A conversation between husbands

So I have this friend whose husband my husband gets along with just splendidly. And they communicate like two peas in a pod, often by word-association, onomatopoeia (or however you spell that damn word), alliteration...you name it. And when they strike upon something exciting, well, let's just say that it gets confusing and quite often you're not sure what they were talking about in the first place. And neither are they.

In Whole Foods today:

husband number 1: Hey, do you want to get some caricature? They have a caricature counter!!

husband number 2: Hmm...caricature...what's that? Have you heard of chiaroscuro?

husband number 1: Is that like chorizo?

husband number 2: It's Brazilian BBQ. It's a Texas thing...it's run by a bunch of guys from Texas.

Me: Hey, we need to move on, and it's C-H-A-R-C-U-T-E-R-I-E, as in, do you need any ham for sandwiches this week?

husbands number 1 and 2: Oh.

And then there was some version of singing the word charcuterie as if it were the title of the next off-Broadway hit.

Seriously

Dude. I'm really glad that I've finally reached the point in my life where people's opinions of me seem largely irrelevant because there has already been some serious discussion today over whether or not I am an idiot. Did I mention that I love that unmentionable thing that I do everyday THAT I CANNOT MENTION HERE?

Shop Snobs

Are good-looks and the ability to recognize the latest Alexander Wang handbag really adequate qualifications for acting like a TOTAL SNOB? I tend to think not. But the girls in the boutique down the street from my apartment clearly disagree. Or maybe it was that she knew it was on wait-list at Barneys!

But who am I to talk? I impress people with the fact that I can chug four pints of Guinness and still eat a hamburger and fries. With mayonnaise. And, oh, I can spell, and oh, they are giving me a Master's Degree!

Take that, skinny bitches.

Dear Manhattan:

I am so sorry if, at exactly 9:38 this morning, your dogs were howling wildly or your kids were crying and gripping at your legs because yes, that was me screaming "THAT'S A FUCKING WALK SIGN, DUDE" at the very top of my lungs at the intersection of Central Park South and Sixth Avenue. And when I say screaming, I don't mean that I raised my voice. I mean that I got out my broom and a can of mace and I was all over that car with all four limbs flailing and all of the tourists were like, "get me out of this place, these people are nuts" and all of the New Yorkers were like, "blah blah blah get off of that car, lady, you're holding up my fucking walk sign over here." And so I picked myself up, gave the cab the finger, and walked on to my fancy office on Madison Avenue.

P.S. This is true.

How does he do it?

It's no secret around here: I am a wee bit dramatic, and prone to perhaps the occasional exaggeration. My husband, he often either bears the brunt of this or is slightly entertained. Take, for instance, a little snippet of the conversation that we just had after coming home from the gym a couple of evenings ago. I was craving chips insanely and the only ones we had were stale--chips I had bought and opened well over a month ago to go with my trans-fat filled "queso cheese dip-" something I likely procured from the local convenience store. My husband has this one little annoying quality--but just this one--of not drying his hands after he washes them. Instead he gives them a cursory pat on the closest object, often of a fabric nature but not always.

So in this instance he brushes his hands against a towel hanging from the oven door and sticks it into the chips. WET.

"OH MY GOD-AAAA!"

His eyes get really wide like he's racking his brain to figure out what he did in the past hour, day, or maybe year of his life to produce this fit of despair.

"AHHH...YOU...WET HANDS...CHIPS....NOOOOOO!!!" was all I get out of my mouth.

And then, I went on. Yes, I did: "I can't believe you. I cannot believe I have to live with someone like you! That is soooo disgusting."

He was all "Dude, let me get my wet hand out of this bag so that you can enjoy your STALE chips."

And I was like, "UUGHH....Thanks."

Occasionally he has a sense of humor.

Pencil vs. A-line=Boring

One of my very best and brilliantly funny friends poignantly put into words the waning of my fleeting desire to enter the world of the New York City fashion industry:

"Pencil vs. A-line=Boring."

