Take Me Back to Manhattan

What Happened?
Monday, December 22, 2008

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:21 AM 1 comments    

Labels: introspection, life lessons, meltdowns

Content My Ass.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008

I suppose I spoke too soon.

I've been staring at the screen, trying to figure out how to make this creative or funny or...something other than straightforward. I haven't figured it out.

It's 5:33 on a rainy LA morning and I've slept for a total of about 3 hours. I'm chock-fucking-full of angst. I don't actually know if it's a rainy LA morning or not - I don't think it's raining anymore to be honest, but rainy sort of fits my mood and it sounds good. So for my purposes of this post, picture it rainy.

I started to write about all the good things, the things that are truly important - like the fact that my baby is healthy - and, for that matter, how excited I am that I'm having one. That everyone important to me is ok. And then I realized that I'm doing via blog what my friends and I all discuss our parents do to us when they call with bad news. They go through a laundry list of all the things that ARE ok. Everyone that IS fine. Telling you that everything is alright...all the while preparing you for the fact that things actually AREN'T ok, that not everyone is fine, that everything actually isn't alright...until you want to reach through the phone and punch them, but not before they tell you what the hell is GOING ON ALREADY!

Yeah. So I don't want to do that. I got laid off yesterday. Almost exactly 2 months after I was promoted. Almost exactly 3 months before I have a baby.

So yes - everyone is fine. And everything will BE fine. But things aren't ok right in this moment.

I keep reminding myself that everything happens for a reason. That when one door closes another door opens, that out of necessity comes invention. That we are not handed anything that we are not capable of handling. EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON. I'm working every last ounce of energy I have to embrace zen. Because what other choice is there really?

Zen as hell - except when I'm not. Not in the the moments of complete rage I've flown into or the twenty minutes spent crying in the middle of the night, trying to understand how certain people who make four times what I make and do about a quarter of the work still have their jobs but I don't. What the reasoning is behind laying off a person with a salary that's less than the new desk that the CEO of our company recently purchased. A person who has been loyal and worked hard and told time and again of their value to the company and their potential for the future.

All I can remind myself is that someone, somewhere knows that I am destined for bigger and better.

Dear Someone,

Your timing sort of sucks.

But I'm sure you have your reasons. I'm sure you have big plans for me. You're more than welcome to reveal them sooner than later.

So yeah - about that whole being content thing? I spoke too soon. But I sure enjoyed it while it lasted.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:32 AM 4 comments    

Labels: introspection, life lessons, meltdowns

Angstless in LA
Thursday, December 11, 2008

It's DECEMBER???? WHAT THE HELL?

Anyhow. I've been having this conversation as of late with a couple different people. And I could be totally off on this one, but I'm thinking that blogging is better - even writing for that matter - when it's being used as an outlet for some sort of angst. I would have been an AMAAAAAAAAAAZING blogger when I moved to LA. Just ask any of my close friends who had to put a limit on the number of times a day I could call them. I was oozing angst.

Or when I was single living in NYC. I met with a writer the other day (for an hour and 45 minutes by the way. That sets the record for my longest writer meeting ever. Except, of course, for the first "meeting" I had with my husband...but that doesn't count.) who said she was sort of glad to be single because if she were in a long term relationship, she's really unsure what the hell she'd write about.

I know exactly what she means. I'm not feeling so much angst these days. I have my moments and I'm all too sure that I will have many a meltdown in the not-so-distant future, that life won't feel quite so even, that I will want different things, wish for something new, feel like my brain is going to explode, have moments of "why can't this just..." and "when will I ever...".

But for now, I'm sort of...dare I say it...content. And content makes for boring blogging I think. I'm sort of uninspired. Although I can tell you that my baking extravaganza this weekend will give me plenty of food for thought. I can't even believe I just wrote that. Food for thought. SEE!?!??!?!?!?!

I sometimes wonder if I'm just not a good writer. If I were, wouldn't I be able to pull something out of my ass at a moment's notice for the sake of the blog? Wouldn't I be able to go back to that time of angst and channel it to write something poignant, funny and touching all at once? Wouldn't I be able to paint a picture of that day seven years ago, that moment in the middle of Times Square, that time when I thought I would never recover? Maybe I can. Maybe I haven't tried hard enough...I don't know.

I know I have thoughts in moments in the middle of downward dog that I think would be a really smart piece of writing. I write the whole thing in my head as I move through my (modified for pregnancy) vinyasa. But by the time I get home, it's gone. I remember the general feeling, but the words...they're just not there.

I wish I'd written more at certain times in my life. I could have done wonders with my mid-20's in Manhattan, my late 20's in LA...among other times. My head was constantly swirling with questions, anxiety, endless clutter and conversation.

But for now, my head isn't really swirling much at all. I've managed to find zen in the past six and a half months. Like I got knocked up and something switched inside my brain telling me that I needed to just roll with the punches a bit more because from this point forward, there was going to be a hell of a lot more out of my control than had ever been before. And so that's the way I've been living. I've had a few meltdowns here and there. And I've wished I was closer to a computer when they've happened. But by the time I sit down to write it down, it's over and done with and I've moved on. I find myself wondering what the point of rehashing is. And so, I don't.

So I'm angstless and blogless. But I'm happy.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 4:46 PM 1 comments    

Labels: daily, on bloggers and blogging

Live the Questions Now
Wednesday, November 26, 2008

The days seem to be going by faster than I can keep track of and all of a sudden, I'm having a baby in 4 months. What the hell?? I just got pregnant! How did all of this happen so freaking fast? How is it Thanksgiving?

The impending birth of a child has made me sit back and reflect a lot. On my past 33 years (ok, ok - I don't remember being 2. But at least most of my "adult" life when I wasn't too drunk to forget. Did I just say adult life? Heh. Who's an adult? Just because I'm having a baby now I'm supposed to be an adult???) I'm reflecting on the things that I want to instill in my kids. On the traits I have that I'd like to work on more so that they don't learn my behavior. On the ways in which I'd like to help my kids see the world. (Sure, it's singular now...but now that the can of worms has been opened...) 

It's been a highly reflective time, but I've had trouble finding the words to frame it. I'm working hard on staying present these days - on enjoying the small moments. I'm starting to understand that each moment that happens will only last for a small amount of time. And while some of the phases I've been through in my life have been tumultuous, have felt tortured and confused - I have looked back upon many of those times, feeling like I didn't know how good those tortured moments were.

I think sometimes life is hard to see while we're living it. But I don't want to turn around and feel like I wasn't truly experiencing each moment anymore because I was so anxious to get out of it and get some answers. I think I'm starting to realize that Rilke had a point. That the only way to find the answers is to live your way into them...

I think that's what I want to instill most in my kids. That it's ok to not know the answers before you leap. That leaping is the only way to truly find the answers. And that it's ok to wade and to wallow a bit while you try to figure out which direction to leap in. That it's ok to fall down - as long as you get back up. That when the doors all seem locked, try a window, and if the windows are locked too, find a vent. To treat others with compassion. To have patience for those around you - to work hard on having that patience with those who try it most because they probably need it the most. To stand your ground with what you believe in and to live it out loud and strong. To move forward but not forget where you come from. To fly high but keep your feet firmly fastened on the ground. To ask questions and to search and explore. That grudges are cancerous and there's no point in holding them. You don't have to like everyone or everything, but it's so much better for your spirit and your health to let it go and move forward.

