Today I fell madly and deeply and desperately in love.

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With the color blue.
I trekked up to my old neighborhood this afternoon and purchased a gallon of Blue Wave. I just marched right in there, picked it out, and got it. There was no time for indecision or worry. I went with the gut and the gut told me this was it. So I came home and decided to test out a patch. Before I knew it. My sweater was off, plastic was on the floor, and I was rolling away. The spirit had moved me. And as I rolled and painted and sweated it happened. I fell in love with this color that no on in my family would ever choose. It's bright and bold and playful. And not pale. All my life I've lived in rooms painted in pale colors. Not this time. Maybe it's too bright and too bold, but for the moment, it's perfect. And it belongs to me. I'm doing it all by myself. It's about time I stopped coloring myself pale. Beauty lies in the unapologetic imperfections that comprise us.
Blue skies...smilin' at me...nothin' but blue skies...do I see...
 
Side note: Naomi I didn't forget you...there's so much to paint...and along with my blue I purchased a small can of chalkboard paint that's got your name all over it!
 

Lucy and Ethel's Day of Fun. Otherwise known as, Mom and I take on Ikea.

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So for my 23rd birthday, October 4, 2008, my mom and I moved. Well, my mom helped me move.
I woke in the wee hours of the morning to pack up, load the car all by my lonesome (no men needed, thank you very much), and inhale a granola bar before my mom took to the roads. With me as her wing man (or rather the place her anxiety driven comments bounced off of) we made it to the new abode in record time.
We made it, only to find the street was shut down by a parade. No worries, we found a choice parking spot around the corner and the plan was that I would lug the boxes in while my mom would survey , take measurements, and eventually come to the realization that this place was just fine and hence I would be just fine. This was the plan. And it was carried out...somewhat successfully. After lugging one box I went in search of the police in hopes that they might let us in past the barricade, after all, while the street was closed it wasn't actually on the route of the parade. The fresh-faced all of eighteen officer took one look at me (I'm sure sweat was dripping at this point, despite the cool October air), laughed, briskly said no, and returned to his partner to talk about nothing of importance. No, no? But I was moving in? Shouldn't I have been granted some pass? This blockade was the first of many we would face on this momentous day, but we were not to be deterred. I finally got all the boxes in, my mom got the measurements and off we Ikea we traipsed.
We had been the night before, after my three hour tour of Lincoln tunnel, but now we were ready to buy. Bookcase, check. Chest of drawers, check. Two separate mirrors, check. All in a very chic, very grown up, fitting for a 23 year-old, color of black-brown. We loaded the items, or rather the very heavy brown boxes housing the yet to be assembled items, onto our cart with the help of a very handsome Spaniard (this time manly assistance was a must) and I proceeded to the checkout while my mom went to pull the car around. I paid, with my own money, and went to meet her. No man around to help load boxes into car. What's a girl to do. Go in search. Detour first--hunger takes precedence. Dollar bag of animal crackers from vending machine? Yes, please. By then I realize the boxes are already in the car and my search ends before it really began. So I head of to arrange the boxes, only to be distracted by the scent of nail polish coming from my purse. It spilled, but no real damage. However, in setting my stuff down to check I sat on my animal crackers with a resounding crunch and then as I reached to salvage them I dumped them all over the floor.
With or without the crackers we headed back to the city. During the car ride the boxes kept hitting my mom and so I was assigned to fasten them into place. Pit stop at Fudruckers for burgers. Then into apartment. Lugging boxes. All by ourselves. Off to sleepy's. Swayed by salesman ( I always am) so I've got a full on hold. At this point, so tired, barely breathing. No coherent trains of thought. Back to Montclair. Buy supplies for bunny cake. Nap. Oh thank you nap, I've missed you, you brought me back to life.
The two of us, while we accomplished alot, were like chickens with our heads cut off. If something could go wrong, we not only enabled it, but seemed to encourage it. Lucy and Ethel, we just can't decide who's who. Last October we may have had the perfect visit, but yesterday...yesterday was the perfect day.

She built a makeshift bathroom on the bus. With newspaper, a coat, and a box of band-aids.

in

Did you hear about the traffic nightmare on the Lincoln Tunnel? That's what one news article called it. I didn't hear about it. I lived it.

4:30 Section R of Route 66 bus leaves Port Authority.

4:37 My own Route 66 bus leaves.

4:40 Something is clearly wrong. We're barely moving. Not to worry. I'll take a nap.

5:30 Wake up. We're inside Lincoln Tunnel. I should have been home 40 minutes ago. Oh well, back to nap.

6:15 Wake again. What, I'm still in the tunnel. Are you kidding me. Anger and anxiety ensue. What is going on?

6:30 Barely Moving. 2 hours now. 2 hours we've been stuck inside the tunnel.

6:50 We make is just outside. And immediately pull over. We pick up all the members of the Section R bus which has broken down. This is not the cause of the delay, just a casualty. Anger has passed. All I can do now is laugh. All inbound and outbound traffic is at a standstill. Police investigation taking place. Suspicious bottle? What does that even mean.

Now I know you're wondering about the title of this post. Well, at some point during all the chaos a very inventive woman felt that calling, as we all do at some point. And as opposed to sitting and stewing, she took charge. Using a jacket, newspaper, and band-aids she made a stall for herself and went to the bathroom. Into a plastic water bottle. Our bus driver used it too. Though, he opted for his old coffee cup. The best part was she had no shame about the whole thing. She had a smile on her face the whole of our fiasco and I must say, it was infectious. My 20 minute bus ride which finally ended close to three hours later was made bearable by the sight of that little stall. In fact, it made it worthwhile. 


This was the best picture I could get. Behind the bald man's head you see the tell tale signs of the best part of my day.