so i asked myself

...and i said, "yes, with crème fraîche!"

the tortoise and the hair

firstly, i'm so sorry i haven't updated...

not that i know if there's much readership this week.

my one diligent reader is on vaca, so i could, currently, be speaking to an empty box of sadness and anti-matter for all i know...but i'm going to take a moment to talk about something trite.

(yes, because everything i talk about here is usually so philosophically heavy and intellectually stimulating.)

the subject has come up again.

my hair.

laugh at me all you want, but you all know that you spend much more time on your hair than you should. you know that, late at night, you stare in the mirror and speak to your reflection in hushed tones about a brighter future...one where you can afford beautiful highlights and feature-worshipping layers.

...if you actually do this, well, that's...that's cool.

i don't take it that far.

so, i was taking my usual 4pm cigarette break (i'm very scheduled, you see...8 cigarettes a day as per ms. hepburn's advice. anything more would just be unladylike.)

yes, i was standing there, staring off into space and contemplating whether i should eat another piece of candy when i got back upstairs.

thank you to my co-worker for leaving that heaping bowl of chocolates by the reception area.

it has afforded me a reason to get up and stretch my legs...

every other minute.

(pah. unhealthy! did i mention i'm getting cheeseburgers tonite?!)

ok. ok. anti-tangent powers engage!

i'm staring off into space.

people walk by and one girl looks back and makes eye contact with me.

i have my headphones on, so i wasn't sure what she was mouthing...

then she points to her head...points at me and gives me a thumbs up.

i cracked a crooked, unsure smile...

you see, mes amis, whenever i plan on making any sort of drastic change to my hair (in this case it was considering going blonde...and i'm not talking about punk-hay-platinum, but actually professionally done blonde) i, very suddenly, get random compliments on the protein strands atop my weary head.*

the hair gods keep bamboozling me!

i put my foot down and say, "why, yes, friday. yes...you are going to do this to your hair!"

then i wake up the next day and there's volume in the right places and just enough messiness to make it look like i slept on it in the perfect way. suddenly, bangs decide to lay right and wisps decide to wisp in the correct positions.

so, curse you, hair gods!!!

i shake my fists at you furiously...(if you could advise me on where, exactly, you reside, that would be helpful as i'm currently shaking my fists in all directions...making me look less like i'm cursing something and more like i'm dancing with imaginary maracas.)

as a side note, i'd like to inform you that i've decided that the names of the hair gods will be as follows:

• growseidon (god of length) - (please refer to this earlier post)
• huermes (god of color)
• texturtemis (god of perms, waves, curls and straighteners)

...but beware...

by hook or by crook, i will find a way to do something!

*compliments are generally dashed aside like decorative toys on a birthday cake in the face of a horde of sugar-crazed office workers around 4pm...also, i'm convinced that all people who dispense said compliments are blind and/or stylistically challenged.

and so

and i'm feeling a little less grumbly.

my office chair

it needs defuzzing.

dear lunch, (part 3)

today, you're just right.

utility

it's everywhere you want to be.

the laziest lazy in lazytown

i know...I KNOW.

i haven't updated...i'm completely ashamed of this.

this past week has been, how-do-you-say, uninspiring?

well, no.

busy?

yes.

cold?

yes.

hibernatey?

yes.

pen-no-movey?

yes.

have i eaten a disturbingly large amount of sweets and fried foods?

yes.

is my desk calendar covered with haphazard specks of dark chocolate smudges?

yes.

...and the main question...

am i gross?

yes.

i've spent the last several days tormenting myself about my lack of motivation and productivity. however, instead of remedying this easily fixable problem by, say, writing and drawing something...i've been coming up with grandiose ideas in my head and contemplating them and recontemplating them...and then promptly going to bed.

not healthy.

neither is all of the horribly greasy, (tasty), sugary, (heavenly), fattening, (comforting) food i've been shoving down my throat.

ingesting lots of comfort food + sleep + dreaming of warmer weather = clearly i'm a bear

i have this epiphany annually.

the one that says, "oh. oh, right. right. winter. forgot about that season."

now, don't get me wrong.

i do enjoy a good romp in the cold...a day on the slopes.

hot cocoa at a lodge.