And when I think about like that, even lamps and rugs sound more interesting.

to follow: 20 posts in 30 days

Well several exciting events have taken place since I last updated this blog over three months ago. Among them: I finished classes, though I still have to write my thesis; we moved apartments, just 15 blocks up the park, but still...; Sara Palin announced her resignation as the governor of Alaska; and we excitedly found out that we had free cable, watched lots and lots of free cable, and then tragically lost our free cable--because I guess the guy who lived in this apartment before us and was paying for our "free" cable finally wised up and canceled it--boo hoo, the end, now I have nothing to live for. Oh, and also, I grew up. I forgot to mention that.

All kidding aside, I have made the time in between all of the free cable-watching to think a bit about what I want this blog to be, why, and to chalk up the courage to commit to writing it. This is also the reason I have chosen not to update for a while. So here it is: I express myself best through writing and this self-expression is essential to my well-being. Short and sweet. Boring or not. I also adore words and sentences and am less happy when my life is devoid of them. You might consider this blog like having a cup of tea with me, or coffee, or iced cardamom chocolate, or beer, or wine and cheese...the list of what I could consume goes on and on. And frankly, I'm worth knowing--being able to utter those words and mean them is what clued me in to the fact that I've grown up, at least a bit. That said, I hope to strike a balance, in my life and in my words, between gravitas and utter light-heartedness, because though I believe in seeking, learning, and evolving, I'm still not sure that this thing we're doing (life) is really that big of a deal. Though certainly the weight of being human feels very, very real, I just cannot shake the feeling that we are tethered tightly to a joke. Not a rude joke, no not at all, a cute little slip-of-a-joke that probably just dissolves in your mouth when attempted to be told. Besides, don't you think that whether life sucks or not is kind of a pointless thing to debate? I mean, don't most of us have to do it anyway? This is why some of my posts are and will continue to be silly and irreverent and some of them pensive and seemingly more thoughtful.

So here, I'm committing...yikes...something I hate to do, to writing 20 posts in 30 days, because it helps me--helps me feel like I'm communicating, helps me with all of the other writing I have to do, helps me say "I like ya'll, I really do, and I want to talk, I just do it better in writing. So leave a comment and let me know you were here."

sometimes it's just nice to be right

Yesterday afternoon my husband and I went to Central Park to enjoy the beautiful weather. Last weekend we played frisbee in Sheep's Meadow and he tossed me around a bit. But yesterday we were both feeling lazy so we just got some coffee AND soda and sat on a bench to people watch. At some point he said, "let's try to pick out who we think is the wisest...like, who would you want to have a conversation with...that you could learn something from." After a few minutes I had picked out my person, a dad with a tiny kid on his shoulders, but my husband was just having so much trouble finding someone. He had, however, excitedly pointed out each animal that went by. "I think maybe your person isn't a person at all, but a horse," I said.

And the conversation just got weirder from that point:

Him: "I think you might be right. It's so great how the longer we're together, the more we know each other. I mean, we've almost been together four years."

Me: "But our two-year wedding anniversary is next week. And we only knew each other for like ten months before we got married. That means we haven't even known each other for three whole years."

Him: "Yeah, but four is closer to three than one is..."

Me: "Nobody said anything about ONE. And besides, we've only known each other for three years, that's not four."

Him: "Whatever, four is still closer to three than it is to one so it counts."

Me: "I guess so, but I don't get it."

Him: "Look, just because it's a misconception and you don't understand it doesn't mean it's not true."

Me: "Did you really just say that?... Oh, I get it. You're RIGHT!"

Sometimes it's just nice to be right, especially when you're married. And extra especially when you're married to me.

caution...profanity below

My husband seemed to think it really odd when last night I sent him an email with just a wee bit of profanity in it. I mean, all it said was "here's your fucking receipts." He asked me to do something for him, I did it and voila...there were his fucking receipts. Doesn't seem strange to me at all. I talk to everybody like that. Like, when I'm buying beer at the grocery store and they ask for my ID I hand it to them and I usually say something like, "here's my motherfucking ID." I don't get it.

