Decade 3.0

Describe your life at the time of your 30th birthday…

10-year-old E:

At the age of 30, I’ll be all grown up. I’ll have a husband and two kids, a boy and a girl (the girl will be named Samantha), and like ten cats. I will work as a veterinarian — or maybe a pediatrician — and we’ll have a house in New York City and take the subway everywhere. I will also take ballet lessons and watch a lot of Broadway shows.

I will have watched Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” concert without my mom fast-forwarding through the bad parts. No one will have ever found out about that homework page I didn’t finish in first grade and threw out instead of getting my mom to sign it. I’ll have my own Prodigy account and Aly and I will send each other hundreds of emails each month and IM everyday. And I hope my husband can cook, because I can’t.

15-year-old E:

Marriage? No way! Kids? Hell no! Everything society expects me to do, I’m gonna do the opposite.

18-year-old E:

My accounting professor says some accounting majors start at $80,000 right out of college! $80,000!!! Who needs a husband when I can make a ton of money working on my own. I’m gonna have the coolest apartment in New York City and I’ll drive a baby blue Mustang convertible. I know it’s hard to park in NYC, but I’ll be making so much that I’ll just pay for my own spot.

My English teacher keeps saying I’m gonna end up an English teacher or writer. Pssssh! They don’t make any money. Just wait and see.

I definitely won’t have any kids. They are such a pain in the ass. Constantly crying and moaning for things.

21-year-old E:

If I work my arse off, I can make partner in ten years.

Oh, and I met someone; I think he could be the one. [blush] He is so cute with an adorable smirk and that just got out of bed hairstyle that really takes him 20 minutes to perfect. Oh, and he’s British. He sounds just like Hugh Grant. Actually he kind looks and acts like him too. They both have narrow faces, stretchy skin and are kind of awkward.

Where would we live? I don’t know. I would love to live in London, but he loves NY. Maybe well have a house in both places. Did I tell you how cute he is? Let me show you a photo!

23-year-old E:

If I am still working as an auditor when I am 30, please shoot me.

Now, go away it’s busy season and I need to add a 2,546th column to my spreadsheet and decide between a kosher burger and a bologna sandwich for dinner.

I’m serious. Bugger off!

25-year-old E:

Published. The next Sophie Kinsella. No, no! Bill Bryson. If I work as a travel writer I could get paid to travel. How cool would that be? I could give up having an apt, and just live out of my backpack. I’d be one with the earth, bartering the clothes I sew on long train rides to pass the time for food and travel tours. I could find a land I adore and build roots there as an animal activist or offer accounting advice for third-world communities.

Whatever I do, I WILL publish a book by the time I am 30. I will HATE myself if I dont.

The boy? Eh, things with the boy aren’t too great right now.

29-year-old E:

Where will I be when I’m 30?

Well, I am a writer, but not yet a published author. However, I don’t hate myself. I work in NYC but have lost the desire to leave my backyard in the suburbs. One cat, not ten. No idea how to sew clothes, or barter for that matter; I can’t even use eBay.

I run half marathon(s), can put my legs behind my head in yoga class and ride black diamond trails on my snowboard. I drove across the US and walked across England. I haven’t been to a dance class in years, I rarely indulge in broadway shows and I’ve jumped out of a plane 25 times. I’ve learned to cook — and bake — and I work in an industry that would make 10-year-old-“I only eat foods that come covered in ketchup or tomato sauce” E wrinkle her nose. I’m obsessed with cheese. I’ve see Madonna in concert four times — but have still not watched her “Like a Virgin” tour.

I’ve fallen in love, and back out again. I’ve tested my morals, and been deceived and trampled on. I fight for what I want but I never ignore my intuition. I have surrounded myself with supportive girlfriends who constantly inspire me to achieve more. My family has stood by throughout 29 years of irrational decisions and picked me up when Ive fallen. My friends and family tolerate and love me; I will forever feel indebted to them. I’m single. I’m fulfilled. But I still wonder about my Hugh Grant.

I put way too much pressure on myself but love myself too much to change. I am a control freak who gave up control; everything I’ve experienced in my life was at some point unexpected. And I am absolutely loving the ride.

Oh, and I DO send Aly hundreds of emails a month, and we iMessage almost everyday.

Happy 30th Birthday to me! In true tradition, my girls honored my big day with a few of our favorite things… cheese, cured meats, pesto, bruschetta, crackers, lime tostitos, cava, wine, vodka, Reese PB cupcakes and a trip to my favorite restaurant for mojitos and empanadas. Couldn’t have been more perfect… and the celebration will continue next month when we all head to CANCUUUUUN!

I am excited for this new decade and feel confident that there are many experiences and lessons waiting to help me grow.

Happy Birthday to me!

K and I pre pig-out!

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Cheese, races and grandma!

Wow!!! It’s been more than two months since I last posted. WTF? How inconsiderate of me. Sorry blog.

The first week of November I attended a press trip to Wisconsin to tour the Dairyland’s famous creameries. After three days of eating more cheese than I thought my body could handle, I received an early morning phonecall from a sad sad voice.

It was mom. My grandma had passed away. The week prior she had been back in the hospital with pneumonia and a broken arm. I had visited her on a Saturday afternoon.

“Ooooh hiiii!” She laughed when I walked in as if she had been secretly expecting me. I am not sure she knew who I was but she was glad to see someone familiar and have some company.

She told me some borderline coherent stories, most of which included the name “George” (my grandpa) and she hollered at the moaning woman she was stuck sharing a room with: “Ohhhh shut up! What are you complaining about?”

Then to me: “What is HER problem?”

I rubbed her head till she started to doze. When I stopped she perked up again and asked me if I was leaving. I couldn’t make out the words but the disappointment was clear.

I told her I was “going to check on grandpa… George.”

She giggled with her eyes closed and asked what he was doing and what he was going to eat for dinner since she couldn’t make him anything. I promised I’d bring him something delicious to eat. (We had Olive Garden that night, his favorite.)

“Ok. You better go then.” Thats grandma; always putting someone else first.

“I love you grandma!”

“Oooooh ha, I love you too!” And when she squeezed my hand, I knew it was the last time I was going to see her. Just for a flash; I could sense that this was it…

… so I gave her a kiss and the biggest smile I could conjure up while sucking in the tears.

A few weeks later we celebrated her life with a wake full of photos, stories and smiles. She was not only one of the happiest persons that I knew, but she had spread her infectious positivity everywhere she went and with everyone she met.

At some point in the mourning process it occurred to me, ‘this was the first time I had lost someone close to me.’

At the ripe age of 29, I’m pretty damn lucky to make this claim. At the same time, it was unfamiliar territory.

I didn’t feel like blogging. I didn’t feel like advertising it on Facebook. I didn’t feel like telling people and hearing condolences. I just wanted to sit with it, digest it and accept it.

So I did.

Every time Ive sat down to type since, I didnt know where to start. I couldnt write about anything until I wrote about her… and I didn’t know what to say.

Two days ago my friend told me his grandma died. My grief popped its ugly head but this time it left me smiling. I miss her… especially at the holidays… but she lived with a smile so I better too.

There’s been a lot else going on as well. Following Wisconsin I took off on a couple more business trips, including a second landing in San Francisco which only heightened my desire to live there. I had the chance to wander around Union Sq and reminisce about my run. Ahhhhh. Remember that? Did I mention I ran a half marathon in San Fran?

$60 of cheese I brought home from the Madison Farmers Market — the largest producer market in the country.

I’ve kept up the running. Didn’t even stop for that freak blizzard/storm that hit the tri-state area in October. Actually, instead of staying warm/dry, Azzy, Kenny and I ran/climbed/jumped our way through the Men’s Health Urbanathlon — a military-style obstacle course with an urban/city-twist. You know, like climbing over taxi cabs and MTA buses, army crawling under chain link fences and jumping traffic cones.

The course was 9.something miles with 8 obstacles, two of which were running staircases at Arthur Ashe Stadium and Citifield. We split the bee-otch up and relayed it, each taking on a 3ish-mile section.

It was awesome.

It was HARD.