i enjoy admiring snowfall from a warm place behind a window and am even enchanted by the occasional clump of flakes that land on my eyelashes.

but.

but what?

well, as romanticized as winter in new york may be...

the result is, often times, unsavory.

snow falls gently...beautifully down on the city streets...and then is ground into a mushy pile of greyness that is neither solid nor liquid. a scientific anomaly that has the gravitational force to suck your entire leg into it...

leaving your trousers and boots comically wet...

and leaving you bitterly cold.

before the snow comes?

you step out onto the street with an expectant heart and an oversized scarf in hopes of frolicking down the avenue as if you're in a movie version of your life entitled "ain't life grande"...that extra "e" on grande makes it super special and oscar-worthy.

however, upon reaching the street, you realize you've stumbled into a nature documentary entitled "the life of a leaf on the wind"...sounds very zen, but it's actually just shots of you being pummeled by wind tunnels from different angles.

you hear david attenborough's voice as he whispers gravely, "but this one lost her group...because...

there is safety in numbers..."

then we get to the scene where the skies open up and produce buckets of icy rain on top of the wind and all productivity and tenacity fly out the figurative window along with miss leaf and any inkling she had of a glamorously romantic winter day in new york.

in general, my timing seems to be off.

things are not running as smoothly as i'd like.

did i mention this morning i got mad at a cupcake truck for getting in the way of me crossing the street to get to a duane reade in a timely fashion?

i didn't mention that?

well, i did.

i got mad at a cupcake truck.

that kind of sums up my general state.

so, excuse my lack of writing.

excuse my lack of drawing.

i really have been trying, but the week has left me feeling a little less comical and more like a stray cat on a rowboat filled with baked goods in the middle of the arctic sea...surrounded by sharks...that are eating all the fish i want.

n.b. jolissa, i promise to finish that post and sketch about our nutella adventures! <3

i made a list of things i need

and you were on it.

dear lunch, (part 2)

you're severely lacking in greens today.

if i didn't know any better

i'd assume i was having a good day.

the hipster & the cartographer

so, along with purchasing i-can-see-forever-contacts, i finally made the step and purchased myself a pair of shiny new i-can-see-forever-glasses...and what a journey it was.

now, normally, i would just fall back on my usual thick-rimmed, squarish frames. i've held that style for over a decade now, very de rigeur pour moi. not risky in the least...

but the sales woman did something dastardly to me.

just uncalled for.

she handed me a pair of thin-rimmed, bronze-colored frames that made me think of old-world thinkers and literary greats...of course, a modern spin on them, as they weren't spectacles by any means, but close enough in this day and age.

i really don't think i could pull off the sigmund freud look...nor would i want to.

i don't think i own enough tweed for such an endeavor.

i hesitated and put them on.

...and then there was the silence.

the silence of a million philosophers being asked what the meaning of life is.

a silence SO silent, it would've swallowed, not only the sound of the pin dropping, but the pin itself...and everything in its general vicinity.

my mum sat behind me and quietly whispered, "you look so smart."

the sales woman sat beside me and quietly nodded, "those look really nice."

but...but...this was outside of my comfort zone!

there was the frightening potential to look like my father circa 1965!

...the potential to look like my sister circa 1980!

i was overwhelmed, fearful and excited all at the same time.

i think i experienced this same feeling when i realized that i could wear other colors aside from black...which, according to dan, is one of the main differences between university-friday and modern-day-friday...a difference...also, an improvement.

these were not frames for those of the herd mentality.

these were the frames of book readers and contemplators.

frames of the classic ilk.

this would catapult me into the group of mature and timeless.

not young and hip.

i'm not going to lie, dear audience.

i was scared.

scared for my life...for what this meant.

i had been very carefully guided onto the grown-up bandwagon.

next stop: novel-reader-tea-sipper-berg.

...but wait a second...

