Gobble Gobble

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

Last Thanksgiving I was on a never-ending flight to Chennai, India to see the world and visit my brother. Feels like yesterday.

This year we're out in New Jersey, chillin with the fam. Those of us who live in the tri-state area are here, most are sleeping. And in a couple hours my older brother will arrive from Virginia with his wife and 4 darling children. This promises to be a day filled with utter chaos, gluttony, love, and proclamations of thanks. I feel thankful to be here, healthy and surrounded by my loved ones.

What are you thankful for?

Last night a DJ saved my life

You know how I love me some sweet tunes? Who doesn't. Come on. I've posted in the past about how a certain song can bring me back to a feeling, a moment, a bremory, and an era.

Life changes so much and yet things stay so much the same. I'm in a new genre today. Spanish Rock. Mainly: Mana and Juanes. My coworker is ready to kill me for playing it non-stop. But, that's nothing new. Wink to the wink wink.

In this place in my life, the genre is new bc I never hear it anymore, but really it played a large role in my relationship with my Latin eX-husband. I've been thinking about and talking about said eX so much lately that it is making me wonder. Why?

As Lovey (my bestie who happens to be a therapist to the stars) never fails to remind me, it is a good thing to feel my feelings and think about whatever is surfacing rather than distract myself and stuff my feelings. As is my inclination. I find that she is right about most things and this is no exception. Therefore, I'm rocking out in Spanish today in hopes that I can get these memories to the surface and that they will then dissipate.

These days my feelings about my eX are way chilled out compared to how intense they used to be. I no longer feel homicidal and maniacal, and I can see my part in the mess formerly known as us.

And my Catholic annulment came thru. 100 percenta!

I'm happy in my life and relieved to have that chapter closed. Officially closed. I love my roomies and living situation and I continue to be relieved not to live with the eX - but after a lot of time and distance.... I ever so humbly confess that I wouldn't want to live with myself in that relationship either. We were a toxic combo and my worstest possible qualities were on fire. Not a pretty place for an Uptown Girl to be.

That said, I'm listening to Bendita Tu Luz and offering a prayer for the eX. That he may come to a place of peace and joy, self-awareness, and love.

My prayers for him used to be quite different. So, in light of that, I also have a prayer of thanksgiving for my own growth and insight into the past (and for the annulment!). I know it will help me with my present and my future.

spotted...

Quote from E-News. December 24, 2009.
"Spotted, Uptown Girl in New Jersey. This photo was taken today of the world-famous Uptown Girl. An insider remarks 'I saw her canoodling with Eduardo Verastegui' [of the movie Bella and the Brad Pitt of Mexico]."
Now, friends, there is nothing that gets my goat like bad reporting. This photo was not taken today! That's right. When the papa-razzi gets the story all wrong it just kills me. This photo was from a chance meeting back in October (see here to read all about why I didn't kiss him back). No canoodling. Come on, I would've told you about any canoodling. Who are these quote un-quote "insiders" anyway? I am outraged. OUT.RAGED.

Truth: I am in New Jersey for the Christmas holiday. Celebrating with the fam. Fo shizzle my nizzle lemon drizzle. Creating bremories with my little brothers and sisters who all happen to be taller than me. Except for Bina, my youngest sister is short and that's why she is my fave. Short and sweet. Making me look tall. Meanwhile my youngest brother is dressed like an elf- complete with a hat that sings. How come the stalker-razzi doesn't take photos of these presh family moments? Right, because that would be too invasive and also real life. No one wants to hear about real life these days. At least not over at E-News I guess.

Anywho. Love from New Jersey.

xoxo,
Uptown Girl

beard today, gone tomorrow

Monday Monday... oh yes I am back at work and assuming you are as excited as I am that it is once again Monday. The weekend has come and gone. I am sore in more muscles than I never knew existed. Get your mind out of the gutter, I went hiking. That's all. Hiking. I scaled a mountain if you must know. And my body won't let me forget it.

Anywho, as it is Monday and it is a less than cheery day I thought I'd offer a little story time. This is the beard story I promised on Friday. So cuddle up and get lost in the magical land of the Upper Eastside.........

Ok so once upon a time, I went on a few dates with this guy who had a beard. I'm not a fan of beards nor have I ever been. But I thought this guy was worth getting to know and tried to get past the beard, plus it wasn't a huge scraggly beard anyways and looked ok on him. And so I ignored the beardedness before my very eyes. We went out multiple times. And I forgot all about my beard hatred. I grew to appreciate my date, beard and all.

But, and you knew there had to be a but, then it happened. Kissing. Kissing happened. The beard felt so bizarre and it threw me for a loop. It distracted me from one of my favorite sports. The nerve!

As the open-minded and patient person that I am, I didn't let it get to me. I said to myself, "self, this is a minor setback. Next time you will know what to expect and will not be distracted."

But, yes another but, then I got home. And I put my jammies on and I sat on the couch and said to my roomies, "what is that smell??". And they were all, "what smell"? And I was like, "I smell something awful, what is that!? Ewwww".