When we saw the course map, I begged for the section that included monkey bars… I don’t want toot my own horn, but I kinda rocked the monkey bars as a kid. All good right?! That section also included military hurdles. Those mothereffers were like 5-foot-something high. Thank god some Greg T (Z100) lookalike showed up and let me step on his back. Otherwise I’d have failed my team. Note to self: must exercise upper body more.

Us enjoying the beer tent after the race.

Anyways. It was awesome. I’ve kept with the running since and ran a PR Turkey Trot 5k, signed up for two NYRR races in January, including the Manhattan half-marathon, and entered the lottery for the NYC Half and the ING NYC Marathon. What did I do?

Then as an early Christmas gift I went and gave myself tendinitis in the bottom of my right foot — legwarmers were the culprit — and have been out of commission for two+ weeks.

IM GOING CRAZY!!!!!!

My awesome podiatrist is “cautiously optimistic” that I can run the half on Jan 21st, and I’ll be playing with my gal in Conn this weekend instead of running the Joe Kleinerman 10K. *tear*

It was kinda convenient that this happened now — I’ve been working on a project at work that has actually been taking all my evening time so I haven’t had to voluntarily compromise running time. And the new website looks gooooood.

With that said, it’s a new year! I am making 2012 the year of SMILES AND POSITIVITY!!!

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My boyfriend, Brooks

Of all the interests and sports and extracurriculars that stumble across this blog, there is one topic that rarely rears its head.

Dating.

The lack of coverage my dating and romantic life receives is not a reflection of my interest in it. In fact, contrary to many of my 30ish-year-old counterparts, I happen to really enjoy dating.

I like the excitement of meeting someone new, asking them 4,000 questions, analyzing all their answers, categorizing them into one of Helen Fisher’s personality descriptions (that’s my favorite part, actually), deciding if their classification mixes with mine and leaving either thrilled at the prospect of a second interview or pleased with my ability to feign interest and a new experience and lesson under my belt.

I also like relationships. I’m pretty intuitive when it comes to knowing what I want and like; rarely does a second date not lead to something long-term. You’re either in or out buddy.

With that said, why don’t I talk about my dating escapades on here? I often ask myself that. And the only conclusion I can come to is that I have yet to find someone I feel comfortable immortalizing on the blog. I refuse to delete or edit my entries after they are posted — or at least after the 24-hour edit period I allow myself after one goes up — so if you make it in, you’re there for good baby.

So here, for the first time, let’s talk about my love life.

I’ve been single since the middle of January. Along with the dreary post-holiday winter months came the end to an enjoyable and pretty healthy relationship. It just wasn’t “right” and I walked away hurt and disappointed on the premise that it “failed” but respectful of the fact that we just didn’t do it for each other. He was a good person. So am I. We just weren’t the kinda good that each other needed.

Ever since I’ve been happily bouncing through life unattached, free to dedicate my time to anything I please. And to be honest, I’ve kinda fallen in love with it.

But as it always goes, I cannot stay single for long. It occurred to me that while I appear on the surface to be single and unattached, I am in a very serious relationship.

For the past five months, I have been in a relationship with my Brooks running sneakers. They are all rolling their eyes thinking, yeah, ok, cute Lizzie, fun analogy; you’re point?

No seriously, hear me out. My approach to running in many ways mimics my approach to relationships. And I’m learning a lot about myself.

For starters, it often requires a huge compromise. Any given day I have a dozen things I need to and want to get done. Many of them do not include sweating around Manhattan, yet I make that compromise to keep the connection between me and “running” strong. I’ve done the “no compromise/ignoring” game in relationships — it doesnt seem to work too well. Significant others seem to want attention. Who knew? My shoes are the same. They are not happy sitting in my closet. Ok, the floor. They never make it home to the closet.

I’m also recognizing a mean competitive streak poking its head out to play. Another trait that tends to flourish in relationships. Just today, on my way out for a run, I was chatting on the phone with a friend who said “I ran a 10k today.” My reply, “Oh yeah? I’ll go run a 10k now.” Clearly he was challenging me, no? That’s what I got from that sentence.

Competitiveness has been a bit of a problem for me in relationships in the past. I am attracted to assertive, ambitious guys. Ambition breeds competition. Before you know it, I’m playing the “I can do it better” game with the one I love. (And for some reason we are never playing that game in the bedroom.)

Just like a boyfriend, my run proceeded to mess with my head for the five miles I did complete (failed on the 10k front). Too fast, too slow, too out of breath. I was all over the place. I just could not get my feet to listen and I was not listening to them. Sh!t happens! Sometimes communication just sucks.

Dude, WTF? Pace is ALL over the place.

Note to self: Buy a Garmin running watch. Nike+ is cool but there is no way you sped up from a 10:34 pace to a 7:51 instantly. The GPS tracking is all over the place.

PS Note to self: Win lotto to afford Garmin running watch.

Running, like [some of] my boyfriends makes me very proud. We share milestones together. Today, even though we were lacking the ability to communicate clearly, was one of those days I wanted to give running a big high-five, smooch on the lips. Today we hit 300 miles on Nike+. Yay Lizzie and Brooks. You guys rock!

That

Another tendency in my relationships is to eat more… like a lot more… than is normal and necessary for my body size. Maybe its some weird suppressed issue, but eating must turn me on because I seem to find men who had to be extreme eaters in another life. And (note the competitive comment above), I sometimes see it as a challenge. I AM NOT PROUD OF THIS. But when they sit down to a three-course meal of meat and sweets, you sure as hell bet that I will be eating the same. I once had a BF drop his fork on the table and gawk at me like a zoo animal… “I seriously just can not believe how much you eat sometimes. It doesn’t seem feasible.” Umm… yeah, it is!

Running also makes me eat… a lot!! Thank you running!

On the positive side, running has brought out my positive qualities, like a healthy relationship should. It’s helped me slow down and pace my life (more to come on that), as well as boosting up my butt and giving me some hamstring muscles. I’ve allllways wanted hamstrings. Like wanted them like the way a LI girl wants a monster Tiffany’s engagement ring.

Oh, and did I mention running gave me a Tiffany’s necklace? Yeah, it did. It’s an awesome BF.

Collecting my Tiffany

Anyways, all this time I thought I was single and I’m really not. I’m wholeheartedly dedicated and very deep in like with my running shoes and the wind in my hair. I’m even more in like with it now that its 55-degrees in the evening and not 90. Cool enough to wear my new long sleeve pink running shirt, but warm enough that all the men running are still in shorts. Yay running thighs. I’m such a sucker for quads. [shudder] Sooo sexy!

This relationship seems to suit me. It’s easy. It’s rewarding. Its supportive. Its healthy. More of my friends are taking it up so we can double date. And most of all it makes me smile.

“They” say ‘you know when it’s right.’ So until I meet someone who I want immortalized on the blog, I’m gonna stick with my Brooks.

After five months together, we are in that comfy stage where we’re not afraid to get a little dirty with each other.

Ahhh, Bliss.

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Another point of running inspiration: My grandparents

Do you remember when you were a kid and your parents told you to be careful running around or you’d “fall and break your neck?”

It actually happens. A few weeks ago my grandma fell and broke her neck. She definitely wasn’t running around, more like walking or standing, but the end result is the same.

Fractured vertebra!

Ouch!

She spent a few days in the hospital and is now in a nursing home rehab. She has to wear a neck brace that she hates and is always, as she says, “just falling off.”

Grandma is 92. She also has dementia meaning a lot of the times she doesn’t know who we are and often tells us about how she entertained, cooked and danced the day away. What a nursing home, eh? One big party!

Rarely does she know who I am when I visit, often referring to me as my mom. I’m too young; she lives in a time long ago when her and my grandpa traveled the world, went square dancing a few times a week and my grandpa ran half-marathons. And there you were thinking “Wait, no running connection?”

My grandparents have been married for 67 years.

67 YEARS! That is a looooong time.

I admit, with embarrassment, that I didn’t get to know them as well as I wish I had growing up. But like all good couples, grandpa complements grandma with memories of the old days clearer than mine are from yesterday. I did NOT get my poor memory from him.

He loves the story about when he was in the airforce and they had their first child, my uncle, without a penny to their name out in Colorado. Grandma had to take Amtrak back to NY herself with an infant when grandpa got stationed elsewhere. Maybe that’s where my love for traveling across countries comes from. He talks about his career in the fire department. He talks about his bout with alcoholism and the subsequent decades in AA and all the friends he made as a result. But what he talks about most of all, and the one consistent in all his stories, is grandma.