On the other hand, perhaps he was just dumbfounded by my use of an incorrect contraction: "here's." But y'all, I was just trying to keep it real.

several things that absolutely DID NOT happen this week

1) Less than 24 hours after I had decided that obsessing about clothing and beauty products was taking up too much of my time, I absolutely was not taking time out of my day, the one reserved for working on my thesis, to stroll through the park with a girlfriend and talk about dresses MADE OUT OF TOWELS. Because really, talking about towel-dresses would have been a waste of my time. I mean, I could have been prattling on about the magical new cocoa-butter lotion I had just procured. "Towels," I didn't say incredulously, and she was not like, "you know, it's a cute towely-dress," in her English accent. "Nope, I'm pretty sure that wearing a dress that looks like a towel is not cute," I did not reply. "YOU KNOW! It's like made out of washcloth material." "Oh, you mean terry cloth!" And she did not, absolutely not, continue to repeat that it was a "towel dress." And the other thing that's not true: this woman is totally not an expert in TEXTILES and COSTUME DESIGN. Nope, not at all. Also, I did not directly after this go and spend over half of a hundred dollars on a manicure and pedicure. Because, you know, I don't have time for all of this beauty crap.



2) At no point in the past week has anyone in my immediate or extended family said such a thing as "I NEED you to go to the store and get me some salsa this minute." And to really drive home the point said person did not add: "how can you always expect me to eat things that are dry, woman??! DRY?! I need to eat things that are wet sometimes." And I call myself a wife. What was I thinking?



3) Dude. It would have been really embarrassing had I thrown myself onto the ground in front of our real-estate broker when I found out that our perfect apartment was already rented. Furthermore, at no point during this painful process did I even think about laying there (on the floor) saying "ohh, ohh, I'm dying. My heart is broken. You made me cry..." And the broker was not like, "oh, don't cry," and did not look at my husband as if to say "GET YOUR CRAZY WIFE OFF THE FLOOR THIS INSTANT." And my husband did not shrug his shoulders meaning "what's the big deal, buddy? this happens like five times a day. You should see what happens if I leave a spot on kitchen counter after I lovingly make her coffee even though I don't drink coffee." This whole thing...that would have been a totally childish thing to do. And me? I would NEVER do something like that.

very serious cause for concern

Dear blog-readers,

Last week I wrote about a very fortunate event that took place in my life: the bodaciously awesome experience of taking a spin class with an instructor who looked, moved, and even talked, exactly like Kirsten Dunst. But, folks, this week I have not been quite so fortunate. In fact I have had a couple of experiences that have given me very serious cause for concern. Very serious indeed. I have witnessed two, not one but TWO, assaults against human reason and basic English literacy. The first is courtesy of an Unmentionable Person who said to me, and I quote,



"This is not some sort of hippie-dippie place where you can just walk around talking to whoever you want."



For the sake of moving on to more important issues at stake here, I will skip over Unmentionable Person's obvious grammatical error of substituting "whoever" for "whomever" because in the end, this is not really that big of a deal, and it's a pretty ubiquitous mistake. Forgiven. I will just chalk this up to grammatical style choice--indeed there is such a thing! Granted, this is usually reserved for people who have gained more control over conservative grammar usage, but it exists all the same.



My gut reaction, however, was to blink and rub my eyes. This was followed closely by the momentary thought that my parents had lied to me, telling me that I was born and raised in Texas, in the United States of America, otherwise known as that place where that thing called The Declaration of Independence was written. It states: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." Do you think when they said "liberty" they meant that even hippie-dippie people can talk to whomever they want? Because oh, I don't know, ALL MEN (AND WOMEN) ARE CREATED EQUAL? Obviously, this is just a thought and is only my interpretation. But really, is my love of barbecue and country music pure affectation if I wasn't really born in Texas Which Is In The United States Of America Where They Have That Thing Called The Declaration Of Independence? Obviously shaken up, I picked up my iPhone and chose the "use current location" option on Yelp and got in return lots of restaurants all located in New York City's Upper East Side. I think we can pretty safely say that this is indeed located within the United States of America, can we not? And the rest of my reasoning went like this: considering that Unmentionable Person obviously did not even know which country we were in, I could confidently disregard the rest of this inane statement. Controversy avoided. This UP was a loony, plain and simple.



The other issue I have to talk about here concerns third-world literacy. I know that this is a touchy subject for many, but I feel compelled to state my case all the same. Yesterday morning I received several emails and phone calls from friends, alerting me that someone had hacked into my yahoo email account and was sending emails with the subject heading, " PLEASE GET BACK TO ME WITHING 24HRS YOU ARE MY LAST HOPE." Please note here the complete lack of punctuation and the obviously inappropriate use of all caps. I do have to say, however, that adding a "g" to "within" is a cute way to end an already adorable word, don't you think? I tried typing it this way over and over and found myself thrilled at the way this neologism felt beneath my fingers. In other words, this is one spelling error that I can get behind! My husband and I even broke out the new gin and threw a party for "withing," sporting hats made of paper in the shape of the letter "g."