"i do that anyway," i thought to myself.

i drink tea. i read novels...

i dream of being an old-timey cartographer, wearing beaten leather boots, trudging along unknown landscapes, recording information into weathered notebooks with fancy pen nibs and india ink.

these frames are not far off from what, in dreamscapes, i might actually be.

perhaps it was time to indulge the arcane adventurer in myself.

perhaps it was time for thin-rimmed, metal frames.

of course, this didn't go so smoothly.

i contemplated between a safe, thick-rimmed pair and these frames for almost an hour.

switching back and forth while saying to my reflection, "so, what do these frames say about me?"

i even went so far as to take photographs with my phone and send them to my paramour for a second opinion.

in the end, he seemed to like the thin frames as well.

so, the comments went as follows:

• mom: intelligent
• sales woman: nice
• other sales woman: beautiful
• paramour: flattering
• friday: OMG. I HAVE NO IDEA! I'M SO SCARED!!!

ultimately, i purchased the thin frames...wincing as i heard my wallet play a power ballad about being broke and empty on the inside.

at this juncture, i'm still not sure how i feel about them.

i made a decision to wear them all day today and each time i pass by a mirror i'm confused at the sight of myself.

who is this creature staring back at me?

she's the cartographer...readying herself for another map that will show her the way back to safety and comfort...

or, perhaps, the way to adventure!

for now, i feel ridiculously exposed.

the heavy lines of thick-rimmed glasses gave my eyes something to hide behind.

like a randomly placed barn in a horror movie...

but now, i have these thin things...like pencil scratchings.

my eyes can't hide behind them...

all face. no frames.

i suppose i'll just go read a novel and sip some tea and contemplate nothing in particular...

!

it seems these frames are doing their job already!

angsty night of philosophy, literature and (possibly) tweed...here i come!

cold weather sports

professional miniature scone eating.

in this weather

it's your best bet.

on pasadoble with papa time & parkas

it happens, people.

cold weather happens.

...and even though i was able to avoid it for a short while by escaping to la on a brief sojourn, i was smacked in the face with it today. as in, monsieur weather (the spiffier, more charming cousin of oooold man winter...possibly jack frost's uncle) took his white glove, placed a cinder block in it and commenced to beat me over the head with it this morning.

i knew from the moment my alarm went off.

goosebumps and absolute darkness were all that greeted me upon waking...well, that and a failed attempt at a CS4 install...but that's neither here nor there.

...and then there was the snoozing.

let me tell you something...

i

don't

hit

snooze.

i just don't do it. i know myself too well. after the initial hitting of the snooze button, i'm foxtrottin' with father time. each precious minute is like bathing in a comforting tub of fuzzy, warm things...possibly loving animals or a bucket of surprisingly heated silk...made of hugs.

i love it.

so the clock ticked on and i was none the wiser.

by this point, father time and i had danced everything, including the electric slide...that's how far it had gone.

too far.

...but very suddenly i felt the creeping hand of reality creepily tap my shoulder in a highly creepy fashion.

it was time...

time to get up...

time to wash away the creamy latte fluff of dreams...

it was time for work.

so, of course, i panic.

i was puttering down slo-mo county road...

no signs...just endless fields of SORRY-NO as far as the eye could see.

in the end, i made it out...

only half an hour late.

so what if the back of my head looked like an overused chimney brush...

the point was that i had escaped the seduction of father time's smooth, salsa steps.

...and this is the part i've been trying to get at.

i made one smart move today, my beloved readers.

one.

i wore my parka.

oh, parka.

you of olive drab and faux fur trim.

you of casual tailoring and laissez-faire attitude.

you remind me of a warm, safe place where as a child i'd hi-ide...

that's right.

i went there.

upon seating myself on the bus, i very quickly fell asleep...

it felt like i was floating in a sea of cashmere teddy bears.

the fact that i was in a moving vehicle just added to it...

so, whereas just wearing the parka would simulate a sea of cashmere teddy bears, the addition of the movement variable mutated said teddy bears into ultimate teddy bears equipped with massaging limbs and vibrating torsos that hum erik satie songs in loving voices that don't sound disturbing coming from a stuffed animal.

needless to say, not only did mister parka afford me a very deep and restful sleep during my commute...he also has protected me from the 40 degree (but feels like 25 according to NPR) weather.

parka...for the win.

dear lunch,

you're severely lacking in reds today.

life in a box

ready when you are. <3

friday's guide to time

where, usually, one finds oneself with not enough time, cramming things into the day like a desperate hipster jamming themselves into a pair of metallic leggings that are too tight...

what does one do when one has, dare i say, too much time?

do what i do.

go and overdose on an exorbitant amount of culture. so much culture, in fact, that when you're done, you'll be licking your wounds from all the lashings of all things artistically inclined.

for a flickering moment in time, you'll be able to singlehandedly differentiate between a magritte, monet, manet, bauhaus, boticelli, beuys, warhol, wagenfeld, corbusier, cornell, pollock and parkeharrison.

you'll obtain the magical ability to discuss pomo and prefab like it was boho and sealab.