Do I live these ideas? Some of them...not all of them. Some of the time, not all of the time.

And there are the things that I am working on right now. I am too hard on myself and therefore, often too hard on others. I try too hard to keep everyone else happy but sometimes I just need to make myself happy. I know that when I don't like someone or something, I'm not so great at hiding it. I'm really loud. I'm constantly afraid of letting people down. I question my abilities too often. I need to be more flexible and learn to relinquish control. I'm learning to ask myself what truly bothers me in situations that do - rather than to just get angry, upset, irrational, etc. To get to the bottom of why I feel a certain way, rather than just letting the emotion take over me completely. So I'm learning. I guess having a baby is making me want to be better.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:31 PM 0 comments    

Labels: conscious living, musings on life, we're having a baby

Small Victories
Wednesday, November 19, 2008

I'm getting a refund!!!! I just got a call from Searle NYC apologizing profusely for how I was treated and letting me know they'd be refunding my money in full.

It's the little things people. Well...I guess $400 isn't so little...but you know what I mean. WHOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 11:55 AM 1 comments    

Assorted Rants on A Tuesday
Wednesday, November 12, 2008

This place is supposed to be my "outlet" - so to speak...so I'm outing.

I am having a mini meltdown. It might be because I'm pregnant. It's entirely possible. I mean, I did cry after being yelled at by the director of sales and marketing at Searle NYC. And he was unquestionably a total jackass on the phone - BUT. I'm not so sure it warranted tears. That said, I'm confused about the incident because I wouldn't say I've been overly emotional in the past five months. Or perhaps I've just lost all perspective, gone entirely insane and I've actually been a total nut case. Clearly I've lost my ability for self-awareness.

Why did this person yell at me, you ask? That's a great question and one I will gladly answer. You see, I purchased a pair of boots from the Searle NYC website a few weeks ago. I had been eyeing them and I was in desperate need of a new pair of black boots. These were exactly what I had been looking for, so I decided to order them. I have become quite the promo code sleuth and when I found one for 20% off, I ordered them PRONTO. I love a good bargain (as you know given my proclivity toward Jewish tourettes.) The boots came and were not quite what I had in mind - they were slouchy, and I was looking for good old fashioned straight up and down boots. When I looked on the site, I noticed they had the SAME EXACT style at what was considered 3/4 height. The reason they slouched was because I am short and so there was too much boot for them to stand up straight on my legs. So I saw 3/4 and figured they'd be perfect. I sent away for an exchange. I'd been told that I'd receive an email letting me know when the boots had been received and when my new ones went out. They received the boots I was returning on 10/21. I know this from my UPS tracking number - not because the company emailed me as they had promised. I emailed them 5 days later to check in and still heard nothing. So I called to find out where the hell my boots were and also to tell them that, at this point, I didn't really want the boots anymore. Last Thursday I received an email from the director of sales and marketing telling me they'd already sent out my boots 2 day mail and he'd send me the tracking number (which, by the by, he never did.) The boots arrived yesterday. The boots do not fit over my pregnant calves. Not even close. Oh well...I tried. I emailed the director this morning for a return authorization code. The slip in the box was marked final sale, which I knew must have been a mistake since I would NEVER purchase final sale shoes that I hadn't tried on. N.E.V.E.R.

The response I got was the following:

Michelle,

I believe you ordered these on the people magazine promo. Everything purchased at a discount on our website and our store is a final sale. It states it on the site. On line we accommodate exchanges. So you can exchange for anything in the store or online, whether it has a size or not.

Of course, I went IMMEDIATELY to the website to find this statement. I berated myself the entire time. HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN SO FOOLISH?!?!?? What the hell was I thinking? It was no bargain if I couldn't return the freaking shoes! And what's a pregnant lady going to buy in a clothing store (especially when that money should be put toward other boots or saved for her unborn child?) I continued to yell at myself in my own head until I arrived at the Searle website and saw the following written clearly at the bottom of the check out page:

All sale merchandise can be exchanged for merchandise of equal or greater value.

Ok. Fine. Sale Merchandise is not the same as items purchased at a discount. Not at ALLLLLL. I stopped yelling at myself and called the gentleman who had responded to me above. I went in with a smile on my face, knowing I would get further if I started out the interaction being nice.

"Hi Rick, this is Michelle. I just received your email and I wanted to chat with you."

"Uh huh."

"Well, I took a look at your website. And while it states clearly that sale items can only be exchanged, it doesn't make mention of promo..."

"MICHELLE!" he interrupted me, "You can't return them. You used a promo code, you bought an item on sale. You are welcome to exchange the shoes."

"Well, I actually didn't buy an item on sale. I used a promo code to get a discount on an item. There's a diff..."

"MICHELLE!" he raised his voice to me again, "You're talking semantics here. There's no difference. I've never had a problem with this before."

"Yes Rick. We are talking semantics. But when you're writing something on your site, then semantics are actually important. And to be honest, I called you being perfectly pleasant, wanting to discuss the matter with you, and now you are raising your voice to me and actually being quite rude."

Which is, indeed, what happened. I called this man, wanting to have a conversation, and he literally jumped down my throat. He snapped back at me when I told him he was being rude and told me, once again, that I was talking semantics. That seemed to be his only go-to defense.I told him that I would be happy to contest the charge on my credit card and happy to speak to a lawyer (not that I would hire one, by the way, but my best friend is a lawyer and a damn fine one who would let me know if I had a leg to stand on, but it did seem to me that legalese is all ABOUT semantics so his argument could be used directly against him...) He told me to go right ahead. I asked to speak with someone above me. He told me there WASN'T anyone above him. I got off the phone.

And started to cry.

WHAT THE HELL!?!? Listen, I may have been wrong...but there was absolutely NO REASON (especially if I WAS wrong) that this douchebag should be raising his voice to me! In fact, if it was clear and concise on the website, I would imagine that he would have kindly directed me to the page where I could find the information that I had missed when I bought the merchandise and showed me my mistake. Instead, he tore into me...WHO TAUGHT HIM ABOUT CUSTOMER SERVICE????

I'm still working on this. I called the corporate office and got the name of the owner of the company who I tried to get in touch with for a couple of days and after not being able to reach her directly, I wrote her a damn good letter which I faxed off this morning. And look, I might not get a refund...but no one, NO ONE, especially in customer service, should be speaking to a customer that way. And I want someone to know that's how I was treated by their director of marketing and sales. And I'd also like my money back.

I mean...am I nuts? Do any of you think of a promo code as being an item on sale??? Please. Feel free to tell me that I'm wrong.