Ok and do you want to know what the smell turned out to be? Brace yourself bloggers.

It was my face. My upperlip had retained this disgusting stank from beard-boy's beard. I had to wash my face to get rid of the odor. Sicknast!!!!!!

And furthermore, I went out with beard-boy one more time. I was in such disbelief that I convinced myself that this had to be a one time thing, his beard couldn't always reek. Could it? Yes, it could. On the last date I even smelled the beard while sitting beside him. And when he kissed me I was just thinking "eww no, eww no".

Well, I think I must've given off some "I really don't like being close to you or kissing you" sort of a vibe because beard-boy never called me again. I couldn't help but be sort of offended. I was all prepared to turn him down for a date and he didn't even call me to give me the chance. Can you believe that?

Mark my words, I will never date another man with facial hair.

I don't care if Eduardo Verastegui asks me out. I will not put myself thru that again. Although, I'm sure Eduardo would shave for me. And put on a suit and tie.

It's really not so much to ask.

The End.

we remember

O beautiful for spacious skies,

For amber waves of grain;

For purple mountain majesties

Above the fruited plain!

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood,

From sea to shining sea.

O beautiful for pilgrim feet

Whose stern, impassioned stress

A thoroughfare for freedom beat

Across the wilderness!

America! America!

God mend thine every flaw,

Confirm thy soul in self control,

Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved

In liberating strife,

Who more than self their country loved,

And mercy more than life!

America! America!

May God thy gold refine,

Till all success be nobleness,

And every gain divine.

O beautiful for patriot dream

That sees beyond the years

Thine alabaster cities gleam,

Undimmed by human tears!

America! America!

God mend thine every flaw,

Confirm thy soul in self control,

Thy liberty in law.

poetry on ice

I am a famous celebrity poet.

I like to write poetry and let my feelings and creative ideas flow. And I love to make everything rhyme.

Now, don't be fooled, I did not say that I am a talented poet. Hah! I just enjoy writing and find it cathartic in a way. Sorta like blogging. Trulio. I am way more into the blogging than he poeting these days. But I can recall a time when I wrote poems like they were going outta style. You know what was actually going out of style when I started writing poetry? Rolled acid wash jeans, worn with puffy hot pink socks that matched my electric pink t-shirt (knotted of course). That went out of style and I can't for the life of me understand why that fad has not returned.

The point of all of this nonsense is to fill you in on breaking news. In July, I was helping my mom clean out her garage (before she moved, remember?). I found a crap ton of memorabilia documenting my life. From colorful pre-K finger paintings to mementos left over from my Sweet-16. Pictures from every fancy dance I went to in high school... complete with the most frighteningly atrocious 90's dress/makeup/hair combos you can imagine... the teenage version of me looked like I was 45 years old in those get-ups... and my dates look like they should've been in romper room. Oh the bremories. They've scarred mine eyes and my head aches to even imagine the images once again.

I also stumbled upon about 594 love letters from my college boyfriend and 8,361 pictures of his 19 year old face (etc). Was he my first love? I don't really know. I consider him my first real love but know I thought I was in love at ages 5, 8, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17... you get the picture. Anyway, you'll be happy to learn that upon discovery these pictures and letters were thrown away. Not all, but most. A girl's gotta keep some evidence that she was once a teenager in love. Obvi.

I also uncovered my stash of poetry. If it can be called that. I found poems dating back to my 12 year old Jersey Girl days, written about how I felt like ... wait for it.... a BALLOON. I am oh so deep. In Eighth Grade I wrote about love, and how I would love Chris forever and ever and be apart from him never (that may or may not be a direct quote. 'Forever' and 'ever' and 'never' rhyme, right?). In high school I wrote about how I longed to be free of my parents rules. How I wanted to make my own decisions and my own mistakes.

I also wrote a love poem about my major crush (i'll call him Homeless Teen) and how I was sure it was "meant to be". Freaky. Homeless Teen barely knew I was alive and I didn't actually know him either. Just liked him from a distance and treasured my one picture with my stalkee. Bc that's what crazed teenagers do, ok? Don't judge. All I have to say to you right now is this: Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes. Ok so maybe it is Jack Handy saying it to you. Take that. Pow.

Do I ever write poetry now that I'm all growed up? Thank you for asking. Yes, I do. Not often and not well. I wrote like two or three poems this year, and I don't think I wrote any last year. They come to me in spurts. Kind of like writing in my journal... I either write in it on the regular or abandon it for months into years. I find that I journal and write poetry both when I'm confused or down. To try to sort out my feelings, to get them out of my head, out of my heart, and onto the paper. When I can see the feelings in black and white they don't seem so gray (grey? i hate that there are multiple spellings of that word!!). But sometimes I make little poems in my head. I like to pretend I'm creating lyrics for a new hit song. Coming soon to imeem.... you just wait. Can you relate? <---- do you see that rhyme?? I told you I get a big kick out of rhyming! My rhymes are always simplistic and uncomplicated. Because I'm writing for the everyman... jk I'm just writing for me.