...and that's how i feel right now.

sitting at the cafe in the middle of the lacma on a blustery, gloomy LA day.

unfortunately, i brought the gloom and cold with me from new york and though all the los angelesians (i know that's not correct - stop judging me) are really happy about all this "crisp" weather...well, i just feel like i haven't left new york.

well, aside from having to drive everywhere...and palm trees.

while everyone happily dons their autumnal jackets and neck scarves, i'm unhappily donning my trench coat and wearing a dress as a flag of protest (denial).

"it's not cold. i'm in LA."

nonetheless, my evenings have been spent shivering and cursing myself for leaving my pashmina in the car.

...but, yes, back to the subject at hand.

art.

vive l'arte, mes amis.

it's a wonderful thing.

i feel absolutely magical sitting here, enjoying all of this.

cut to the next day...

never spend more than 2.5 hours at a museum when it's cold and raining...and where most of the buildings are spread around a vast plane like a few croutons in a thickly vegetated salad.

my post started positively enough, but after poking through every floor and every piece...sometimes twice...after perusing the gift shop...sitting at their outdoor cafe....then their indoor cafe...i realized that one can only stare at a le corbusier chair for so long before going cross-eyed.

i was inspired. don't get me wrong...but i was so exhausted from plodding along the many miles of floor space that after a while everything turned to a bauhausian blur.

cut to the following day...

i tried to cure the exhaustion with dollar tacos with my paramour last night, but i have to say that even today i'm feeling rundown in the brain pack.

what i really want is to curl up in bed and sleep all day until my flight leaves...

but, alas, this is not the case.

...but we do what we can, eh?

we spend time with those we care about if only to watch them run in and out of rooms, pack boxes, drum beats on their legs with expectant hands and go about their daily work.

i suppose, in a lot of ways, there's something comforting about watching a significant other do these sorts of things.

i mean, one has to sit and contemplate their other half and what they are made of.

how they use packing tape.

how they coil cables.

what snacks they eat when moving heavy objects.

the importance they hold in carrot juice.

these are, ultimately, the charming little idiosyncrasies that let us sit back and admire people as a whole.

in the meantime, i've been keeping myself busy perusing all the things i've been meaning to peruse. apartments for sale, technology deals, friends' status updates.

this trip to la has been lovely, dear readers. (despite the, now, hard rain and undeniable chill in the air).

it's been nice to not have to go to work...not have to sketch (i know, i know...i'll start that again. don't you worry your pretty little head)...not have to really answer to anyone.

...to wake up to a slumbering paramour.

good night kisses and good morning nuzzles.

i've been able to relax a little bit...which is not my natural state.

it's as if gravity just ceased to exist for a few days.

like the electrons of my mind were finally able to stretch out and stop spinning.

cut to the following morning...

there was a moment during this trip...

the second day i was here...

still new, but not disorienting...

still so many days left to enjoy...

driving down the road, watching palm trees lazily sway in the breeze.

the skies were blue, the sun was warm.

i had just seen my dear friend, dan, and my paramour and i were holding hands and driving back to the apartment so he could fetch his glasses.

...and this feeling washed over me like a saturday sprinkler on a hot summer morning with the promise of a day of swimming and ice pops from my childhood.

it was immense and overwhelming.

what i realized was that i was happy.

that's right, mes amis.

i . was . happy .