Then there's the fact that people seem to think that it's ok to tell you how big/swollen/fat you look when you're pregnant. The fat comment was meant as a joke (I think?!?) but it still wasn't ok. Trust me...I spend a lot of time every day reminding myself that my body is beautiful as it becomes increasingly difficult for me to bend over to pick something up. I don't even want to get into how it feels to roll to my other side in the middle of the night (but I will say that if someone invented a device that would do all the work and get me from my left to my right and back again every few hours or so, I would pay a LOT of money for it.) I know people think that when you're pregnant you KNOW you're going to get bigger so it's OK for them to say, "WOW! You got bigger overnight!" And they literally mean overnight when you are away for a wedding weekend. And for the record, this was NOT one of the times that I had actually grown overnight. Trust me - if anyone notices when I grow overnight, it's me. I especially love the people who haven't see you and say, "WOW! Look at your stomach." Yes, look at my stomach - it's big. BECAUSE I'M PREGNANT.

What's interesting is the number of absolute strangers I've had telling me how beautiful I look. I went to Bloomingdales on Saturday and I left feeling like I was on cloud 9. Everywhere I went, in the parking garage waiting for the elevator, at the makeup counter returning something, at the Jo Malone counter buying something, on the escalator up...people kept telling me that I was an adorable pregnant person or that I just looked radiant. I'm not bragging. Or at least I don't mean to be. It just felt SOOOOOOOOO good to hear. (Sidenote sally: My husband tells me I'm beautiful all the time. Pretty much every day. He has never once told me I look big - only beautiful. Men - you should do this if you're wife is pregnant. Even if he doesn't mean it, it's very smart of him.) But it was so nice - instead of hearing that I looked big or swollen - to hear that I looked good. And from total and complete strangers. It was a breath of fresh air. So if you see a pregnant woman today, tell her she looks great. It will truly MAKE her day. Especially if she feels like the state puffed marshmallow woman.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:45 PM 1 comments    

Labels: random thoughts, things that get me riled up, we're having a baby, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Pop goes the stomach
Thursday, November 6, 2008

It's the oddest thing. Sometimes I look down and feel like I must be in someone else's body because there is NO WAY IN HELL that the stomach I am looking at is mine. There's no possible way that this protrusion in front of me belongs to MY body...never mind what it MEANS.

This is a new sensation - one that I've started feeling only in the past week or so. Prior to that, I had a bit of a bump. I enjoyed it...it was cute. It was fun to finally show it off once I'd gone public to everyone. It was nice to actually look pregnant rather than just fat. I felt extremely connected to my body. But I woke up on Monday morning after an evening of Mexican food and all of a sudden, I had grown. And I mean GROWN. All of a sudden, I was freaking PREGNANT.

The past few days, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I'm totally shocked. Like I'm staring at a different person. A responsible person. An adult who's having a CHILD. I get confused... I'm the person with a flat stomach (one of my body parts that I consistently feel good about). I'm the girl who loves to go out for drinks, to try the latest restaurant. Who flies to NYC for a 36 hour weekend trip to see her friends because she can. Who has subscribed to the idea that 30 is the new 20. I'm the girl who does extra chatarangas during her yoga vinyasas. I'm the girl who's been climbing the corporate ladder, who's finally starting to get where she's been trying to go. So it's hard for me to figure out where "I'm the girl who's going to be a MOTHER" fits into that whole equation.

Don't get me wrong. This is clearly NOT the first time I've thought about this. I did not go into this whole thing blindly. In fact, I thought about it quite a lot. My husband would have had me knocked up walking down the aisle if it had been his choice...but it wasn't. I was quite clear about what it would mean to have a child. (Or at least, as clear as one can be until one actually HAS said child.) I was aware of that it would mean tremendous gains and gifts, but also significant sacrifice. I was aware that it was going to change our lives in every possible way. And I took my time, refusing to rush into something so monumental, insisting that we wait until I truly felt ready.

And so we did. And I did...feel ready, that is.

But this stomach (or belly as many have endearingly referred to it,) is all of a sudden staring me in the face saying, "Really? REAAAAAAAAAALLY are you ready? You have no IDEA how your life is going to change. You have no concept of what lies ahead. You can think about having a child, but you can't prepare. You have ten months of living with the idea but then all of a sudden you go into the hospital and come home with a BABY. That is with you for the next eighteen years. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Thirty is no longer the new twenty sweetheart. Welcome to adulthood."

For the past few days, my stomach talks and I listen. I am sure (although I've yet to discuss with any of my friends who are already parents) that this is quite normal. I'm sure most pregnant women's stomachs chat with them here and there throughout pregnancy. I'm sure most women have a moment where they say to themselves "WHAT AM I DOING???" And mine is here.

But then I feel the baby move. And I pretty much tell the stomach, "I know exactly what I'm doing." It's just me and the baby in those moments. No one else can feel the baby moving yet. It's just the two of us for a little while longer. And I'm not going to waste a single moment of that time. Because when I feel that little flutter inside my stomach, I know that everything is right with the world. And while everything in our life is going to change and I have absolutely NO IDEA what that's going to look like, it's only going to get better.

you can read more about my belly from my husband's perspective at www.meeshandthebelly.blogspot.com

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 4:25 PM 2 comments    

Labels: we're having a baby

HOPE
Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Today I feel hope for a new tomorrow. Today I feel a world with a little less hate, a little more acceptance. Today I feel a world where dreams can come true. Today I am proud to live in a country that believes in change. Today I feel proud to be an American - a feeling I've not felt in a really long time. Today I feel inspired. Today I feel a world filled with possibility.

Today I feel excited about the world we are bringing our child into.

But I am not blind to the irony that exists in a country that voted for change but is also voting to openly discriminate against same sex couples. In Florida, same sex couples can not marry. In Arizona, not only can they not marry, but they can no longer adopt children. And in California, Prop 8 passed by a narrow margin, overturning the decision that same sex couples have the same rights as heterosexual couples.

I can't help but feel I need an umbrella for my parade today. In the grand scheme of things, open-minded won. In the smaller scheme, discrimination was justified again and again. I supposed I simply need to look at it as the next hurdle in a country where we overcame a huge one. It's just hard to understand how any minority - be it women or blacks or any one else who had to fight for the right to anything - could sit back and deny someone else their rights. And these propositions didn't pass based solely on the votes of white men.

But. We did it. We looked forward to change, to something new, to hope. We did it once, we can do it again.

Yes we can.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 4:05 PM 1 comments    

Labels: it's always dumb to talk politics, musings on life, on a soapbox, we're having a baby

Thoughts for Monday lifted from the back of my Starbucks cup
Monday, November 3, 2008

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 10:37 AM 0 comments    

Labels: daily, musings on life, random thoughts

It's true what they say about opinions...
Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Not only are they like assholes, but often, the people giving them can sound like assholes. Notice I did not say ARE. They probably aren't. I know I've been an ass when stating my opinion. Or more accurately, I should say, I've been an ass when refusing to listen to other people's opinions, forgetting that I could possibly (gasp) LEARN something from what they have to say.