I will not burden you by recounting the entire rest of the email here, but spare me just this one part, please!:

"It as been a very sad and bad moment for me, the present condition that i
found myself is very hard for me to explain. I am really stranded in
Nigeria because I forgot my little bag in the Taxi where my money, passport,
documents and other valuable things were kept on my way to the Hotel am staying,
I am facing a hard time here because i have no money on me. I am now owning a
hotel bill of $ 950 and they wanted me to pay the bill soon else they will have
to seize my bag and hand me over to the Hotel Management, I need this help from
you urgently to help me back home, and i need to get to get back to
the office i need you to help me with the hotel bill and i will also need
$1250 to feed and help myself back home so please can you help me with a sum of
$2300 to sort out my problems here? I need this help so much and on time because
i am in a terrible and tight situation here, I don't even have money to feed
myself for a day which means i had been starving so please understand how urgent
i need your help."


Now, how on earth am I supposed to empower "Youth to Fight Racism, HIV/AIDS, Poverty and Lack of Education" having such an obvious lack of education myself? Me! really stranded, as in "I'm stranded, not just a little bit but really, no really! stranded" with my "little bag" that I forgot in the capitalized Taxi after which I was "owning" $950 to the hotel in NIGERIA! because hotels in Nigeria typically charge this rate for ONE NIGHT. That would be the one night that I have been here since I talked to you all yesterday, people! Otherwise they will take my little bag. The one I left in the Taxi! Don't you get it? I am in Africa saving people from bad things and I thus lost my entire sense of reason along with my ability to spell and use punctuation!!!!

Now, you try and tell me that that doesn't make any sense.



Before you get upset about my insensitivity concerning third-world education and literacy, let me assure that this is actually an issue very close to my heart. And to prove this, I am starting an organization called "Education for internet criminals who are trying to scam money from your friends and family." Meetings will be held monthly in my apartment and will involve said criminals receiving tutorials in logic, grammar, and business by faculty from Sesame Street. Coming soon, tutorials will also be available via Skype.

suddenly I see

Tonight I had the thrilling experience of taking a spin class with an instructor who looked exactly like Kirsten Dunst. And I mean the Kirsten Dunst who was captain of the cheerleading squad in Bring It On. She had those tall people arms that were equally as long as her legs such that, if she ever happened to get tired of using her legs to pedal the bike, she could just reach down with her hand and give those legs a break. The advantages that tall people have in this life just go on and on and on. Unfortunately for the class, we did not get to witness this great event because said teacher never got tired. No certainly not. Did I happen to also mention that she was exceedingly happy and positive? One of those people you just want to hate but can't find any reason to because they are so EXCEEDINGLY HAPPY AND POSITIVE and that would just be wrong. But really, I couldn't find anything to hate about this woman, try as I might. In fact, I found myself plotting in class about how to be her friend so I raised my hand and started going, "oh oh, I know the answer," and then I was like, oh right, this is spinning. Fortunately she didn't notice because my husband, who is even more eccentric than myself, was singing Coldplay at the top of his lungs. In a spinning class. Note to self: take him places as decoy when I'm wearing bad shoes. Perfect.

At one point, after a really long, hard climb she noticed that the air conditioner wasn't working and said, "It's not working! But you guys don't notice right? Well, that's okay!" If I were a dog I might have thought that she had just said, "you won the lottery! isn't that great? it's great!" because that was the intonation in her voice. And I was all, NO! I'm not hot! WOO HOO. Who's hot? Let's go! And she would do all of these cute little movements with her long hands and arms to indicate what we were doing and such. And then the song came on that brought it all together: "Her face is a map of the world Is a map of the world You can see she's a beautiful girl She's a beautiful girl And everything around her is a SILVER POOL OF LIGHT The people who surround her feel the benefit of it It makes you calm She holds you captivated in her palm Suddenly I see This is what I wanna be..." I was in her silver pool of light! They should bottle this stuff. My way to eternal salvation suddenly became clear: keep taking my B vitamins and stalk this girl. That's not creepy is it?

