the red solo cup.

when i was younger my family had a like cup.

anytime someone used the word "like" inappropriately ten cents when into that little red solo.

you, like, know what i mean don't you?

my mother gave us each two dimes to start with. a little cushion to ease us into the game. i think i used my two dimes and that was it. (such was my prowess and love of the english language).

however, if i remember correctly--and i usually do (such is my cross)--the game actually bankrupted my brother.

but it was my brother who many years later resurrected that red solo cup. and this time the stakes were raised: a dollar for any unsolicited you should...


it's shocking just how often people say you should, or some variation thereof. often the phrase is silent, like the understood you in english grammar. but silent or not there was a holiday season in our house, long after my brother and i'd both moved out, in which dollar after dollar went into that red cup (and most belonged to my mother).

the you should game was genius. on so many levels.  mostly because it always broke the tension of conversations leading to dangerous territory.

in fact, only good came from the red cup. when all was said and done we'd collect the money and buy ourselves pizza. or take in a movie. together, with our mistakes made manifest in the form of green, we'd take the time to invest in family.

i now think twice before speaking like a valley girl...and in a world where people are getting lazier and lazier with their speech and the words they choose (heaven help us) this can not be valued highly enough. and i certainly think twice about dolling out advice (most especially to my brother).


now i can't stop thinking about the word perfect. what does it mean? and why do we use it?

i looked it up in merriam webster and there are all-together eight definitions, two of them obsolete.

for what follows, let's got with this: being entirely without fault or defect. 


but let's all be very clear here. perfect doesn't exist, right? there is no such thing--it is a false goal, a false god of our culture, no?

it was while babysitting i noticed how often i used it. you've got your shoes on? perfect! you had a sip of milk? perfect! most of the time i used it to usher things along--make them move faster.

and then one day, as i listened to myself tossing it so carelessly to a two-year-old-girl, living in america where the attempt at perfect is practically a national pastime, i stopped myself. because what will come of that day when she asks me what it means? how will i respond? and if it's not me she asks, how will that person respond?

then again, she may never ask. there may be no need to. i've been defining it all along just by my use of it.

i've been defining a thing that doesn't actually exist.

there's this beautiful moment in the book thief where a word is defined as a promise. i love that. imagine: a single word, each and every single word, a promise. powerful.

so here i've been parceling out false promises in the form of this elusive, little word: perfect.

so i stopped using it. and just as i stopped i started noticing how often everyone else did.

all the time. that's what i've learned: we all use it. all. the. time.

you're ready for your table? perfect! ready to go? perfect! you want to sign up for this class with me? perfect. 


ah, the plight of perfect.

i was talking to tom about this. tom and i talk about this kind of thing. he's good, that tom. (tom is my therapist). and he said it's like a cuss word. ubiquitous and without any real meaning. overused and under-understood. tom's good that way. smartest person i know, actually.

so i told tom about my plan.

how when i raise children i want to do so in a household absent of the word. perfect will not be part of our daily vocabulary.

and when we introduce the word we will do it justice. pay homage to it's power, actual definition, and inherent falseness.

so for now i've got a little red solo cup on my desk. and every time i slip, i stick a dollar in.  call it my f*** up fund. (love that alliteration).

even if perfect did exist--even if there was such a thing, i don't want my kids chasing after it. i don't want to chase after it. it's just so darn boring.

and life and all it's miraculous, little imperfections should be fun, no?

a friday night cab ride.

i took a long, lone cab to brooklyn last friday.

i finished work, slipped out of my trusty black heels into a pair of worn flip-flops, untucked my work blouse, pulled my hair into a pony, and with exhaustion in tow, raised my arm and hailed a cab.

i listened to johynny flynn's sweet william, part one the whole way there:

i was born with this story, it's older than i.

as the familiar lights of ninth avenue streaked past and a cool air slipped in the window i could think of nothing but a night nearly seven years ago when i and three girls from school squeezed ourselves into our friday night best, piled into a yellow taxi, and headed into the belly of the beast that  friday night in manhattan invariably becomes when you're young, wide-eyed, and (yes) impressionable.

we hardly knew each other then. hardly knew new york. hardly knew ourselves. and certainly didn't know what was to come.