There is very little in this world that is right or wrong. Things aren't very black and white. There are more shades of gray than I'm even aware of. But lately, I've noticed people feeling the need more and more to PUSH opinion on one another. I've certainly experienced it myself given that I'm having a child. Somehow, every other person in the universe wants to tell you the "right" accessory, the "right" thing to do about working or not, about breastfeeding, about how to freaking give birth, forgetting along the way that many of those things are very personal choices that one has the right to make on their own. Even friends who start out by bitching about all the annoying opinions people will give you once they find out you're pregnant will end up giving you their unsolicited opinion about things when they disagree with the choice it sounds like you'll be making. I'm embarrassed (btw, do you think that word comes from being bare-assed? Because that's embarrassing. Every time I write embarrassed, I think about how, somehow, that word must have originated from someone who was mortified and running around with a naked rear end. End of tangent...) Ahem. I was saying that I'm embarrassed to admit that at the beginning of my pregnancy, when I was attempting to educate myself about things that I finally realized I have absolutely NO control over, I was spouting my opinion to people as well. Spouting in a way that made me sound like it wasn't opinion, but instead THE answer. The only answer. The only way. And dude - I haven't even done any part of it yet!!! A.S.S.H.O.L.E

As of late, the political atmosphere has led to tremendous opinion spouting of the above persuasion. No question I am passionate about the things I believe in. I know what I hope for our country, for our leaders, and while I know I would have tremendous stake in this election regardless, I do think that knowing I'm bringing a child into the world has made our next leader that much more important to me.

But I also understand that there are others who are also opinionated and have strong beliefs that are totally and completely different than mine. I understand that I can learn something from looking at the beliefs and ideas of others even if I don't necessarily agree. I understand that different beliefs may mean that I don't have anything in common with another person, but more often, just means that we have different points of view on some things. I can respect that. I can have conversations about it - usually in a civil manner - and understand that I may have my eyes opened or learn something new.

I have friends that are Jews, Catholics, Christians, Atheists. I have friends that are gay, straight and in between. I have friends that are Black, White, Asian, Hispanic and everything in between. I have friends that are Democrats and I have friends that are Republicans. More Democrats than Republicans...but that's not the point.

I respect the right to choose.

I have tried to steer fairly clear of politics here. I have posted a few videos that I thought were too funny and accurate to keep to myself. But all in all, I think I've kept my political mouth shut.

Political conversations can turn naaaaaaaaaaaasty with a capital N. All of a sudden parents are shouting at kids, brothers are shouting at sisters, people are calling each other names and getting really heated in ways you've never seen them get heated before. People aren't respecting other people's OPINIONS. They are being - in a word - assholes.

But I'm breaking the seal - I'm going to talk politics.

I, myself, am a huge Obama supporter. I am mostly a Democrat - although I truly believe in looking at the candidates rather than simply following a party. There have been great Democratic leaders and great Republican leaders and there have been terrible leaders that have emerged from both parties as well (present leadership included. On a side note, we went to see W. this weekend and I wanted to punch the screen because that man is such. a fucking. IDIOT.) I do not think that Obama is perfect. But personally, I believe that he represents more of what I want to see happen in this country than McCain does. I believed this before McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate, and once he made that ridiculous choice, I believed it with every ounce of my being.

However, I can respect that there are people who do not feel the same way as I do.

What I am struggling with is the number of people - people who seem to me to have liberal belief systems - who have friends that are gay, that believe in a woman's right to choose, that think it's time for this ridiculous waste of a war to end, who are committed to the environment and to CHANGE - that are considering voting for McCain. And there seems to be only one reason and one reason alone that these people are making this choice.

Money.

Money. Money. Money. I hear these people spouting their mishegas about not wanting to be taxed more harshly (because they land in the higher tax bracket) and all of a sudden their eyes morph into dollar signs and their words go into slow mo and it sounds like there's a devil behind them saying, "I don't care about the future of the world...I am greeeeeeeeedy and I will keep ALL my money no matter WHAT the cost to our country, to my children..." and then they shrivel up into green smokey dollar signs and melt away and then I return to Planet Earth.

Look, I'm not thrilled about paying more taxes (although my other question in this whole thing is, given our current economic climate, does ANYONE TRULY THINK that there's any way in HELL that whoever lands up in office isn't going to raise taxes in some way or another? And if so, I'd love for them to explain to me how that person IS going to deal with things. Thanks...) WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WANTS to give away more of their hard earned money? No one. But I just don't get it - if you don't really believe in the rest of the things that McCain stands for. If you don't believe in Sarah Palin and her ability to run our country. If on MOST other issues, you side with Obama, how do you check the box for McCain/Palin next Tuesday?

Because to me, that's not an opinion at all. That's just ASS.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:09 PM 3 comments    

Labels: it's always dumb to talk politics, on a soapbox, things that get me riled up

Anyone out there??
Thursday, October 23, 2008

Hellooooo? Are you there? It's me. Meesh. Yes. It's actually me. Writing an actual post.

I've been gone a long time. I mean, I know I've been around...poking my head in here and there in between Burma sagas. But really? I haven't written a whole lot since July. And there's actually a reason for that.

Which I'm not going to tell you.

KIDDING. I'm kidding.

Secrets are hard to keep. Whether they're of the "my life is falling apart and I don't want you to know" variety or "I'm so excited I'm going to explode but I can't tell you yet" variety. They both - in their own ways - leave you avoiding the people you love the most because there's not much else on your mind besides that secret.

"How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine. Not much to tell." when you really want to say:

"My life sucks. I'm miserable. Absolutely miserable. Pretty much everything has gone to hell. Crying has become my biggest extra curricular activity and I wish I could crawl in a hole and shrivel up."

OR

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. Every thing's great. Just rolling along. Really terrific. Not much to tell." when what you really want to say is:

"UMMMMMMMMMMM...I'M PREGNANT!!!!"

I'm pregnant. 19 weeks pregnant to be exact. I've been slowly going public over the past 7 weeks or so with some hitches in the middle (which I'll share along the way as I started to write while I was keeping this secret in so that I would have SOME sort of outlet.) I would have written about it sooner, but Burma was a way for me to be here and have a presence without having to try to figure out what the hell I was going to talk about when all I really wanted to say waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas, "I'M PREGNANT!!!"

At the beginning of all of this, I wished that I was blognonymous. But people I am related to, have known for years, work with read this blog. And therefore, I had to keep it a secret.

I promise this is not going to turn into a pregnancy blog. I don't promise that I'll never write about it but it won't be all that I write about either.

Aaaah. I feel relieved that I don't have to just say "I'm fine. Great. Couldn't be better" anymore...

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 2:00 PM 4 comments    

Labels: daily, musings on life, random thoughts

10 Days - The Final Chapter.
Saturday, October 18, 2008

But when I met LDB for a drink that night, I couldn’t stop staring at his face. I loved his face. I liked his eyes, the way they smiled. I liked the way he told a story. I liked the way he laughed. And mostly, I liked the way I felt being with him. Easy. Comfortable. At home. We talked honestly that night. He liked me too. I told him about Wine Boy. And I told him that I couldn’t do long distance. He was seeing someone also, but he still wanted to stay in touch – to email and talk and see each other when he was in town. No reason we couldn't do that, he said. Sounded good to me. When he kissed me goodnight outside, it sounded even better…

The first message that I got from LDB after he returned to LA was saved on my cell phone and played over and over every day for the entire 21 days that I was able to save a message. The nicest part about it was the surprise. I hadn’t heard my cell phone ring, and when I checked the message several hours later, I didn’t know who it was from. When I heard his voice saying over and over again that he just kept thinking about me, I knew I was in trouble. Good trouble, but trouble…And for the next 21 days, every time I listened to that message, my stomach flipped.