“I knew right away she was the one for me. Sure I’d dated other girls but as soon as I met her, I knew she was it,” he told me during one of our hospital visits. “Course she didn’t think the same thing. She was dating like three other guys. (Grandma was/is a big flirt!) Finally I told her to make a decision.

But I knew right away… have you ever felt that way about a guy?”

“Ummm, I’m single grandpa.”

He shrugged and smirked.

According to my grandpa, grandma got him off the couch. Perfectly content to sit around and watch TV, grandma encouraged him to go dancing with her and to travel the world.

“She gave me a life,” he is always saying.

She is that type of person. Even with a broken neck and her mind hanging out anywhere between 1919 and Roosevelt’s presidency, she’s still smiling, flirting with young doctors, making wise arse remarks in response to everything she hears, laughing at her nursing-home housemates and sharing nothing but happy memories — even if it does become a game for us to guess what time period and who she’s speaking about.

Grandpa also reminds us how lucky he feels to have had her stick by him when his favorite pastime was alcohol.

“She could have, and rightly at times should have, walked away. I wasn’t nice.”

But she didn’t. Instead she stuck around to see him drop drinking like it was hot, buy a pair of running shoes and cheer him on through his first half-marathon.

And his second for that matter.

Grandma and Grandpa after his first marathon!

My grandpa took up running when he was in his 60s. And here I am complaining about my 29-year-old aches and pains? He just ran for fun, to have something positive to indulge in; he wasn’t out to set any records or race. But he did. He ran 13.1 miles… Twice!

I always knew this about my grandpa, I remember watching him run past the end of our block during the Long Island Half-Marathon when I was a wee-youngin’. He also talks about after the run: A lot of the guys were going off to celebrate with a beer, which Grandpa was obviously not feelin’. My dad offered him a BBQ and it made his day. ha. In our house a good BBQ’d burger has always been the key to happiness.

I love that my grandpa ran. I love that someone in my family loved something that I love. I love that when I talk about a runner’s high, his eyes light up.

He seems to like it too. During dinner one night a couple months ago, he went through all the tips he could think of.

Start slow, save your energy. 

Make sure you stretch.

Do you have good shoes? You need good shoes.

What are you eating? I always liked to eat a piece of toast with peanut butter. (or something like that)

I had told him I had numerous coaches teaching me the ins and outs of running without catastrophe, but he obviously knew better. I mean, he is 92, dont all 92-year-olds know best? So I listened and thanked him and told him stories about my coaches and the runs I had completed so far.

I saw him the weekend I ran my first 10-miler… the Jackrabbit race. He was very proud. It was cute.

My grandparents are another reason I am running. Grandpa did it — in his 60s nonetheless — so I want to do it too. And even though Grandma wasn’t pounding pavement with him, she guided him through life. Sixty-seven years together and they are still 100% in love with each other. Grandma’s dementia sometimes thinks there are two grandpas — which grandpa uses to his advantage blaming the not-so-good dinners on “the other guy” — but in her heart, he’s the only one that’s ever been there. He’s the one that makes her light up like she’s a 20-something year old in love for the first time.

And he still looks at her like a 20-something year old who found “the one.”

She goes home again the day after I run. Until then, they meet in the nursing home, try to hear each other's stories and and hold hands like they're on their first date.

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Three Cheers for Endurance Sports!

From the looks of my Facebook news feed, the fall endurance sports season is in full swing. All weekend friends and organizations were busy posting support and cheers for those participating in marathons, triathlons, charity walks and other races. Among those were my Hamptons marathon TNT teammates. GO HAMPTONS TEAM! Special shoutout to Ines, my running buddy who ran her first half in 2:20. I hope I come close to such an awesome time!

In the spirit of the season, I jumped on board completing my longest run yet — 11 miles — on Saturday and then heading to Westchester (at 530 am, mind you) to cheer on my friend Kenny while he completed his second triathlon.

My run is not much to talk about. I trooped it from Bethpage State Park (kinda in the middle of Long Island) down to the Massapequa Preserve and back. It was tiring and hard and I definitely didn’t fuel enough. I felt really sluggish with 1.5 miles to go, like REALLY sluggish, but I only had a Gu packet left and I really didn’t want to deal with digesting that with such little distance to go. (I remember when I couldn’t run a mile and now its a “small distance.” ha!)  I toughed it out and promised to better stagger my fuel next time.

My 11-mile route!

Today’s event was much more exciting. The Westchester Triathlon counts as an Olympic qualifier (not sure what that means, but you can imagine the caliber of contestants it attracts) and includes a .9-mile swim, 25-mile run and a 6.2-mile run. And Kenny rocked all three.

the crowds getting ready to hit the water!

Kenny's wave is off! GO KENNY!

our boy heads off to find his bike!

the bike lot emptying out fast as all the athletes take off on the second leg of the race!

Team Swierupski Cheer Squad (in uniform) waiting for him to round the corner of the run portion! (we estimated him to finish at 2:39!)

there he goes... finishing at... wait for it... 2:39!!! WOO HOO!

the recap! tell us about Kenneth!

It was the first Tri I ever attended and a lot of fun to track down and cheer for Kenny along the way! (I also enjoyed cheering for all the TNT teams.) He ran it in 2:39:something — an awesome time. We watched people continue to cross the finish line as we drank celebratory beers.

His cheer squad was very proud. I mean, he’s a triathlete… how cool is that? (And look how cute he looks in his unitard… his girlfriend is one lucky lady!)

 

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Why my cousin’s are the awesomest parents ever!

I’ve been slacking on the blogging. Oops. My bad. Rest assured my lack of blog love is not representative of my running love.

Quite the contrary actually… I had my best run EVER today! I also had my worst run ever earlier this week, but hey, no rain, no rainbow.

However, this entry isn’t about running; it’s about why my cousins, Suzanne and her husband Sean, are the awesomest parents ever! Let’s call them Seanzanne; they deserve a Hollywood name!

I am currently on Amtrak on my way to Seanzanne’s kids’ birthday party!

Jacquelyn turns 4 on Sept 11…

…and Liam turns the big 1 on the 15th.

And in lieu of adding more toys to the playroom pile, they have asked that their friends and family donate to the infamous half-marathon I am running for LLS. (Have I mentioned I’m doing that?)

How sweet are they? Here is the backstory.

Suzanne and I were close growing up. Well, not physically, we lived hours apart, but we spent summers on Long Island creating renditions of Ace of Base performances (along with cousin Katie we had a hot ladies trio) and practicing suntanning at the beach. When I visited them upstate we spent the days running around the mountain they lived on and helping grandma get her first speeding ticket — “Faster! Faster! Drive down the mountain as fast as you can!” *police sirens* (Oops!)

When we weren’t together, we wrote letters to each other like crazed pen-pals… seriously!

Suzanne and I at the birfday party!

Growing up Suzanne dreamed of having a family with a wonderful hubby and fantastic kids, while I imagined being a back-up dancer to Madonna. As we “matured,” Suzanne continued to dream of chasing kiddies around and sought out a career in child care. (I, thanks to ADD, gave up the Madonna dream before I learned what a virgin was.)

When Sue married Sean after college I couldn’t have been happier for anyone. She had found her Prince Charming and they were both excited to embark on their happily ever after. They suit each other perfectly.

You can imagine the impact of the news they received a few years later when Seanzanne was enjoying life with a lil baby girl — Sean was diagnosed with Hodgkins Disease and had to go for chemo treatment.

Sean has been cancer-free for more than three years now!!! WOOO HOOO!!

Made from the same uncommunicative genes, Sue and I didn’t talk much about it, possibly not at all until recently. But when I realized at the information session that Hodgkins was under the LLS umbrella, it gave me a personal inspiration to run for LLS. When the runs get hard, knowing I’m running for a cause that’s helped someone I care about keeps me motivated!

Sean has made my cousin’s dreams come true. And for that reason alone I love him… it doesn’t hurt that he happens to be funny, ambitious and an awesome father and husband — even if he only eats chopped meat in certain shapes. (So weird!) Oh and we’re going running tomorrow. He used to run cross-country so he’s totally on board with this crazy training.

