There is not one person in this world that is not cripplingly sad about something. You remember that before you open your mouth.

Look, I’m gonna spare you the effort. I think that religion is meant for people who aren’t smart enough to understand how the world really works. They’re so scared of being small and insignificant that they need someone to tell them how special and important they really are.

The paradox of a moment is that an instant in time can be more significant than the sum of all moments up until then. Perhaps this is the root of my obsession: a romanticism for the speed at which life can change and the desire for it to do so.



Why can’t I be a rock star?? <3 Lissie <3

I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go.
F. Scott Fitzgerald 

If You Are Funny, You May Be My Friend.

One of the many reasons I connect with certain people in my life on a deeper level is through humor. I have many people I call friends and who I spend time with but only select group who I consider to be true best friends. These are individuals are by no means collectively similar but exemplify various traits that I admire.  Each of my close friends has taught me something or seems to possess at least one trait I would like to embody myself.  Of the girls I’ve called friends since childhood they’ve shown me how to be less judgmental (though I admittedly don’t always put this into action), they accept me regardless of what I do or say and they seem to be significantly less elitist than many of my friends in New York. This is a fact that I’ve only learned to appreciate by moving away from Connecticut and a bit ironic given the area I grew up in epitomizes what most of the country thinks about Connecticut.  

When I speak of humor, as you know if you’ve read any of my prior posts, I appreciate dry, black comedy and most of my closest friends are like-minded.  One friend in particular, a girl I’ve known since I was around 8 years old, is pretty much the female version of my soul mate. She is one of the funniest girls I know and can successfully launch me into a fit of laughter with a few simple words.  She is as sarcastic, if not more, than I am and possesses a similar drive to learn more about the world. When I go back to Connecticut I typically spend at least half my time at her apartment laughing at stupid things and talking about books, politics, anything really.

If I could successfully push her to write a book I’m fairly certain it would be a best seller. Her and her twin sister have been close but battling for as long as I can remember. This sibling rivalry has led to an endless series of hilarious situations in which I would only find myself with the two of them.  The first time I slept over their house in sixth grade, a Mexican standoff ensued rather quickly as a result of a life or death situation every person finds themselves in at one time or another: Who is going to call to order the pizza? This debate turned combative somewhere around the time the proposal of pepperoni was raised resulting in my friend and I locking ourselves in her room while thwarting off attacks from her sister who stood foaming at the mouth on the other side of the door. While we stood, ears pressed to the door, waiting for the imminent threat to retreat she went searching for reinforcements in the kitchen. She quickly returned brandishing her weapon of choice, a kitchen knife, and began systematically jamming it through the sides of the door in between kicking it in hopes to overtake us through brutal force.  I, an only child, was equal parts amused and horrified by this turn of events. I had certainly never encountered this at home… there was no one there threatening to stab me at a moment’s notice and I immediately felt slighted.  

Over the years, my friendship with these girls has grown and continues to churn out plenty of ridiculous memories.  This includes my being hit with one of my own shoes in a college dorm room after being caught in the crossfire of an erupting argument which I’m sure was as serious if not more than the Great Pizza Debacle of ‘94.  That same year came the argument to end all arguments which resulted in the three of us not speaking to each other for at least several days. What else do 18 year old college girls argue about other than whether Michael Skakel’s ties to the Kennedy family were a factor in the state’s inability to prosecute him as a teenager in 1975? Yes, THIS of all things, led to a shouting match most likely horrifying the sane individuals in our dorm.  What can I say? I have a lot of opinions. And just for the record, they WERE a factor regardless of what anyone tells you.

Today, even though I no longer live in Connecticut we are still as close as ever. I text them almost every day with some ridiculous situation or person I’ve encountered that only they would find amusing. This entire post was prompted based on a text I woke up to this morning that reminded me how much I love my friends.

One of the sisters was pressured into taking a meditation class last night by one of our other friends and her reaction to said class resulted in the below simply amazing text messages.

Her: A brief synopsis of the meditation session: A rotund, portly gentleman came in late, took the farthest seat from the door requiring him to walk across the entire room, and started the meditation off by shifting in his chair, coughing, clearing his throat and repeatedly wiping his sweaty hands on his polyester pants making a loud swishing sound.  He then capped it off by telling the instructor, “When I close my eyes and try to focus through my third eye (a meditation term) I keep getting a headache. Am I doing something wrong?” C expects me to go again next week.

Her:  I found myself opening my eyes and glaring at everyone in the room. He’s lucky he got out of there alive. Meditate on that, sucker.

I am completely certain that at the age of 75 we will be on a porch somewhere waving our canes in the air and complaining about the local teenagers ruining the neighborhood. Oh man, I can’t wait.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but an over-acuteness of the senses?
Edgar Allen Poe

Who Needs Enemies When You Have Your Friends?