As time went on, and emails were exchanged between LDB and me, my feelings for Wine Boy depleted. He started pushing to get more serious, but for the first time in my life, I was enjoying having options. The more he pushed, the more I pulled away. And the emails that LDB sent to me were soooo…well, just sooo.

I ended things with Wine Boy and simultaneously made a decision about LDB. I had no idea what he was thinking, what he was feeling…but I knew that I wanted to go for it. I knew that I never wanted to walk in a room and look at him and think “what if?”

LDB came back to New York in mid-August. It just so happened that he was scheduled to arrive the same day as the blackout occurred in New York. I think the fact that the blackout prevented things with LDB from going exactly as I had planned in my head was for the best. My anticipation of his arrival was probably equal to the excitement I’d had the morning before I left for Burma. But as soon as the lights went out, I knew things weren’t going to go as planned. As I walked home from work, fears of another terrorist attack buzzed on the street. I couldn’t get in touch with LDB on his cell and I couldn’t get in touch with his mom either.

By the time I got home, it was clear that this was simply a blackout and only a blackout. There were no terrorists attacking, no planes flying into buildings - which allowed me a minor sigh of relief. I sat on the steps of my apartment building, hoping that my two roommates would appear sooner than later. I had 2 dollars in my wallet, no access to the electronic ATMS’s, and we’d all lost our ability to use plastic. We lived in a basement apartment so it was pitch black. I had attempted to go down by myself, but swiftly turned around when I realized that once I got one quarter of the way down the hall, I literally could not see a SINGLE thing. I couldn't see my finger in front of my face. I turned around and headed out again. My only option was to sit and wait. Within fifteen minutes, RT and PM were on the steps with me. We discussed what to do, which took all of about 2 minutes when we realized we didn’t really have any options. So we did what everyone else did during that blackout – we got drunk. We sat at the bar next door with friends and drank beer until the sun went all the way down. I tried not to think about where LDB was or if he’d landed. It was totally out of my control. There was nothing I could do.

At about 9 PM, drunk and tired, we stumbled home and I got ready for bed. I put on my pajamas and went into RT’s room. Since it was in the front of the building and looked out on the street, there was a little light coming in from the moon. I settled on the corner of his bed for a little drunken banter. All of a sudden I heard my name being called outside.

“Michelle!”

I sat up. “Yeah?” I said out the window.

“It’s Long Distance Boy. I’ve come to save you from the blackout!”

My heart started to pound. I looked at RT and ran outside. And there he was, standing at the top of my stairs. It really was Long Distance Boy. And his mom, his dad, and his dog, who’d accompanied him to make sure he was safe while he came to save me. I looked at him with a huge smile and when he wrapped his arms around me, I thought to myself, “Now this is a fairytale.”

When LDB’s two weeks in New York ended, I finally told him how I felt. I was scared out of my mind, but I knew that if I didn’t tell him what I wanted, I’d have lost without even trying.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:59 PM 4 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 22
Thursday, October 16, 2008

I felt even BETTER the next morning. I put on a pair of jeans and no sooner had I buttoned them around my waist and they were on the ground at my ankles. I ran to the bathroom and stepped on the scale. I knew that I’d lost a little weight on my trip. I mean, how could I not? I’d barely eaten and I’d been trying to keep up with superman. But as I looked down, I was shocked to see that I had lost ten pounds. TEN POUNDS??? I’d been trying for years to lose ten pounds. Who knew that all it would take was a week in Burma?

The 3rd day of our trip The 6th day - after the infamous bike ride

I'd been to my very own Ashram and I hadn't even known it!!! After 4 years of therapy and finally learning to feel comfortable in my body, it felt like overnight I had been given a new one. I wasn't complaining one single bit.

As the weeks progressed, the feelings of sadness and shame I'd felt surrounding what I had interpreted as the “failure” of my trip slowly began to fade. As I told the story over and over, I managed to focus on the adventure I’d been on, the humor of the whole thing (ie: me, princess at heart, biking through pigs and goats) and the fact that I’d actually done it. The general consensus was that people were inspired and thought I was brave. And I started to realize that I was.

Burma Boy and I corresponded a bit. We talked about what an amazing adventure we’d both had. I sent him a version of the letter I’d written on the plane ride home and he sent me an email telling me how he’d felt on the trip as well. Turns out with some distance, we both felt that we’d had a wonderful experience and had learned a tremendous amount. The emails kept up for a little while, but there didn’t seem to be as much of a point anymore. My stomach didn’t flip when I received one, and he didn’t rush to write back. The fairytale was over. Now I could move forward.

And move forward I did. Being in Burma helped me to realize that life was too short. Being in Burma helped me get a better body! And being in Burma helped me appreciate me for me a little more. I hopped back on Jdate with a newfound body and more importantly, a newfound confidence.

I was dating a wine purveyor (we’ll call him Wine Boy) and sort of beginning to like him, when I got a message at my office on a Tuesday in July from Long Distance Boy. The one from March and Passover…remember him? He was back in town and wanted to grab a drink so we made plans to meet after work that night. Long Distance Boy and I sat and sipped dirty martinis and laughed. A lot. He felt like an old friend, someone I’d known for years. The whole thing felt bizarrely familiar. I walked him to see “Hairspray” and he held my hand. Was he flirting with me?? He kissed me lightly on the cheek goodbye and told me that he wanted to get together again later in the week.

Later in the week turned out to be a barbecue at his brother and sister-in-law's for the 4^th of July. The four of us went to the beach and LDB and I swam out to a dock in the middle of the water. We sat and talked and laughed some more. My mind was racing while we talked on the dock? Was he flirting? Because it sort of felt like he was flirting. And I sort of felt a little nervous, but the good kind of nervous. And before my mind could come up with an answer, LDB was kissing me. And I guess I had the answer to my question.

“Why do you have to live in LA?” I asked with genuine despair.

“I’m not thinking of it that way,” he said.

Well, what was he thinking? I wanted to know EVERYTHING he was thinking. But I didn’t ask. I felt completely confused. What about Wine Boy? He lived in New York. I liked him. But LDB…well, LDB made my stomach flip. But LDB lived in LA. Uch.

When I woke up the next morning, I’d made my decision. I was NOT going to do this to myself again. I was not going to be with someone who lived far away, who I couldn’t have a real relationship with. I was not going to kiss LDB again.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:47 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 21 and nearing the end...
Tuesday, October 14, 2008

When I woke up, the plane was hitting the runway at JFK, and I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been happier to land in New York. I had 15 welcome home messages on my voicemail and I needed it. I went through customs, feeling like I’d been gone for 10 months rather than 10 days. I settled into the back of a cab, like it was a stretch limo knowing that although I hadn’t figured out how yet, I was a little wiser.

I took a deep breath and called my parents first.

“Hi Mom. I’m home.” I said, exhausted and not really wanting to have this conversation.