I am so appreciative that they are supporting my run so I can support a cause that has helped their family stay healthy and happy.

(You can too! Click HERE to donate and make sure to submit it in honor of “Jacquelyn and Liam” (under the Add Comment section) to wish them a very happy birthday!)

I also can’t wait to get there to bake cupcakes and chase the kiddies around. I mean, look at them. HOW CUTE ARE THEY?

Happy Birthday!!!
LYLAC. xx

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Like Emily, I run… because I can! … and for Mr. Flannery!

This story brought such tears to my eyes…

I Run… Because I Can: Countdown to the New York City Marathon by Emily Faherty at the Huffington Post.

READ IT! NOW!….

Ok, you done? You can continue reading this now…

This article hit a nerve. You’ll see my comment at the bottom — limited to the Huff Post’s 250 word count — but here’s the long version.

When I was in high school I had an English teacher, Mr. Flannery. It was senior year when I was supposed to be mentally checked out, yet he his class was one of the most engaging classes I participated in during my high school career. He covered interesting material and he did it all with passion. And he was fun!!

He was the type of teacher who would give sarcastic, mocking responses to stupid questions or make fun of himself when he made an error. He was also the type of teacher who tried to connect with his students — not in the “I can be hip and cool like you” way, but on a personal level. He told us stories — stories about his homeland, Ireland, stories about his family and travels and stories about his bladder cancer. Yeah, he was fighting the big C. He had done the chemo thing, etc, putting him in remission, or as close to remission as he was going to ever get, from what I remember.

I remembered him talking about his trips to the Dr and the support he got at home from his family. I remember fighting back tears. Yet, his stories were always told in a tone that said “Don’t be sad guys; I’m not!” He would drink bottle after bottle of water, jetting out spontaneously to the bathroom. Some days we would watch movies; those were his “I’m not up for teaching” days.

What I was too immature, or emotionally closed off, to appreciate at the time, was how he never let cancer get in the way of him doing what he loved to do — teach! It didn’t stop him from trying to get to know each and every one of us. It didn’t discourage him from encouraging us to pursue our dreams — and more so, our talents.

I did well in his class, and participated — which is not common for seniors. He asked me one day, “What are you majoring in next year?”

“Accounting.”

“Nah, you are going to be an English major.”

Laughing. “Nah, I want to make money Mr Flannery.”

“Yeah, ok. You’ll see. You are meant to study English,” he said with a bottle of water in hand and his signature chuckle.

This went on for months, till I graduated and went on to study accounting in college.

It wasn’t until I got an analytical paper back from my freshman English composition professor stating “You should consider majoring in English” that I reconsidered Mr. Flannery’s persistent insight. I went back to my high school during break to show him. He was out sick, battling cancer — with a smile I am sure. I left the paper in his mailbox with a note, “I thought you’d appreciate this!”

The next time I went back he was out sick, again — this time permanently. He had retired to battle his battle on his own schedule. A decision, I know was not easy. Teaching us pain-in-the-asses was his passion.

I don’t know how long it was after, but I heard from a teacher-friend that he had passed away.

I cried.

Years later, I cried again. I had quit accounting and was in grad school studying to become a writer. He had been right; I was meant to study English. And I wanted him to know. The only man I’ve ever wanted to say “you are right” to — and I couldn’t. Oh, the irony!

Teachers are supposed to recognize and encourage a student’s talents. But he took is a step further and recognized not only what I was good at, but what motivated me. He recognized my need for fulfillment and where I would find that. Basically, he knew what I needed to be happy… way before I had any bloody clue what that was. To me, that’s more than a teacher. I only wish I had gotten to know him as more than just my teacher.

Now, reading this article, I have more tears in my eyes. Mr. Flannery didn’t have blood cancer, but he fought with the C-word… and he did it with an unfaltering positivity and acceptance. He is just one more reason, one more person, I am running this long-ass half-marathon. My run and the money I raise may not be able to help him, but it can help someone else’s Mr. Flannery.

I’m with Emily. I am running… well, because I can. And if you can, why not? Right?

Here’s to you Mr. Flannery!! Keep on smiling.

Oh, and Mr. Flannery, you were right. I was meant to study English.

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Updated: Meet Abby and Timmy

“Stop by on your way home,” was the text I got from my brother. Unexplained requests always leave me hesitant — something wrong?

Sure wasn’t… I walked into the back room of my parents house to find two new baby kitties bouncing around. Well, actually one was bouncing, the other other ran and hid under the couch until he became comfy with me, and was sure I wasn’t dangerous. The bouncy one, the lady, couldn’t have care less who I was, as long as I dangled something for her to attack.

Meet “Dempsey,*” named after the soccer player Clint Dempsey,
not to be confused with the beautiful actor Patrick Dempsey.
Meet “Timmy,*” named after mom’s favorite soccer player, Timmy Howard —
and he’s also a little special, like Tiny Tim.

And his sister, “Abby,*” named after Abby Wambach, the US soccer player
currently in spotlight for rockin’ out at the women’s World Cup. 
*names subject to change

“Abby” is a hyper little thing that will jump and cuddle up with anyone, while “Dempsey” is more timid, more particular about his cuddle and play partners it seems. They don’t look alike, but they are bro and sis and they help each other out, such as when Dempsey went in the litter box after Abby peed and covered it up for her. What a great big brother. Actually big might not be the right word, he was the runt. He also gets anxiety, as he puked and crapped all over soon after he got home from the stress of, well, being adopted and moving to a new home. I mean, come on, that’s stressful!! I think he’s ok now.

They love each other.

I’ll post more as we manage to capture them.

In the meantime, here are some adorable pics of my Dora Dora Doll. She is such a good sleeper now that she spends all day gallivanting outside.

She sleeps like a drunk on her back…

On me…

and yeah, we spoon!

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Dora’s Outdoor Exploration

In other non-running news…

Dora the Kitty Explorer‘s lifestyle has been upgraded to include daytime outdoor privileges. This was not a decision made lightly but a result of two components…

1) She wouldn’t shut the eff up about it. Basically, she spent all her waking hours plotting her escape. If the door was left open for 1-2 seconds longer than it took the opener to walk through it, she was gone. When she wasnt stalking the door’s movement, she was meowing at the door and hanging from the door knob in desperation.

2) She returned to pissing on my bed, couch, floor regularly — and I’m pretty sure it was out of spite. Grrrr.

Here are some shots from her first day in the wilderness. The first few times she went out she spent most of the day in the backyard. Now not so much.

The best part was that the birds kept chasing her. After all the scares she gave them through the window when they would try to eat at the bird feeder, it was payback. We could hear them plotting… every time she was in the area they would chirp like crazy. She kept ducking from them and then sitting out under the tress on the lookout — like in the first photo.

 

Chillin in the garden

Hey feathers! I’m outside now. 

Stealth mode.

Aren’t I just so damn cute?

That’s right bee-otchs! I’m up here now!

Yeah, that’s what I thought!

Oh man, I’m dehydrated… chasing birds for real is so tiring.

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Why I’m San Fran bound – with mom!

When I texted my brother living in Seattle to tell him I was running the San Fran Nike Women’s half he teased me, “What? Was New York not good enough for you?”

Actually, it is the other way around. I, by no means, am good enough for the ING. But that’s not why I choose San Fran.

Ever since I was a kid I have envisioned myself in San Fran. Yet I’ve never seen the city.

I attribute this partly to my moms tale of the post-college day her friend showed up on her doorstep, bags packed, ready to hit the road and drive-country… and she didnt go.

I’m grateful she didn’t go, as otherwise I wouldn’t exist, but maybe part of her longing for the bay area wore off on me?

To satisfy our shared hunger I had suggested a month or so ago that we should take a long weekend there in honor of her ‘significant-age birthday’ and my pending ‘Year 3.0.’

When she called me back to say she could get time off in October, I had already found the Nike Womens half. It was a done deal. We were going to San Fran.

What’s more exciting than hanging out in SF with my mom (and hopefully my brother) is that she’ll be there to cheer me on. Running means nothing to my mom but her being there to see me accomplish one of the toughest endeavors of my life, to date, means A LOT to me.

Seeing things through and showing dedication to my endeavors is something I learned from my mom. It was one of the most important lessons I learned growing up.