Dear woman who wore the charm bracelet to yoga class on Friday:

Dear woman I don't know but who wore the charm bracelet to yoga on Friday,

I have news for you: from now on, STARTING RIGHT NOW THIS VERY SECOND, loud jewelry is officially illegal within a fifty foot radius of me. That means that yesterday you were breaking the law, but I'll let it slide since this law was only enacted as of today. But consider this a warning. We both know why you did this: to annoy the shit out of me. That, by the way, is me being generous with my compassion. But really, where else besides New York City would a 65 year old woman with perfectly coiffed long blond hair, in all black clothing no less, be wearing a charm bracelet to a yoga class!? (and this was one of among many other bracelets which thankfully, were not so loud).

And for real, I would not be complaining had the constant dangling and clanging not gotten in the way of me trying to relax. Me! in a yoga class! trying to relax! how dare I? I know I know, I shouldn't be trying to relax but trying instead to trim and tone my inner thighs but forgive me, I already have pretty great inner thighs. What I needed more was to be able to actually stay in a ten minute headstand without falling over but for the clanging of you bracelet, woman. Already it took you five minutes to get into headstand because your exceedingly loud CHARM bracelet got loudly caught in the ropes. And I was rolling my eyes upside down. I must have really looked like a yogi then, upside down and rolling my eyes into the back of my head. But then you also had to come down right after you finally got up. And we both know why that happened: because that charm bracelet weighs more than you. If I were to guess it would be a ratio of about 60:40 and we both know that that equation does not a happy headstand make. Seriously, the loud charm bracelet in yoga class: NOT CHARMING. I am also upset because you have officially made it important for me to have a label post entitled "charm bracelet" and how cool is that?

if i only had a blog!

it would look like this. I figured that black was the only natural choice for a blog-ground since I'm obsessed with not liking black. In fact, it's one of the many things that defines me. Every time I walk into a store I simply relish telling the salespeople and everyone around me about how I don't ever wear black. And sometimes I'm like, well, except for today when I'm wearing black and all but I swear this is not normal! no not at all! I am so original, right? about not wearing black. And then I roll my eyes at myself.

I titled this blog "yogathisandshoesthat" because every other name I thought of was already taken. And now that I really sit and think about it, I'm glad that someone else besides me is stuck with "downbythebayou" and "smackthatcentral." yogathisandshoesthat is about me I guess, and my fascination with words and yoga and shoes. And speaking of fascination, I am so totally NOT that person who is fascinated with everything. I wish I were! But really, I don't think I even looked both ways while crossing the street until I had lived in New York for at least a year, and then I was like hey! where did all these stores come from? that's so nice that they put some stores in New York just a year after I moved here--super sweeties! That's right. I didn't even pay attention while crossing the street. A friend of mine asked me the other day how long it took me to stop looking around when I moved to New York. And I was all what? why would I look around? I know where I'm going and those buildings, those are just buildings and that park? I don't know it's just a lot of benches and a carousel and an ice-skating rink and stuff...I do, however, know so many people, my husband included, who are really interested in everything. And somehow I think it's cool to be like that. But I'd rather be wearing good shoes personally, and those take time to shop for, damnit. Don't get me wrong, I'm a yogi through and through, okay well not totally, (not a big fan of the word "yogini"). I just kind of know myself and I know that I would be lying if I said I wondered how that ancient coin was made or even how many colors are in that sunset. I do not wonder at all! I figure, hey, everyone needs something to think about so really it would not be fair of me to take up all the thinking. And really, it wouldn't. I used to feel really bad about this trait but I've now kind of accepted it. And I guess acceptance is kind of a focus of this blog. It's about how being an authentic yogi and spending ridiculous amounts of money are shoes are not mutually exclusive. so there.

I guess that what this blog is really about will emerge as I write. But it's so sad that blogging about work is off limits (thanks so much to www.dooce.com) because I swear, some crazy things go on over there on Madison Avenue what with all of the punching and kicking and stuff. oh and the buying Prada online. there's A LOT of that. Not by me, of course.

Oh, there's just one more thing you should know about me: I hate lamps. AND rugs.