“Hiiiiiiii Honey!!! How WAS it??” asked my mother, who had chosen not to share my adventure with anyone else in our close knit family to protect me from having to explain should this not turn out the way I had hoped. And it hadn’t. It most certainly had not turned out the way I had hoped. But in that moment, I realized part of the reason I was scared to take the risk to begin with. I’d grown up thinking that if things didn’t turn out with a success or a happy ending, then the risk hadn’t been worth it. Which naturally makes a girl stop taking risks for fear of having unwanted news at the end of the adventure. I found myself thinking about all of this as my Mom called to my Father. Was the risk only worthwhile if the outcome was as expected? Didn’t you have to take the risk in order to find out what the outcome would be? And wasn’t there a reason for the expression, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”?

“Billy, pick up the phone! It’s Michelle!!!!”

“Well, it was an adventure. I wouldn’t say we are a match made in heaven.”

“I knew it. I knew it. Bill, didn’t I say I didn’t like the sound of her email?? I knew it. Are you ok? What did you do? Was it miserable?”

I waited for my mother to finish her questions, although I was really too exhausted to give much of an answer. Too exhausted to explain to her that it was miserable at times and wonderful at times. Too exhausted to even be able to begin to process what I had just done.

“I’m exhausted, but I’m good. I’m glad to be home. But I can’t expand on this right now…I’m just too tired. Can we talk again tomorrow?”

“Of course. Of course. We’re just glad you’re home safely. We love you.” Which was a nice thing to hear. Especially since, at the end of the day, I knew that while my mother would have hoped for me to have my fairy tale ending, she and my father both loved me no matter what.

Next, I called one of my oldest friends, Kelly. Kelly and I had been friends since we were 3. She knew pretty much everything about me. If there was anyone I could be with who would understand me, it was Kelly. I left her a voice mail telling her I was back, asking if she wanted to go to 4 PM yoga and eat some REAL spaghetti with me. I left a few more messages for my closest friends telling them I was home and alive and too exhausted to talk. And oh yeah, I was NOT madly in love.

As I walked through the streets of New York on my way to yoga, I was struck by the joy I felt about things that would have normally bothered me. It was a grey-ish, cold, sort of drab day. A nice change of pace from the pounding sun. There were impatient people everywhere, taxis honking too long and too loud. Several people ran into me on the sidewalk. But I’ve never been happier to be in the concrete jungle in my life. I was ecstatic to be home, to feel the pulse of the city. I was not so ecstatic about having to face the world and tell them that my fairytale hadn’t come true. Still, when I saw Kelly at yoga, I felt a surge of relief. She was just happy to see me, happy to practice yoga next to me. But most importantly, she told me she was proud of me for making the trip.

As I inhaled and exhaled through my sun salutations, I inhaled and exhaled those words. I was proud of me too. I had taken the biggest risk I had ever taken in my life. And no, it hadn’t turned out the way had I wanted, the way I had planned - but I was OK. I was still standing. No one was laughing at me or telling me I was foolish to have tried. (Then again, I hadn’t really talked to a whole lot of people yet.) The risk had been worth it. I had been on an amazing adventure half way around the world.

I poured over every last detail of my trip over a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of red wine. As I described my adventures to Kelly and my interactions with Burma Boy, she helped me to work through all the feelings I was having. She reminded me that I have a tendency to beat myself up for certain things, and she made me feel phenomenally better by telling me that she thought I handled myself better than most would have under the circumstances. I don’t know if it was the yoga, the spaghetti, the glass of wine, or having one of my oldest friends to talk to, but I already felt slightly rejuvenated.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:46 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 20
Sunday, October 12, 2008

Saturday morning I woke up early. I got ready for my day and just as I was about to leave, Burma Boy woke up. He was sweet - the sweetest he'd been since I'd arrived. We both were actually. It was hitting us that this was our last day, and it was as though both of us wanted the chance to start over. Or to recognize that we didn’t know each other as well as our emails made us think that we did and operate based on that - rather than thinking we knew each other as well as we knew our closest friends.

I had decided to spend the morning touring Bangkok alone. Burma Boy had spent a lot of time in Thailand and had already seen the Grand Palace, but I felt like it was something I wanted to experience while I was there. Besides, I was enjoying my independence and was making up for some of the time that perhaps I should have taken for myself when I first arrived.

I took the river ferry up to the stunning Grand Palace. This was no FairyTale Land. This was truly beautiful. From there, I took a Tuk Tuk ride where I learned a few Thai words from the adorable driver and hit the market to buy some gifts. I didn’t have the energy for any more sightseeing. I was so exhausted from our first 9 days that I just wanted some good rest and relaxation. The trip was over. And now I needed a vacation from my trip.

After lunch, I met up with Burma Boy, Caroline, and Tom. We went for Thai massages, we went to dinner. It was actually really nice. It was lovely to be around other people, to relate outside of just the two of us. But I felt totally confused as well. I was just starting to get to know this person. All of a sudden I was questioning if perhaps I wanted to get to know him more? Would things have been different if we were under different circumstances? Was I just scared to go home to have to report that I didn’t fall madly in love? I definitely was ready to go home to be around the people that loved me, the people that I could be myself with. But all of a sudden, leaving felt bizarre.

We got into bed that night and while we were both quiet, it was clear there was more than we wanted to say. I tried. I told him that all things considered, I’d really had a good time. I’m not quite sure that was exactly what I meant…but it was the simplest way for me to express myself. I told him that I’d learned so much. I told him that I was glad that I’d come. And those last two things, I meant.

I boarded the plane at 6 AM and my head felt like it was about to explode. Not only did I need a vacation from my vacation, I needed a vacation from life. I thought that going away was going to help me to clear my head, but it seemed that I was more confused than ever. I sat on the plane and attempted to write in my journal. But mostly I cried. I cried because the movie in my head had been all wrong. I cried because I had been a pain in the ass at times. I cried because he’d been a total jackass at times. I cried because I had communicated poorly (and I was starting to realize that at times, I hadn’t communicated at all). I cried because I’d taken the risk and it hadn’t paid off. I thought I was finally going to find love and I hadn’t. I cried because I wondered if I ever would. I cried until I fell fast asleep.

I sort of half woke up when we got to Tokyo. I moved through the airport in a trance. My eyes were puffy, my backpack was too heavy, and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep and wake up in NYC. I don’t know how long I was there, I didn’t eat anything strange. In a zombie-like state, I boarded the plane and quickly fell asleep again.

When I woke up several hours later, I felt a little better. I opened my journal and began to write to Burma Boy. I wrote and I wrote until everything that I was feeling and thinking was on the page. I told him that if I had the whole thing to do over again, I would have made the trip again. I admitted that all I’d really wanted was for him to like me, that I’d been scared and nervous when I got off the plane and met him in The Great Hall. I admitted that as much as I had tried not to have expectations, I hadn’t left any room for the fact that we didn't actually know each other. So we both took certain parts of each other’s tones and habits personally, when actually, we were just being ourselves. I admitted to him the many times that he’d hurt my feelings and I admitted to him that I felt like he was disappointed in me because I couldn’t stomach the food and because I couldn’t always keep up with him. I admitted that I knew I could have done certain things differently, but I vented about all the things that I wished he’d done differently too. I told him it felt like he often didn’t listen to me. And I admitted that I was mortified that I’d accused him of talking about me with Caroline. And by the time I started to process all of the feelings I was having, it was time for me to leave and then I just felt even more confused. I wrote it all down. And then I fell back to sleep.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 9:37 AM 0 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 19
Friday, October 10, 2008

We arrived at the Shangri-la hotel on Friday in the early afternoon. Burma Boy made me wander around while he checked in. Apparently, he had made the reservation under the guise that he was a travel agent so he would get a nice discount. (There were travel agents in his family, so he had the necessary paraphernalia to ensure success.) He was supposed to be traveling alone to get an even further discount, explaining why I couldn’t be anywhere near him while he checked in. Ahhhh, the life of a super haggler. My instructions were to eventually wander into the lounge where he would pick me up to take me to our room.