When I wanted to quit dance to have more time with my friends, she made it clear that it wasnt an option.

Quitting was never an option. (But not in the grunting, winning the football championship kinda way; more of a ‘be responsible’ kinda way.)

And it’s how I live out most of my activities today. It’s hard to follow through entirely when I sign up for so damn much. But unless I have to give up sleep or sanity in order to accomplish something, believe me, it’ll get done.

Maybe I have something to prove… maybe I just thrive on the challenge… or maybe my mom just instilled the right values in me. Either way, I’m getting to San Fran and I’m finishing that bloody race.

And I have my mom to thank… And cheer me on! Love you mom!!

Me with mom celebrating her “significant-age” birthday at the NYC Highline.

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Resolutions? Check.

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions. It feels like a false start to something I should be, and like to think I am, striving for throughout the year.

With that said, when his January hit, I jotted down a few things I’d like to focus on improving in the coming months. Nothing I hadn’t been trying to “resolve” to do for while prior, but they weren’t getting done so why not jump on the bandwagon?

Yesterday I stumbled upon the list, which I had saved in my phone’s “Google Tasks” app (so millennial of me), and I was happy to say that I was able to “check as complete” three out of the four items.

Now, they may seem a bit vague so please consider that I am an overachiever and would not consider them completed if I did not feel I had done so 100+%.

1. Freelance more

Ok, so this is the one of the four I did not yet check off. However, while I have not been freelancing for financial compensation, I have embarked on a few of my own “career-oriented” projects and been getting involved in a few others. Want proof? Check out my food blog, BiteForBite.com — I just finished the layout last night so I’m super excited to hear what you think.

What has made this even more fun is that I created it with my gal friend in Cali, giving me a reason to email-harass her on a regular basis.

While I have contributed very little to this so far, I’d like to take the opportunity to introduce you to an online magazine a friend of mine founded for independent, go-getter women: MoxyMag.com. I’ll let you check it out to learn more, but she’s built a strong network of writers and worked around the clock to make it a success, and I look forward to contributing more in the coming months. You can check her out at www.melissabreau.com, and you can check out my long-time friend who joined Melissa’s team, at kimbonotkimmy.blogspot.com.

2. Exercise/Live Healthier

I know, not original, but if you had seen the state of my lifestyle — devouring late night take out and avoiding stairs at all costs for fear of hyperventilating — you’d have been disgusted. During the holidays I stocked up on Groupon, Living Social, Deal On, etc., coupons to yoga, pilates and even spin classes. And I am so proud to say that I’ve learned to handle a spin class — a previously impossible feat — and I am almost-officially hooked on hot yoga. Who knew? (photo: my Groupon collection)

In addition to my new-found love for extreme-sweating exercises, I’ve cut out caffeine, late night binging and switched back from beer to vodka (it’s more summery after all). I feel annoyingly optimistic and cheery, and have gotten accustomed to receiving weird looks from my fellow train passengers for bouncing around my seat to my iPod on the 750, as well as from my colleagues who are now used to me practicing my split leaps in the hallways.

3. Relax More

This, believe it or not, was/is the hardest. Relaxing is not something I succumb to easily. For me, it usually comes in the form of exhaustion after running myself thin on the above activities. However, without even really trying, I’ve found a sense of balance, and when I need to relax, unwind, veg… I do. I’ve worked my way through two seasons of The Tudors (TV is a huge form of mind-numbing relaxation for me) and been spending my weekend days wandering along the beach looking for bodies…. (JOKING!! Not funny Liz; it’s a horrible situation!)

4. Volunteer at an Animal Shelter / Young Authors Group

Yesterday I had me second training session to be a volunteer at Animal Haven, a nonprofit animal shelter for cats and dogs in Manhattan. After Max the smushpup left me for his new home, I miss my evening doggy walks and vowed to volunteer some of my time at a shelter. I love all things furry, and while no animal can compare to my Dora Dora Doll (that’s her nickname), it breaks my heart to see other animals without people love. Working in a shelter isn’t glamorous; there is a lot of cleaning up, but one lil look at the Brindle pup sleeping with his face smashed against the cage, or the three weeks-old kittens sleeping so entwined it was impossible to tell how many were there, and we (the volunteer group I was in) were all “Awwwing.” I can’t wait to get going with it. (photo: my Dora Dora Doll… because she’s the cutest kitty in the whole wide world)

As for the young authors group, some of you may know I applied for the Girls Write Now program last year and was, sadly, rejected. I had sought out another form of volunteer work related to my passion for writing, but decided I would hold off and reapply to Girls Write Now’s program next year.

On that note, cheers to a New Year, a new season and the resolutions we make all year long!

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Off the market?

I stumbled across a blog the other day that got me thinking: Off the Market and In The Moment. Its 25-year-old author took herself off the dating market for one whole year in order to live in the moment. Her reasons, and I quote, “1 – to break the detrimental relationship habit of trying too hard and subsequently losing myself, and 2-to take a step back so as to keep from looking back. Because when I started thinking about how much time I invest while dating someone, and then analyzing and re-analyzing (and re-analyzing) after the door to our future shuts, and THEN wondering when Cupid would look kindly on me again, I finally realized that I was missing my own moment…” “… I am a 25-year-old single living in one of the greatest cities in the world!”

When I first read this I noted “25 years old.” My internal cynical bitch thought “Umm, what do you expect to have found by 25, eh?” and “What else is there to do at that age other than live in the moment?” Then, my opposing Piscean fish spoke up reminding me to look at the situation from a less critical perspective and understand what she is doing. That’s when the phrase “analyzing and re-analyzing (and re-analyzing)” highlighted itself. That’s the best part of relationships, why would you pass that up? ha!

It is also the best part of break-ups. Yes!! There is a good side to break-ups: you are free to analyze that ‘son-of-a-bee-otches’ shortcomings, and if you are feeling mature, your own shortcomings. It sometimes takes a few days… weeks… months… to mature to that latter stage (usually the length of time directly reflects the significance of the relationship), but it’s the best part. Once you are done figuring out everything that was wrong with him, and in certain cases, diagnosing a possible mental disorder, you get to decide what the hell is wrong with you? After all, you dated him, did you not?

This is when we grow up, become better people, prepare ourselves for the next emotional overhaul, both because we had the courage to self-reflect and rip apart our faults and because we demanded ourselves to learn from them.

Dedicating a year of your life, and publicly documenting it, to getting to know yourself is pretty cool. I like this gal’s thought process. Thirty-something-year-olds may roll their eyes at her being 25, but no one but her can understand her experiences and where they have brought her. So much has changed for me since I was 25… in all aspects of life… and that has taught me not “I know so much more now,” but rather, “OMG, if the last 4 years taught me that much, what will the next 4 hold?” My brain hurts thinking about it.

High-five to living in the moment. A small part of me thought ‘maybe I should dedicate some time to focusing on me,’ then I remembered, ‘Wait! That’s all you do!’

Between spending time with my friends and family, exploring NYC restaurants and watering holes, snowboarding, yoga’ing and running to stay physically and mentally fit, working full-time+ and creating two blogs (plus this!), I’m not sure I have anymore time to dedicate to me. Apparently I’m too busy.

On a side note, read the articles Off Market Girl posted here. I happen to adore Tracy McMillan‘s book so I instinctually defend her, even if her post does kinda ask for criticism; Jessica Ravitz‘s rebuttal however screams anger, along with ranting every excuse in the book.

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A Birthday Thought!

Last week my girlfriend sent me an article by Rene Syler, journalist and editor of goodenoughmother.com, posted on the The Huffington Post. Syler had received a Happy Birthday Tweet asking her what she ‘would have told her 28-year-old self knowing what she knows now.’ See her response here: Happy Birthday to Me!

Partying hard for my 24th birthday at the Lizard Lounge in Nottingham, England

This year I turn 29, about the age of Syler’s young-recipient. Reading her letter points out to me how little I know and how much I have still to grow. At the same time, it reminds me how much I have learned. My life has not only evolved since I turned 18, but it has taken a number of unexpected hairpin turns. I decided to copy follow her lead and reflect on what I would have told myself.