Him: You are different from everybody.
You are the epitome of the living best.
Don't tell anyone I said that.
Me: I'm going to post it on Facebook.
Him: You do what you feel is right in your heart...just know that you do NOT want this war.
Me: Don't poke a queen... you will get the repercussions.
Him: The problem for you is that you would have to leave that pillow-topped throne of yours... an occurrence unlikely to happen even in the most dire of situations. this will not be a cold war...I will attack you with the fury of a thousand suns and ensure that you never so much as think the words status update again.
Me: Don't you know anything? Those who sit on pillowtopped thrones have minions... armys of minions. I will throw your ass RIGHT in the tower
never to be heard from again.
Me: And if I must, I will chop that "valuable" head of yours RIGHT off.
Him: I've seen your minions. Forged from the molds of angry housewives at too early of an age, unless your idea is to have them nag me into walking into that "tower" then your plan is flawed at best. Anyone else who you call upon would prefer my company over your treachery.
Me: Oh please, what are you, a one man army? I would have your men toppling like dominoes.
Me: All I need is cheese and alcohol and you are a goner. Your men would sell your soul to the devil for a single piece of pepperoni if they were given the option.
Him: My army moves in silence....look to your left, then to your least 2 of the people you see are currently plotting your demise.
Me: I know about your fear of ZOMBIES, your Achilles heel.
Him: You shut your whorish mouth.
Him: are evil. I didn't want to do this but I too know of your greatest fear... a blossoming blonde who is roaming the city again by the name of Mrs. R.
Him: If you care to continue this foolish war I will have no problem setting up a small get together, just the two of you.
Me: Pfff, she doesn't exist to me, it's not my fault she's jealous of the queen.
Him: I actually agree with you on that last point.
Me: As I knew you would.
Me: I'm currently waving my wand around my desk triumphantly.
Me: From time to time I hit people with it so they know where they stand.
Him: Greatest will be the fall of the arrogant. I'm going to enjoy tearing you down should you choose to follow through with your idle threats.
Me: You'll have to reach me first.
Me: Don't think I haven't built Roman Empire style walls around my home.
Me: I'll throw you a rope. And then drop it as soon as you grab hold.
Me: Oh yea and there is also a moat filled with zombies around said wall
so... have fun with that.
Him: I fear none of these. All I need is the very computer I sit before to ruin you.

Ja’mie King is coming back to HBO and I want to dance around in excitement… I love love love Chris Lilley. YES.

I have to do what?

If you’re anything like me or a large number of people (I am NOT alone), you dislike public speaking. And when I say dislike it in reference to myself, I mean hate, avoid, detest, abhor, loathe, really any of the above. I have a memory of being in what I’m pretty sure was third grade and reading a poem in front of the class… pretty sure I was also dressed like Peggy Fleming complete with pink leg warmers but my brain may be failing me there. Instead of reading the poem, I actually cried until the teacher left me alone.

It’s a strange thing to have a fear of even if it is extremely common. If I can speak freely on a conference call or sitting at a table, where does the anxiety come in if I have to stand up? What’s the real difference? In my rational mind, there isn’t one. But that hasn’t stopped me from feeling like I’m going to pass out or forget the English language given the opportunity.

As far back as I can remember I have been avoiding any type of speaking in a public situation.  In college, I would drop a class if I discovered an oral presentation was any part of the syllabus. I’ve managed to push myself through group presentations if forced but always dreaded them before, during and after.  Growing up, it wasn’t something I saw as an issue… just something I wasn’t going to do.

In my professional life, my priorities have changed a bit.  It is the only thing I feel will hold me back if I let it.  When it comes to my experience, my input and my overall intelligence, I know what I’m talking about (or at least I think I do which is half the battle). But if I can’t speak to it in a formal setting then it’s all a bit wasted. I actually took a public speaking course last year which I think helped a bit but hasn’t alleviated all anxiety. It’s more about managing it than eliminating it… so they say.

As my 30th birthday approached last week, here it was. My manager sat on my desk on Monday morning smiling.

We have a large new business pitch coming up on Friday for a global beer client… and I want you to lead it. I also really want this business so… no pressure.

My immediate reaction? I want to leap from this building. I want to announce that I refuse to turn 30 years old and I want catapult myself into the East River in protest.  Maybe I will wear a cape while I do it or a V for Vendetta mask to protest… public speaking?

While my initial reaction was one of pure dread I also thought to myself… here it is. I’m going to be 30 years old on Saturday and I need to kick this problem. I need to get over this and stop letting it hold me back. I could not decide if this was horrible timing or perfect timing being the day before my birthday.

Our team worked on the presentation all week. Making changes almost every hour based on new client feedback… your typical ‘We said we wanted that, but we really wanted this’ edits. The night before the pitch, I think I slept for a total of one hour. I rolled around in bed imagining every terrible scenario and actually thought to myself, if I can’t do this, my career is going to be ruined. Even my inner monologue is dramatic. Like, buddy, shut up much?

On Friday morning I sat at my desk going over the slides in my head. Over and over and over.  While everyone has that inner voice in their head, I have several. I have one voice that tells me I can’t do it and I have another voice, most likely implanted there by my mother, that says, just do it. Stop complaining and DO it.

The meeting was scheduled for 4pm on Friday afternoon. Which, um what? Who schedules a new business meeting then? Really? Awesome.

By the time we got in the car to go uptown, I was almost, dare I say it, excited? I was going to do this and I was going to do it well.  Or I was going to crash and burn in a spectacular fashion but either way I was going to try. This was my Mad Men moment.

As we sat down in the conference room in their 19th floor office, which is complete with a circular bar and a happy hour going on near us (it apparently doesn’t suck to work for a beer brand), I was nervous but in control. There was no escaping this situation so I might as well own it.

As the pitch began, believe it or not, I didn’t choke, I didn’t forget how to speak and I didn’t faint.  After the first slide a lot of my jitters started to subside. I wouldn’t say I actually enjoyed it but it wasn’t nearly as terrible as I had imagined. I would say I did well. And the feeling of having successfully presented to this client may be one of the greatest feelings I’ve ever felt. 

As we were walking out, the feeling of accomplishment and having proved to myself I could do something I previously wouldn’t have wanted to do – incredible.  And oddly enough, I think over time I might actually enjoy presenting. Let’s not say I’m a pro but maybe I could be one day.

All I know is the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. It was a birthday present to me. Happy 30th!

I mean I truly believe there exists some combination of words – there must exist certain words in a certain specific order that would explain all of this, but with her I just can’t ever seem to find them.
Walter White, Breaking Bad

I was at ease in everything, but at the same time satisfied with nothing.
Albert Camus, from “The Fall

(via lifeinpoetry)