Now THIS was a room. A grand, luxurious king bed. A huge bathroom with a tub and a shower. Drawers and a view and little take home shampoos and conditioners. Big white towels and bathrobes and slippers. I was home!!!

Friday was warm and beautiful and we relaxed by the pool. Burma Boy’s best friends were also staying at the Shangri-La for a wedding, so not only did I have the opportunity to be uncomfortable with him, but with his comrades as well. I met his friend Caroline early in the afternoon by the pool. She seemed lovely as she (understandably) checked out the whacko that had flown across the country to go on a second date. I left them alone to catch up while I went to get a two hour thai massage. HEAVENLY. They cost about $5 and I see no reason why a person should not get one every day, twice a day if you’re feeling indulgent. I had enjoyed the time that I’d had to myself the day before in Yangon. I was happy to go have more in Bangkok.

And the food! Finally, the food was edible. Better than edible. It was GOOD. I took Burma Boy out for dinner that evening and the experience couldn’t have been further from the date we’d gone on 4 months earlier. There was little laughter, conversation was not easy. I’m not really sure why I hadn’t called Thai air myself to see if I could depart a day early, but I didn’t. I was grateful to go meet Caroline and her boyfriend, Tom, after dinner. It was good to have some distraction from just the two of us. I was starting to feel less and less connected to this person, not more. I tried to be normal, to be myself, but I was already feeling uncomfortable with Burma Boy and when he was surrounded with his two best friends, I was the odd girl out. I chatted with Caroline’s sisters who were obsessed with fashion and loved my dress. But the whole time, I was sure that Burma Boy and Caroline, who had been whispering incessantly, were talking about what a pain in the ass I’d been and how much he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Completely and totally convinced. SO convinced that I had decided that I knew the ENTIRE conversation they’d been having. I felt my face get warm and my heart start to beat…anxiety and anger flooded my body. By the time we got back to the hotel, my jaw was so clenched that it would have taken a small army to pry it open. Burma Boy, who had finally gotten observant, asked if I was ok.

“No, No, I’m not OK. I’m not ok since you just sat there and talked to Caroline about me for the ENTIRE evening!” I spurted at him through clenched teeth.

“What are you talking about?”

The look on Burma Boy’s face told me I’d been wrong. Very, very wrong. I had made the entire thing up in my head. They hadn’t been talking about anything even remotely involving me.

The anger flooded out as quickly as it had come and was rapidly replaced with shame. How could I have been so self-centered and paranoid? Where was the confident young woman who had flown there from New York? This wasn’t me…I wasn’t myself with him. I had become completely insecure. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t my fault. There was no one to blame. It was just the way things had turned out…and now I just wanted to go home. We got into our big plush bed and I stared at the wall, wishing things had worked out differently, thinking of all the things I wish I could have changed. It wasn't long before I fell asleep. I had succeeded in effectively exhausting myself.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:15 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

10 Days - Part 18
Wednesday, October 8, 2008

The next morning we departed on our little plane to head back to Yangon for just one night. Yangon is extremely depressing -- the streets are so smelly and packed and packed with people. Everyone chews on beetlenuts. I was never able to actually identify exactly what beetlenuts are, but I know this much: they're horrible for your teeth, they stain them orange, and they also stain the ground orange where everyone spits. So everywhere we turned we saw either orange ground or orange smiles. The level of poverty is unreal.

After we arrived, Burma Boy sent me to the market while he…what else? Haggled. We had decided to leave Yangon first thing the next morning. We saw no reason to spend any extra time in such a depressing city. The problem was that my ticket was refundable and incurred no penalty for a flight change. Burma Boy’s was not and would require a $50 payment, which, as we all know by now, he was not going to pay. When he found me in the market an hour later, he had a victorious smile on his face. The haggler had won. I found myself wondering if the $50 was worth an hour of his time.

We decided to go our separate ways for the afternoon. I chose to go see the Shwedigon paya- the largest and most beautiful stupa in all of Burma. He decided to adventure to see Ang San Suu Kyi, the Nobel peace prize winner who was under house arrest. Originally we were going to see her together. However, I made my decision not to join him after we asked the people at the front desk for directions to get to her home. Everyone went silent and looked around to see who was listening. Then, one of the women at the front desk brought her face uncomfortably close to ours, and as her eyes darted back and forth to make sure she was not being heard, in hushed whispers, she explained that no taxi would or could take us there and once we did arrive at University Avenue, we would have to sneak by the guards. She let us know that no one was allowed to even speak her name in this country. That was all I needed to hear. As far as I was concerned, I’d been adventurous enough for the year. Burma Boy could get arrested by himself. Besides, he would need someone to go to the US Embassy if something did happen.

I made my way to the Shwedigon Paya which is huge and bizarrely sort of looks like Fairytale Land that I used to go to up in Lake Winnipesauke, NH when I was a little kid. It certainly was elaborate, but not that different from most of the other temples we’d seen. And while the Burmese seemed to feel that if you made something gold it was beautiful, I was starting to feel like if you’ve seen one temple, you’ve seen them all…

We had decided to meet back at the Strand hotel that night for a cocktail. I went home and took a shower and put on a skirt and even a little lipstick. The Strand is this gorgeous, posh hotel that's completely out of place in the middle of this run-down city. The hotel is just grand, like a palace. I arrived and felt like Eloise must have felt when she arrived at the Plaza. I also felt a huge wave of relief. They had food I would eat, they had air conditioning, they had big, plush chairs I could sink into and enjoy a delicious glass of red wine. Now THIS was vacation.

As we sat in the bar and ordered cocktails, I finally felt like my flirty self again. I melted into the lavish, red velvet chair, slipped off my sandals and brought my legs together in what I guess one could call sort of mermaid style (legs together, knees bent and to one side with feet to the other). I'm describing this to you because, in my opinion, this is a very lady-like way to sit. I wasn't sitting cross-legged or with my feet up on the table. I just got a little more comfortable. I was ENJOYING myself. And you'll never guess what happened next...

Burma Boy had a problem with the fact that I had my feet on the chair. This time I spoke up. I asked him if he seriously thought I was offending someone by being comfortable. I wasn't flashing anyone, I wasn't spread eagle. I had quietly and cozily tucked my feet into the back corner of this lavish seat.

"Would you put your feet on a chair like that at a nice bar in New York?"

