he's just not that into you? or he is, but he just happens to be a guy?

i have a girlfriend who makes me laugh all the time.

when in our first year of college we both fell in love with boys who were anything other than meant-to-be, her friends gave her the book He's Just Not that Into You and she was an immediate convert who then went on to proselytize the importance of recognizing when...

well, when... he's just not that into you.

but lately. said friend's he's just not that into you advice has stood in direct opposition to my mother's advice--my mother who tells me to be patient and to relax. that men think differently--see things differently.

and while neither has completely illuminated the male mind for me, they've both shed a little light on how a female's age and experience influences their opinion of said mind.

experience. i guess that's the point. i just have to have the experience.

ps: there was a great article in the ny times magazine (i think?) on the new book by neuropsychiatrist louann brizendine, The Male Brain detailing just exactly how different the male brain is from our own--why it is they can't not look at the big tits in the tight t-shirt. i can't find the article online (i'll keep working on it) but i did find a great interview she did with elle. i particularly love what she says at the very end:

The thing that is awesome to me—which I see in my office with couples who come to me—I’ll ask her, “How do you know he loves you?” and she’ll say, “Because he wants to talk to me.” But when I ask him, he’ll say, “Because she wants to have sex with me.” Women don’t understand that men feel loved when you want to have sex with them—and if you reject them, it means you don’t love them. And if a man can’t verbally empathize with a woman when she feels unloved—they’re like ships passing in the night. That, to me, speaks volumes. Remember Beauty and the Beast? It’s from the song—first she gives a little bit, then he gives a little bit. That’s how you can start to see things from the other person’s point of view. That captures what’s been going on in my office for 25 years.

just a little something to think about.

the irish in me.

in preparation for the scottsdale wedding just a week and a half away, my cousin (and brother of the groom) has taken to tanning each and every day. readying himself for the arizona sun.

i, on the other hand, have taken to covering myself in copious amounts of foul-smelling self-tanner, in recognition that my fair irish skin does not like to be burned. ever. but a little glow would be nice.

happy st. patty's day!

open gates.

the amusement park whistled around them. evening closing in.

they were on the outer edge. a pavilion overlooking the parking lot.

the gate unlocked, the soda machines flowing. someone else's mistake, their good fortune.

the end of a long day.

roller coasters and laffy taffy. the carolina sun. rolling hills.

her fifteen year old legs hung over the picnic table as she sat sipping stolen coke.

she wondered if love would always be like this: an unlimited supply of free coke and a young boy's hand just inches away from her own.

a vision quest.

when i first arrived at school (juilliard), all those years ago, my father would say, i went to school right here. right across the street. and never did i dream i'd have a daughter who would end up here.

from my first year dorm room the words Fordham Law School sat in perfect view. situated right there on the stone-white building. and my father would look out at them and say, all those years ago, i didn't know. things come full circle, don't they?

again and again he would say this.

and then again.

so often did he speak these words, i stopped listening.

now, though.

well,

sometimes we'll speak on the phone and i'll say, oh i'm downtown trying to find such and such and Dad will say, oh my first job was just around the corner.

and something is illuminated. and i feel connected.

because i stopped listening, i never actually heard what my dad was saying. it never occurred to me that i was crossing paths with his younger-self. navigating the same terrain. standing on the same corners. experiencing the same late-afternoon sunlight.

yesterday i headed up to the bronx near riverdale (which is where my father was born and raised) to run some errands, and there on the platform i thought, perhaps my father once stood right here. perhaps he waited for the same train. perhaps, perhaps...

these thoughts come to me now. not too often. but just often enough.

people ask me why i don't just leave new york. there's no reason to stay and clearly i'm not in love with the city. and i think the answer--more than anything else--is that i'm not ready to. there is a reason to stay, even if the reason is unclear at best.

in some ways new york is my version of the vision quest. i am looking for an answer. trying to figure out where i come from. to piece together a history.

i'm looking for an answer, i'm just not completely sure of the question.

in overcoming the sunday blues...

...i suggest flowers.

above all else, flowers.

but if that alone does not do it, i offer the following:

essie nail polish in raspberry

this beirut video (god bless zach's curly hair)

pinning your hair in feux-bob and allowing yourself a few minutes to seriously contemplate chopping it all off.

an old-school tara jarmon spring trench.

trip to the grocery store for cheese and cuties (clementines).

and of course, a last minute trip to the corner store for raspberry seltzer.

what do you suggest? please, oh please, do tell.