Sam is my bestie.

You believe in the 6-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon, right? Or at least the 6-degrees-of-separation?


Well, I know we all come to these blogs with different faiths and varying belief systems, but if we all believe in the 6-degrees then we are all really connected.


Therefore I am practically blood brothers with Sam Champion. obvi.


[aside- shout out to Laura of "Life is An Adventure--Dare It". She used the word 'obvi'. Good girl. She is the shiz-nit and always has been. Fo shizzle my nizzle lemon drizzle.]


Here's the flow.... my youngest sister Bina is 14. This morning she was in nyc at Good Morning America at 5:30 (AM!!!! 5:30 in the morning!!!! wtf???) for her friend's 14th bday celebration. The girls all came into the city to go to the show and have a blast. I don't know how anything is a blast at 5:30am, but I digress.

So, Sam Champion had a whole convo on tv with Bina's friends Katherine and the bday girl Julia. He even made a rude comment about Julia's braces. He said he likes them, but still... who says that... on live tv... to a 14 year old b-day girl... who is sensitive about her braces already??!!! Rood, Sam. Rood. Even so, Sam is my bestie. BFFs.

Also, Bina stood next to her friends waving at Sam and screaming WOOOHOOOOOOOO!!! She makes me proud.

Sammy and I have only 1 or 2 degrees of separation (1 degree if Bina shouting at Sam counts, 2 degrees if it is her friends. No, either way I have 1 degree bc I practically raised those girls. All three of them. On my own. I made them what they are today.). Ok, Sam and I have 1 degree separation. Done and doner.

I also have 1 degree separation from Kevin Bacon. Short story is this: he was staring at my brother Pete at a bar one night. Pete noticed him staring, and KBacon tried to avert his eyes, but he wasn't fast enough and Petie caught him. Poor K-BLT was embarrassed... obvi.

1 degree separation from Kevin Bacon, 2 to his wife Kyra Sedgwick aka Chief Brenda Lee Johnson. I less than three Kyra. She is so awesome on The Closer. Makes me want to confess to a crime I didn't even commit... or did I??? She's that good.

Ok, so now that we're clear I want you to know something. I'm only 1 or 2 degrees away from these celebs. And from what I can tell, it makes the little people (Kevin Bacon, Kyra, and Sam) feel pretty important to be so closely related to me. How sacot is that? I mean, it's only natural (I know), but it is so humbling for me.

bye bye Michael

clickety click: You Are Not Alone - Michael Jackson

I have such a wide range of emotions flowing at the news of Michael Jackson's death. It is unreal and unexpected. Both his passing and the feelings I'm having.

I think the hard part is that I associate MJ with a lot of bremories. Good and bad. And he was such an obviously sad, disturbed, yet completely talented man.

"You are not alone" was my song with my 8th grade boyfriend (1 of 2 songs). I still love it. It makes me think of Chris and wonder what he is up to. Makes me want to Facebook stalk him and try to remember our 14 year old innocent love. Before I callously broke his heart that is. Are you sensing a pattern? I've never been any good at this dating/relationship thing. And yet I keep trying. At this stage I try with the dating scene... but I try to be much more sensitive, open-minded, and clear about my feelings (both on dates and with myself). I am working on paying attention. Noticing both good and bad signals. Listening to my gut feelings. Using my voice and being heard. Looking for a situation where the signals from my head and heart and body are aligned and balanced. Trying but not yet quite there. Better late than never? Only time will tell.

So yeah, that is 1 good bremory brought about by Jacko. The bad ones are too private to share with you (we're just not on that level of intimacy yet- no offense). As I said here, and was reminded yesterday by this blogizzle, music is my memory (i mean bremory- sorry about the lapse in my vocab). Oh and I forgot to update you about the Oldies!

I've started listening to my beloved Oldies once more. I can't believe I stayed away for so long... they missed me and I missed them. Sacot. I have listened to them and listened to them and I've been working on new associations. It has actually worked. Turned out to be a great step in the right direction: closure. Like putting stitches on an open wound. Hurts at first, but helps the healing.

I may just try it with my most painful song to hear - THE song with the eX. At Last. Etta James. I said maybe. Nah, I'm not ready yet. And pls do not play that song around me unless you want me to break your ipod or cut you or F#^k you up! :)

Obvi Michael Jackson will be missed, wondered about, sainted, and condemned- depending who you talk to. I'm a mixed bag. A bag of tricks. A bag of groceries. Now I'm hungry. Got to go find that butler with the silver platter and a silver spoon.

I'll leave you with these lyrics:

There's a place in your heart

And I know that it is love

And this place could be much

Brighter than tomorrow.

And if you really try

You'll find there's no need to cry

In this place you'll feel

There's no hurt or sorrow.

There are ways to get there

If you care enough for the living

Make a little space, make a better place.

Heal the world

Make it a better place

For you and for me and the entire human race

There are people dying

If you care enough for the living

Make a better place for

You and for me.