but i do remember that paused at a stoplight, i thought: i should remember this. this will be one of those nights i'll need to remember. this is the beginning. this is the starting point. 


and that's all i remember of that night.

well, that and the gorgeous garden balcony boasted by the chelsea apartment we finally ended up at.

one of the girls in that cab is married now. to the man she began dating not long before that late september night. another is engaged. many working actresses. all thousands of miles from home. all forging lives and ferreting out truth--or trying to, at least. one girl i haven't spoken to in years. with the others we do what we can but life is hard and time is short and the phone calls have become uneven at best.

i have spent so much time in the seven years sandwiched between those two cab rides wishing it all went differently. wishing the great love of my life proved himself such. wishing i was well. successful, even. wishing it all went a little differently.

but here's the thing. headed to brooklyn last friday, still in my work clothes, speeding down ninth avenue, i felt so...happy. so at peace. so aware that all those seven years and all those things i would've changed led to that moment--to that delirious, little, heaven-sent moment--to that moment in which i was filled by a story older than i, filled by the past, charged by attraction and desire, and thankful i didn't get the guy or the job the first go round.

because i'm still so young. and i've got a little rebellion left. and i'm finding all it takes is a smile to melt a man. they don't care what you're wearing or what you do or even the size of your hips. just a smile and they turn to putty. and it's so damn fun to watch for that moment in which they return the gesture and then wonder if they've done it suavely. and men, i'm gonna level with you: most of the time you haven't. but that makes it all the better. suave is so uninteresting.

and i'd take interesting and flawed any day of the week. whether it's a man. or my life.

these are my two truths (as of late).

1. i've been feeling a little low. for a little while now.

2. and i've gotten myself a camera.

somehow these two things are related. and while i'll expound on the connection at a later date, this post is just to say...

turns out a good camera can make a girl feel pretty darn good.

beautiful, even.

and when you've been feeling a bit blue, that's surely something.

perception

the other day i was talking with someone--doing (i'm sure) what i usually do where i tend to say too much and yet still remain ambiguous.

they turned to me, gave me a funny, little smile and said, you sure live an interesting life right now. 


i'm quite sure it was meant to be a slight dig--a loving and friendly dig, but a dig nonetheless.

but i just smiled and thought, yeah, it is pretty interesting, isn't it.

and i'm so very proud that it's just that: interesting. and yes, odd.

clarification. and a little honesty.

okay. i'm gonna try something new here. i'm gonna be really candid. really honest.

(that was a joke. did you get it? you know, because i'm probably too honest sometimes? oh phooey, if you didn't get it that's on you).

no but really. i wasn't going to share this next bit. not because i'm ashamed of it. but because it was singular to me. because it never really crossed my mind that it was important. it was just a detail. a footnote.

and yet. maybe it is important. maybe it'll help elucidate things. provide some sort of foundation so that when i talk about weight and health and eating disorders you know where i'm coming from.

i gained forty pounds over the course of my eating disorder. 

yes. that's right. forty. forty pounds.

that's a fair amount. a nice little hole i dug for myself.

i tell you this because i need you to know that in getting healthy it wasn't just about finding a balance and figuring out some sort of normalcy--i had forty (count 'em, forty) pounds to lose, give or take a few.

have i lost them all? not a chance.

do i still have a fair amount to go? you betcha.

and i know i still have weight to lose not because of some number on a scale but because i'm carrying a little extra weight in my middle. and extra weight in the middle is not good for the heart. and since coronary heart disease is the leading cause of death for women in this country...well, i want my heart to be healthy.

what i'm trying to say is this: whether you need to lose five pounds, ten, two hundred, absolutely none, or actually gain weight, the process is not really that different. eat good food. real food. listen to your body. exercise. make good, positive choices everyday. and for the love of all that is good and holy in this world: don't diet. don't count calories. don't restrict. instead educate yourself and make smart choices. it's the little things--by eating real food and listening to your body--the body'll actually figure it out--at what weight it is most healthy.

and yes, it might take five years to lose all the extra weight, and yes, that can be frustrating--but it's frustrating for our egos, for our vanity, not for our bodies.

i feel like i've done a terrible job explaining myself in this post.

it's just that...all the stuff i say about food and health...those things are coming from someone who is acutely aware of the need to actually lose weight for the sake of my health.

does that make sense?