...and now i sit in the afterglow of it all.

touching down at the airport this morning, after rubbing the sleep from my eyes, i was overrun by an intense sense of loss.

i wandered the airport in search of a quiet spot to cry, but never found one.

instead, i wobbled down to baggage claim, retrieved my luggage and found my shuttle.

on the ride, i got to listen to a man who looked disturbingly like a ken doll go on about how new york city was one of the greatest cities ever to some israeli tourists.

then he told an australian couple that they had to check out the chrysler building and the guggenheim because frank lloyd wright was such a great architect.

so, my emotions were momentarily squashed by the banter of this los angeles manhattan lover.

moments passed.

i found myself in front of my office, bags in tow, and took a stroll to the local coffee shoppe.

they put in my usual latte and i took it with great expectation.

alas, the latte was subpar in comparison to the lattes i had sipped all during my stay in la.

i stood by the office doorway, cigarette in hand, and shivered as the autumnal winds swept by.

i was alone again.

...and it's not like it was a foreign feeling...

just one i hadn't felt in 5 days.

...one i had almost forgotten about.

sketchlessly bi-coastal

ok. i know. i haven't sketched in a while.

things've been busy...but let me explain...

i'm in la.

i don't have a scanner.

by the time i return, i may have some drawings...

in the meantime, let's talk about air travel...

so, inevitably, every time i get on a domestic flight to anywhere (in this case, la) i will always have this magical notion (i have a lot of those...notions, that is) that i will have a super easy time falling asleep...and then the ride will be over in no time.

this explains why i almost always schedule myself on red eye flights.

where this thought process comes from is beyond me, my dears.

i have yet to get a really decent amount of sleep on any domestic flight.

and you know the worst part?

i always get really drowsy RIGHT before take-off.

i'm sitting at my window seat, diligently reading my book and periodically staring out at the tarmac and gigantic plane wing. the plane begins to tax ever so slowly as the pilot's voice comes over the speaker system to inform of us the "slight delay".

so, the plane languidly rolls around like a leisurely shopper not really in any particular rush to find a parking spot at a mall...

very suddenly, my book starts to tumble forward and i realize that i'm exhausted from my day. my head begins to bob. i gently rest my book in my lap and turn my heavy-lidded eyes towards the window. yellow lights flashing and passing by...

and just as i've really started to go, i feel the engines kick into high gear and my eyes pop open. my body wants to sleep, but my grain desperately wants me to watch the plane ascend as it's something i rarely get to see...which is absolutely true. there are few things...few occurrences in this life that can truly make the nj turnpike look breathtaking. flying out of newark airport at night just happens to be one of those rare occasions.

my heart begins to flutter. the pressure on my chest increases as the plane pushes forward ever faster.

i feel myself smiling...smiling at the fact that i'm en route to see my paramour. smiling at the awesomeness of witnessing an oversized soda can filled with people take flight. just smiling. downright giddy.

i'm sure i creeped out the girl sitting next to me...

and then?

NO sleep...just my book and i. i push through 8- pages and munch on the delectably questionable cheese, rice wrap thing we were rationed (hey, it was warm and i was hungry, OK?) and a few baby carrots.

...30 more pages and a million watch checks that only solidify my theory that time spent on planes is something like:

y = (x * 3) * z

y = time on planes

x = time on the ground

z = how many babies are sitting near you (in my case, there were 5...5, people!!!)

(ergo, in my case...1 hour of ground time equated to 15 hours of plane time...in my head...a 6 hour flight would end up feeling like 90 hours)

...where was i?

right...after all that i began nodding off again...so, i tried to seize the opportunity like a dog witnessing a meat truck accident and whipped out my shawl, ipod and jacket (conveniently balled up to substitute a pillow as the flight attendants were all brought up in NOES prefecture where you don't do nice things like bring people pillows or offer for that matter...EVEN THOUGH THAT'S YOUR JOB...anyway).

i turned out the light and curled up...music softly rocking me to sleep...if by rocking to sleep i mean accompanying me while i close my eyes, still completely conscious and stare at the insides of my eyelids. awesome...NOES. not awesome.

we've all had that, right?

where, in your head, you're saying to yourself, "hey, i'm SOOOOO asleep right now! OMG, i've never been so asleep in my life!"

...but the reality is that your eyes are just closed. you're not at rest...you're just pretending.

this went on for quite some time, much to my chagrin...and, in the end, i didn't get any sleep. i wrote this blasted blog post instead...

...man, and why do babies just LOVE crying when everyone (me) is trying to sleep?!