Accounting is boring: Stop listening to your high school professors talk about how much money accountants make. He’s gonna win the lotto in a few years and, rumor has it, he quits his job. Find a career you’d still want to be a part of if you ever win the lotto. You’ll learn quickly that money isn’t your motivator.

Believe in your strength: Over the next few years you will be face with adversity that will at time feel crippling. You’ll feel weak, tired and ready to give up some days. This does not mean you are not strong; rather it means you are human. In ten years, you will have not only made it through, but you will have learned countless life-defining lessons — that is your strength. If you were weak, I wouldn’t be writing this.

Learn to listen: You invite and keep so many amazing people in your life. They all play a role, and a very important one at that. Cherish them, respect them, support them and listen to them. Everyone has something to teach you, and if you don’t stop and listen, you’re relationships will never grow.

Cut yourself some slack: You live a great life — wonderful family and friends; you find a career path you love and you live everyday to the fullest. When things aren’t 100% you focus on the positive and think, “Things aren’t so bad, it could be worse.” Allow yourself some self pity, occasionally — and react positively. Feeling down about an aspect of your life is the kind of motivation you need to further develop yourself in that area. Don’t feel bad about feeling bad.

Trust your intuition: Hindsight is 20/20 (but you don’t know what that means yet, and you’ll look up the word ‘hindsight’ a few more times before it sticks; it’s just one of those words). Over the years you’ll start to recognize an innate ability to understand situations and people without analyzing them, and you’ll get mad at yourself for not trusting your instincts in earlier situations. Don’t get mad. Part of intuition is letting it lead you through the good and the bad. Let the anger go and learn to listen and trust yourself. Everything happens for a reason.

Stop planning: After you graduate college you are going to tell your boyfriend that you plan on making partner in an accounting firm in XX years. Less than 6 months later you are going to apply to grad school. Two years after that you break up with said boy. Stop trying to plan, NOW! Just enjoy the ride. There is no much more to see when you aren’t focused on the road. (So cliche, but ehhhh.)

Slow down: Your to-do list is always going to be longer than most spoiled brats’ letters to Santa; the rush of work, projects and social events is what keeps you pumped. You live your life at the same speed you snowboard — fast. But when you do slow down, you take so much more in and learn a lot about yourself. Make a point to slow down and relax. Try really hard; you’ll still be struggling with it in ten years.

There are so many more things I want to say to you, but I am going to end with this one, possibly because its the most important:

Tell people how you feel: I don’t say (write) this with a dreary it-may-be-your-last-chance tone, I say it with a tearful smile. Knowing you have people in your life who care about you will bring more fulfillment than any trip, activity or amount of money. Knowing you are admired and cared for will bring you confidence. Knowing you are loved will increase your sense of self-worth. And knowing what people don’t like about you will keep you humble and striving. Give those you care about the same gift — tell them how you feel. It’s not easy for you and it’s going to be a long while before it gets easy, but keep trying, you’re worth it — and so are those you keep close.

Happy Birthday to Me! Thanks Rene Syler for offering such an inspiring column. I hope everyone takes the time to talk to themselves and give themselves a hand.

Oh, and one more thing Liz, write down everything… you’re going to need some good book fodder one day!

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Disposable Animals? In a shelter director’s words…

I came across this “note” on the Facebook page for “Pets on Death Row” and it left me in tears. I never imagined the process so dreadful and terrifying for animals, but even if this describes the situation in only a handful of shelters (which I imagine it doesn’t!), it is too many!

(posted: 2010-12-17, 10:31PM EST)

You can’t keep your pet? Really?

BY A Shelter Director

I think our society needs a huge “Wake-up” call. As a shelter manager, I am going to share a little insight with you all…a view from the inside if you will.

First off, all of you people who have ever surrendered a pet to a shelter or humane society should be made to work in the “back” of an animal shelter for just one day. Maybe if you saw the life drain from a few sad, lost, confused eyes, you would stop flagging the ads on craigslist and help these animals find homes.

That puppy you just bought will most likely end up in my shelter when it’s not a cute little puppy anymore. Just so you know there’s a 90% chance that dog will never walk out of the shelter it’s dumped at? Purebred or not! About 25% of all of the dogs that are “owner surrenders” or “strays”, that come into a shelter are purebred dogs.

The most common excuses: “We are moving and we can’t take our dog (or cat).” Really? Where are you moving too that doesn’t allow pets? Or they say “The dog got bigger than we thought it would”. How big did you think a German Shepherd would get? “We don’t have time for her”. Really? I work a 10-12 hour day and still have time for my 6 dogs! “She’s tearing up our yard”. How about making her a part of your family? They always tell me “We just don’t want to have to stress about finding a place for her we know she’ll get adopted, she’s a good dog”.

Odds are your pet won’t get adopted & how stressful do you think being in a shelter is? Well, let me tell you, your pet has 72 hours to find a new family from the moment you drop it off. Sometimes a little longer if the shelter isn’t full and your dog manages to stay completely healthy. If it sniffles, it dies. Your pet will be confined to a small run/kennel in a room with other barking or crying animals. It will have to relieve itself where it eats and sleeps. It will be depressed and it will cry constantly for the family that abandoned it. If your pet is lucky, I will have enough volunteers in that day to take him/her for a walk. If I don’t, your pet won’t get any attention besides having a bowl of food slid under the kennel door and the waste sprayed out of its pen with a high-powered hose. If your dog is big, black or any of the “Bully” breeds (pit bull, rottie, mastiff, etc) it was pretty much dead when you walked it through the front door. Those dogs just don’t get adopted. It doesn’t matter how ‘sweet’ or ‘well behaved’ they are.

If your dog doesn’t get adopted within its 72 hours and the shelter is full, it will be destroyed. If the shelter isn’t full and your dog is good enough, and of a desirable enough breed it may get a stay of execution, but not for long . Most dogs get very kennel protective after about a week and are destroyed for showing aggression. Even the sweetest dogs will turn in this environment. If your pet makes it over all of those hurdles chances are it will get kennel cough or an upper respiratory infection and will be destroyed because the shelter gets paid a fee to euthanize each animal and making money is better than spending money to take this animal to the vet.

Here’s a little euthanasia 101 for those of you that have never witnessed a perfectly healthy, scared animal being “put-down”. First, your pet will be taken from its kennel on a leash. They always look like they think they are going for a walk happy, wagging their tails. Until they get to “The Room”, every one of them freaks out and puts on the brakes when we get to the door. It must smell like death or they can feel the sad souls that are left in there, it’s strange, but it happens with every one of them. Your dog or cat will be restrained, held down by 1 or 2 shelter workers depending on the size and how freaked out they are. Then a shelter worker who we call a euthanasia tech (not a vet) find a vein in the front leg and inject a lethal dose of the “pink stuff”. Hopefully your pet doesn’t panic from being restrained and jerk. I’ve seen the needles tear out of a leg and been covered with the resulting blood and been deafened by the yelps and screams. They all don’t just “go to sleep”, sometimes they spasm for a while, gasp for air and defecate on themselves. You see shelters are trying to make money to pay employee pay checks and don’t forget the board of directors needs to be paid too, so we don’t spend our funds to tranquilize the animal before injecting them with the lethal drug, we just put the burning lethal drug in the vein and let them suffer until dead. If it were not a “making money issue” and we had to have a licensed vet do this procedure, the animal would be sedated or tranquilized and then euthanized, but to do this procedure correctly would cost more money so we do not follow what is right for the animal, we just follow what is the fastest way we can make a dollar. Shelters do not have to have a vet perform their euthanasia’s so even if it takes our employee 50 pokes with a needle and 3 hours to get the vein that is what we do. Making money is the issue here not loosing money.

Then it all ends, your pets corpse will be stacked like firewood in a large freezer in the back with all of the other animals that were killed waiting to be picked up like garbage. What happens next? Cremated? Taken to the dump? Rendered into pet food? Or used for the schools to dissect and experiment on? You’ll never know and it probably won’t even cross your mind. It was just an animal and you can always buy another one, right!

I hope that those of you who still have a beating heart and have read this are bawling your eyes out and can’t get the pictures out of your head, I deal with this everyday. I hate my job, I hate that it exists & I hate that it will always be there unless you people make some changes and start educating the public. Do research, do your homework, and know exactly what you are getting into before getting a pet. These shelters and humane societies exist because people just do not care about animals anymore. Animals were not intended to be disposable but somehow that is what they are these days. Animal shelters are an easy way out when you get tired of your dog (or cat), and breeders are the ones blamed for this. Animal shelters and rescue organizations are making a hefty profit by keeping this misconception going.

