woman bustling beside me cloaked in a fleece Superbowl Snuggie.
-A cabbie honking and screaming to two pedestrians only to ask a question about the Packers.
-A lone pineapple atop a public trash can cover.
-And one high-stepping fellow who managed to keep perfect pace with me all the way to my office...no matter how many cars I jumped in front of and bicycles I dodged.

Things that make me laugh...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-yLGIH7W9Y

Aaah, the things we say...

My personal favorite is, "Are you near a computer?!" 

I've been guilty of that one since weather.com came onto the scene.  First step, leave the house.  Second step, look up down and around in complete bewilderment.  Third step, remove phone from purse and call husband.  Fourth step, hang up and dial Mom when husband's voicemail sounds.  Fifth step, "Mom!  Are you near a computer?  You are?!  Thanks! I need to know if it's going to rain today."

I've never gone back for an umbrella, but I think just knowing helps.

And this...

is what the end of the day looks like!

The middle of the week has come and gone!  Happy hump day!

Things that make me laugh...

Who wore it best?

http://www.buzzfeed.com/peggy/who-wore-it-best-the-bread-necklace

My first book.

I wrote a book.  And it was hard.  It sucked me dry and it took a long time.  Like, a really really annoyingly long time.  Nobody tells you about that part of writing a book, how long it will take.  All anyone says is that it's "hard" or "worth it" or "such a great creative release," but they don't say, "Oh you're writing a book?  That takes a long ass time," because like all things in life - things in the past are but a distant memory.  Once you get past it, you forget the pain. You forget the struggle.  You lie to yourself and think it was great and totally worth it.

Clearly, I'm not there yet.

Although my book hasn't been published yet, I still have to believe it will be.  I mean, it took so long to write, it has to be.  There really is no other option. Not for me, anyway. 

My book is a compilation of my very own high school diary entries as I navigate my way through the 4 most confusing years of my life.  Diary Girl is a tale of self-exploration, insecurity, and learning.  It is my life, but in a way it could be anybody's.  So, I guess that's why I did it.  And I guess that's why I'm starting this blog, too.  Because no matter how old I get, I'll always be a diary girl, through and through.

I am a diary girl.  This is my life.