Between 9 and 11 MILLION animals die every year in shelters and only you can stop it. I just hope I maybe changed one persons mind about taking their dog to a shelter, a humane society, or buying a dog. For those of you that care— please repost this to at least one other craiglist in another city/state. Let’s see if we can get this all around the US and have an impact.

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The 2010 “Birthday-Christmas Tour”

Four years ago a tradition began.

After a delicious Italian dinner and Crème Brule dessert at Mediterraneo (on 2nd and 66th) to celebrate my friend from elementary school’s 25th birthday, the birthday girl, her roommate and I ventured off into the night in search of Christmas. It was the first week of December, the time of year when Manhattan’s midtown dresses up in its finest to welcome the holiday season. So for hours we wandered empty streets gazing at the twinkling lights, dancing characters and shimmery 5th avenue accessories in the closed-up store windows.

Just like that, the “Birthday-Christmas Tour” custom was born.

When it came time to plan this year’s surprise birthday she-bang I knew just what to sign us up for: The Amazing NY Race, Holiday Edition. Put on by Pogo Events, the scavenger hunt event is a team race around the Big Apple mimicked off the reality TV show, The Amazing Race. The events does take on different themes throughout the year, and I was tempted to go for the NY Desserts edition, but a tradition is a tradition.

So one crisp Saturday morning after receiving instruction alongside 20-something other teams, some dressed in costume and one with their own theme song, Francaise Fille (the b-day girl), AAA, K and I headed into the city to chase down Christmas –– after fueling up with a delicious French breakfast of quiche, omelets and crepes at La Grainne Cafe, of course. (It’s on 21st and 9th, and I highly recommend it. Triple thumbs up!!!)

(Our dessert crepes: Creme De Marrons, Clement-Faugier chestnut cream with creme fraiche; and Fruits Frais, mixed fruit with strawberry sauce.)

 

Here are some of the highlights of the hunt:

For the first task we were given images of a handful of NYC landmarks that we had to locate, visit and document with a photo. The movie-themed Gingerbread sculptures at the Le Parker Meridien (56th between 6th and 7th), the giant piano at FAO Schwartz (5th and 58th), the Central Park ice rink where we needed a photo of us pretending to skate, and the L-O-V-E outside some building on 6th where we needed a photo of us holding hands with ten strangers, were just some of the places on the list.

This kept us busy till 2 o’clock, when we needed to return to our departure point to face a road block (We had to name as many Christmas movies in two minutes as we could think of.) I note: Christopher Street is very out of the way from midtown’s Christmas magic.

The second half of the scavenger hunt was a list of holiday items and scenes that we had to find and document with a photo that included all team members. Some of the highlights were: a Christmas window display (hard to see, but there is lights and tinsel in the window); building a snowman; wearing tinsel (we ticked a lot off our list in this convenience store); a giant candy cane; jingle bells; and all the reindeer names (the book ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – how brilliant?).

We didn’t win in the end, but we all did, at different points in time, rate the day something between “awesome” and “best day ever.” (The best rating came from the birthday girl herself, who ranked it “best birthday” both at the height of adrenaline and the morning after.)

You know what the funniest thing about this tradition is? Francaise Fille doesn’t even celebrate Christmas. She does, however, have more holiday spirit than most people I know, and dedicated many Black Fridays to helping my family decorate our Christmas tree. Ho ho ho!

Merrrrry 28th Birthday!!!

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Dora’s Holly Jolly Holiday

Merry Christmas!

Christmas may be over but the holiday came with many fabulous memories that are sure to last throughout 2011. Santa Claus, for one, spoiled me rotten: Mom and Dad Claus hooking me up with a Canon SLR (boost in photo quality to come). The best gift, however, was spending the last five days hanging out stress-free catching up with family and drinking and eating more than I thought possible. And with 18″+ inches of snowy winter wonderland outside, the last 24 hours included three puzzles, two movies and an alcohol-inspired walk to the pub followed by midnight shoveling party!

The biggest fan of the 2010 blizzard is, by far, Dora my Christmas-loving kitty who spent the entire day stalking the birds looking for food in the frozen bird-feeder and displaced bugs crawling on the 3′ high snow drifts. Each time a bird landed, her paw slapped the glass sending it off in a tizzy. When she wasn’t sitting in the window sill, she was cuddled under the Christmas tree — a place that served as a safe haven from my 3-year-old cousins who like to show their love with a tight hug around the neck.

To commemorate her first Christmas, Dora was invited to join in the celebration at her Grandparent’s house, and to meet her aunt and uncle (my parent’s cats), Jasmine and Oreo. She had no idea what she was getting into.

True to her curious personality, as soon as she found them, she followed them slyly wanting nothing more than to play. Jasmine on the other hand wanted nothing but to get away, and Oreo, well, he just wanted her to know whose house it is. But even though he is twice her size, my little munchkin stood her ground hissing at his advances as she attempted to slip out of sight under the couch.

Here she is watching Jasmine go outside. She’s thinking, “Mom, why can’t I go?”

Overall, the visit went well and she was invited back to spend the weekend when I go away in a couple weeks. By this time the Christmas tree will be down so she won’t be able to play “How high can I climb before getting caught?”  (She made it to about 5′ before she knocked off a glass ball and I had to drag her out of the branches by the scruff of her neck.)

Dora wasn’t without pressies either. Santa delivered her a perch so she can further her bird-watching hobby, and Aunt Azzy wrapped up a stuffed teddy bear on an elastic string and a packet of cat nip.

Cat nip doesn’t seem affect her too much. Not sure if she’s immune to the cat nip or she’s just got so much energy naturally that we can’t tell the difference. Either way, she loved rolling around in it.

 

I hope everyone enjoyed their Christmas as much as Dora and I.
Enjoy the rest of your holiday celebrations, hiking through the snow and the remainder of 2010!!! What a year it’s been…

 

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Love thy girlfriends: It’s good for your health!

I wrote about my friends. A lot.
And with good reason! They are fab!

This morning I received this in my inbox from my oldest (as in length of time we’ve been friends) girlfriend…

They Teach It at Stanford

“I just finished taking an evening class at Stanford. The last lecture
was on the mind-body connection – the relationship between stress and
disease. The speaker (head  of psychiatry at Stanford) said, among
other things, that one of the best things that a man could do for his
health is to be married to a woman whereas for a  woman, one of the
best things she could do for her health was to nurture her
relationships with her girlfriends. 

At first everyone laughed, but he was serious.

Women connect with each other differently and provide support systems
that help each other to deal with stress and difficult life
experiences. Physically this quality “girlfriend time” helps us to
create more serotonin – a neurotransmitter that helps combat
depression and can create a general feeling of well being.  Women
share feelings whereas men often form relationships around activities.
They rarely sit down with a buddy and talk about how they feel about
certain things or how their personal lives are going. Jobs? Yes.
Sports? Yes. Cars? Yes. Fishing, hunting, golf? Yes.  But their
feelings? Rarely.

Women do it all of the time. We share from our souls with our
sisters/mothers, and evidently that is very good for our health.  He
said that spending time with a friend is just as important to our
general health as jogging or working out at a gym.

There’s a tendency to think that when we are “exercising” we are doing
something good for our bodies, but when we are hanging out with
friends, we are wasting our time and should be more productively
engaged—not true. In fact, he said that failure to create and maintain
quality personal relationships with other humans is as dangerous to
our physical health as smoking!

So every time you hang out to schmooze with a gal pal, just pat
yourself on the back and congratulate yourself for doing something
good for your health! We are indeed very, very lucky. Sooooo, let’s
toast to our friendship with our girlfriends. Evidently it’s very good
for our health.”

Thank you to my ladies for being as wonderful as you are! I need you like I need to go for a run…

but you are so much more fun than a run!

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Don’t let your guard down; throw it the hell away!

My morning ritual consists of tea, an egg sandwich and scanning my two favorite blogs: 20-Nothings and Foster Dogs in NYC. I read Foster Dog entries until my eyes start to leak, and I usually X-out 20-NOTHINGS with 7 million thoughts of agreements, arguments, relationship tactics, self-improvement promises and blog entries swarming around my head. This girl gives me a run for my money when it comes to analyzing my 20-something life. Touche Jessie Rosen!

Last Friday’s entry, “Why we’re guarded, or at least, why I was,“ got me a-thinking. (Surprise, surprise!) It is a topic that I have devoted a lot of “analytical hours” to, and one that still sharply pokes my subconscious every once in a while.

We all have a guard that protects us from any number of vulnerabilities. As Rosen states, and I agree, “The way I see it you can be guarded as a result of an experience, guarded as a personality [attribute], or the very dangerous combination of both.”

I was both!

It wasn’t until I had my guard ripped off — is it “away?” not sure how to word this metaphor – that I realized I was even wearing one. I knew I had a guard up with regards to particular relationship situations (i.e. trust, honestly, blah, blah), but it actually covered so much more than that.

Yet, ever since then, allowing myself to be vulnerable is like laughing; all it takes it a little thought and I can put it out there, causing people to stare.

It feels fantastic!

What I disagree with in Rosen’s post, is knowing if someone is worthy of letting your guard down. I understand the point. However, I don’t think letting your guard down is a ‘gift’ for someone else — worthy or not. It is a gift to yourself.

Letting your guard down not only lets a piece of someone else in, it let’s a piece of you out. It’s opening your book, breaking the spine and reading aloud your story, curse words and all. Sure, there are going to be some people who will respond with a face of fear and mad dash in the opposite direction. This is when we have to make a decision: Do we close it back up and seal it tighter than before, or do we sit there and smile?

Isn’t it so much more fun to smile?!! Sealing it up is just taking that personal-self and keeping it, well, personal! And that B&Gs, is the best way to never let anyone get to know you. What do your girlfriends say when you are desperate to meet someone new but doing nothing about it? “PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE!”

My thought is that if the person runs away, it probably wasn’t a good match — whether it was the first date, fifth date or one-year anniversary. But if they sit there and laugh with you, on date one, there’s no turning back!! Doesn’t everyone deserve the chance to experience that?

What I noticed when I finally had my guard ripped away was a sense of relief and contentment. I had nothing to hide, nothing to fear and a lot more to give.

It was absolutely terrifying! And I’ll tell ya, it wasn’t a pretty ending… at first. Yet, down the road, it was a fairy tale. I discovered a way to create a sense of fulfillment that no one can provide you! It’s a confidence booster!

It’s not to say that having a safety net isn’t always beneficial (yeah, yeah, you know me, always two sides), but I think when it comes to love, it causes more harm than help!

One of its biggest flaws, in my book, is its ability to muffle communication, hindering your relationship from reaching a certain level of connection — wherever it is you want it to go! No connection and sh!t falls apart, let me tell ya! (From experience!)

I think a second flaw is the constraint it has on your ability to fulfill your own happiness. If you don’t “open your book,” no one, including yourself, is going to know what you want and need. Eh?

I think its a big cause for “settling:” It can instill a fear of moving on and not finding something/someone else. It can blind you from recognizing that you and your partner do not share the same ideals and needs. And worst of all, if you don’t know what you need, you can’t look for someone who can give it to you!

Mind over matter is apparently the key to everything these days. So I guess if you choose to see vulnerability as a positive characteristic, it will be. If not, enjoy the ride!

What about you? Do you keep your guard up? And if so, what is it protecting you from?

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Dora Kitty Update

She’s nuts.

Nothing more to it… she is one crazy kitty!!! The sweet thing wakes me up anywhere between 3am and 530am by tear arsing around the house and then bounding up on the bed and rolling around on my body. I try to pet her to calm her down, but she wants none of that. The second your hand goes near her, she accepts it as a chew toy and kicks, grabs and bites my skin. Goooood morning!

She’s also taken a liking to the boy. The one day he wasn’t around this week I had to carry her to bed. She has chosen the couch over me, which I must admit was slightly disappointing as I was craving kitten-cuddles, but after dragging her in we had some pet/face-kneading quality time. I’ve also almost squished her a couple times rolling over in my sleep; maybe she’s just a fast learner and knows to avoid me if she doesn’t want to become a pussy-cat pancake.

Her favorite pastime seems to be running around the house as fast as she can. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the house… Max did the same thing. She hates being separated from her turkey toy (from grandma) and will drag it all around the house, tangled up in the string, attempting to destroy the turkey’s existence all night and day. And she loves the laser light. She’s kinda catching on though. She seemed to be aware of the fact that I was in control of it last night. But just when I thought its mind-control effects had worn off, she chased it up the back of the couch and fell off. And when I offer her both the bright mesmerizing red dot of a light AND the turkey on a stick, she freezes. She’s clearly meant to be with me: we share the same inability to make decisions!

On a positive note, she’s all good with the litter box. And just like a toddler, she always picks the “wrong” time to stink up my room!! Ahhh… this weekend we’re retraining her to go in the bathroom!

I don’t have any new photos because I don’t have a camera at the moment and she is not capable of sitting still long enough for my phone to capture a non-blurry moment. But I’ll get more up this weekend.

I’m sure right now she’s sleeping quietly on the couch, all curled up, innocent and aDORAble… just saving up her energy for marathon training this evening!

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Meet Dora, the aDORAble Explorer!

This weekend AAA and I (and the boyf) got a new roommate. She’s friendly, happy, full of energy and has the most beautiful color “hair!”

Meet Dora, the Crazy Kitty Explorer:

As most of you know I have a slight obsession with dogs. Something about their unconditional love and affection and desire to cuddle that makes me a complete sucker for any canine that looks my way (or walks in front of me; I’m easy!). Needless to say, working one and a half hours from home, and conducting the majority of my social life in the same locale, doesn’t lend itself to providing a dog with the level of attention that it deserves.

I wasn’t always a dog-lover. Growing up I preferred cats. I admired their emotional and physical independence. You had to earn their love; I respected that trait. I guess times change. The smushier I got, the more I was drawn to doggy love.

When it comes down to it, I need fur in my life. I grew up with cats and a dog; animals were always a staple at home. After fostering Max the ADHD puggle for 6 months, I really missed having a pet, so I started toying with the idea of getting a kitty.

Last Thursday my mom texted me the following:

Caption: Want to adopt a kitten? 5 months old, spayed and has all her shots.

Reply: Yes! Now!

My mom’s vet had found her and been taking care of her for the past month. Two days later she moved in.

Thankfully my boyf is a huge cat lover, and in the know when it comes to caring for them, so he helped me stock up on necessary cat kit and avoid blowing money on the un-necessary.

When she arrived we expected her to sneak out of her cage and hide in a corner for 24 hours, avoiding all human contact.

On the contrary, she tiptoed out and spent an hour or so exploring every crevice in the apartment. After she felt comfortable enough, she let loose and began the bouncing, jumping and dashing about that, interspersed with cat naps, is her favorite pastime activity.

After a couple accidents in the bathroom and on my comforter (arrrgh!), she seems to have grasped the concept of the litter pan. She has her favorite toys: “Mousey” and a turkey hanging off elastic from a stick bought by grandma (my mom’s resorted to accepting anything furry as a grandchild), a favorite window ledge and a preferred sleeping blanket (which was also peed on and is currently at the Laundromat).

She’s super friendly, and cuddled up in bed with us after only being at the house for a matter of hours — and after bouncing around chasing Mousey for the first half of the night!

After much contemplation, we’ve named her Dora. Before meeting her I was leaning towards Sushi — I had met a rescue cat named Sushi and thought it was the cutest thing ever — but it just doesn’t suit her personality. She’s an explorer at heart, so Dora it is. She seems to like it; she responds to it. Although she could just be responding to my high-pitched baby talk voice that only comes out when I’m talking to her. Either way, it works. And she squeaks back.

She’s absolutely aDORAble (ha. see what I did there?). And I’m embarrassed to say I’m acting like a new mom and refuse to leave her alone with any toys she may tangle herself on. (She was not happy when I left her alone in my room and then took away the elastic turkey toy.)

I’m a sucker for her already and can’t wait to get home to play with her. I love the lil’ furball… even if she doesn’t bark and lick my face while I’m trying to sleep.

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