And I told him yes. "Yes I would. I would do it in New York at most bars. I would have sat this way at the freaking Plaza if we'd gone there...I don’t go places where I can’t be comfortable and make myself at home…"

I was just fine…and if he didn’t like it, well then TOUGH. After several days of barely a sip of alcohol and almost as little food, I could feel the red wine coating my stomach. My head felt a little lighter and my voice, which I had been pushing down this entire time, found itself.

"You're not in charge of me, you know. This is our trip, and you've been treating me like a child."

And with that, we started talking. But we also kept drinking. I think we both said a lot - but I can’t remember much of it. I do know that some of his points were valid and I listened. I also know that my points were valid. It felt good to get it out - to argue. Eventually, we stumbled home to our little hotel with a little less baggage to take back with us to Thailand the next morning.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:29 PM 0 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Ten Days - Part 17
Sunday, October 5, 2008

I opened my eyes and looked up.

"Did you ride straight here?" he asked with a bit of shock.

“Yes, actually. I did,” I said with a sense of accomplishment.

He had been stopping at every single little temple along the way asking the monks if they'd seen a “small curly brown girl.” And that's what had taken him so long. We laughed for a moment and I couldn't help but feel good that he'd been bothering to look for me, that he'd had concern. (Of course given that I'd practically gone into cardiac arrest the day before, his concern was understandable.) We rested on the side of the road in the shade for a while. It was the most comfortable I’d felt with Burma Boy since I arrived in Thailand 5 nights earlier. Maybe it was because I hadn’t waited around for him, because I’d taken some initiative and done something on my own without worrying about what he wanted or what he thought. But for whatever reason, we sat there in comfortable quiet for a while before we headed back on our way.

Burma boy guessed that we had another 20 minutes to go. I felt great relief in the knowledge that the end was near, and we got back on our bikes and rode. 20 minutes turned into 30 and about an hour later, after a stop at a gas station to fill my depleting tire, we arrived at the bike store where we’d started 2 days ago. Burma Boy asked me if I wanted to ride to see more cave temples with him. I didn't tell him that I thought he was nuts - that we'd been out since 9:30 that morning. I simply said that I appreciated the invitation, but that I was going to pass. I had learned my lesson once. I was going to do things EXACTLY the way I wanted to. Which was to NOT ride a bike anymore or look at any more temples. While superhuman haggler went to exert MORE energy in the blazing hot sun, I opted to go back and sit in the pool and pretend, just for a MOMENT, that I was on vacation. My body refused to move anymore.

I took a taxi back to the hotel. First things first, I showered. Then I dragged my limp legs to the pool and sat motionless in awe of the events of the past 5 days. It was Wednesday. Was it actually possible that I still had half my trip left? All signs led to another five days of hiking, biking and starving. I sat and pondered the choices I had made, equating parts of this adventure to my life in general. I started to think about the way I was communicating. Had I really been clear about what I wanted or had I just spent time wanting to make Burma Boy happy, even if it was at my own expense? But my brain was too tired to think about it any further. I was exhausted.

After I sat by the pool for a little while, reading and pretending there was some sort of fabulous cocktail in my hand, I discovered that I could email through our hotel. I was shocked given that the country had just gotten access to the internet a week earlier. I emailed a brief note to my mom to let her know that I was alive and OK and another to three of my closest friends. I was elusive with my mother. No need to make her worry about the fact that I was in Burma with a guy that I was finding was not my match made in heaven. I was more candid with my friends. It felt amazing to finally put my feelings on paper to the people who knew me so well. As I wrote, I felt a bit of a release. I was grateful to be able to admit to them that Burma Boy wasn’t my soul mate. At least when I got home, there would be a few people that I wouldn’t have to explain that to. I felt so grateful for the support that I knew I would have. I had spent a lot of time recently being concerned that I was too dependent on my friends… that I liked to be with people too much, that I should be more independent and spend more time alone and deal with my thoughts on my own rather than hashing through them with other people. And as I hit send, I realized I was all wrong. That being a bit dependent on the people in my life that loved me was actually a wonderful thing. That I was so incredibly lucky to have people with whom to hash things through. That I had friends who would love me despite the fact that my fairytale hadn’t come true; I had friends who would love me and be proud of me for taking the risk. I realized that despite the fact that it hadn’t turned into the movie I had scripted in my head, I was glad that I had come because I would never have to wonder. I would never have to ask myself “What if?”

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:22 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy

Scent of a Memory
Thursday, October 2, 2008

It's amazing the way our senses can transport us somewhere instantly. Smell in particular. I smell something and I'm carried back - to a person or a place, a room or an event.

Last week, I was walking the dogs in the early morning. Once I can actually get my ass out of bed, it's one of my favorite times of day. It's still calm and quiet and the newness of the day is fresh upon me. The air is still cool - even here in LA where it's been hotter than hell as of late. And my puppies pull me along, thrilled to be out exploring for the day. On this particular morning, we turned the corner and instantly, it smelled of camp. The scent of a bon-fire hanging in the air from the night before. A smell of comfort, of warmth, of marshmallows, of friendship. It was a smell of safety - one of those smells that you love. That you wish they made a candle of.

But in an instant, the smell changed - grew stronger, more intense, BAD. It smelled BURNT. And my memories went instantly from fond to heartache. The air smelled burnt. And the only time I remembered anything smelling like that was the days following 9/11.

I wrote this post on 9/11 this year. I posted something else, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to post at all, unsure as to whether I wanted to write about the day's significance for me. I try not to think about it too much and at the same time, I try hard not to forget.

It was easier when I was in NYC...easier when I could spend the night with people I was with that day, or just people who were there too. I do not mean to suggest that it wasn't an insanely emotional day for the entire country. I just don't think that anyone who was not in New York, or DC or near that field in Pennsylvania can possibly ever imagine what that day was for those of us that were. Just as I can not imagine what that day was for those who lost mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and uncles and aunts and sons and daughters and best friends and co-workers. Just as I can not understand what it was like to be in New Orleans during Katrina.

On 9/11 this year, my brain whirled as I thought about all the things that have come after and all the things that are coming. I've written about the moments before. But I've never written about the moments during and the moments after. And that smell...that smell of BURNT - it brought me right back there.

I have never posted about the sound of K's voice on the other end of the phone when I finally got through after the second plane hit. "Get down here now," she said through sobs. "Walk out to the river and just keep walking. Don't stop until you get to my house." I listened. I walked and walked as my feet bled in my brand new flats, eternally grateful that I had chosen that day to wear flats instead of my normal 3 1/2" heels. The only time I stopped was when I heard the sound of planes overhead. At that moment, in New York City, you could hear a pin drop. There were hundreds of others around me - we all froze and just looked up, holding our breath, until we realized that they were US Air Force.

I have never posted about the sound of my mother's voice when I finally got through to her, or the sound of my sister who, at 21 years old, had just moved to NYC 2 months earlier after graduating from college. I told her to come down to K's. When she got there, she shared the story of the cab driver she had begged to take her. "If you'll let me call my wife to let her know I'm OK, then I'll take you to the West Village."

I have never posted about the line we waited in at St. Vincent's to donate blood. We stood among hundreds, possibly thousands, for over two hours but the line didn't move. The line didn't move because only living people need blood transfusions. They finally came out and told us all to go home.

I have never posted about the way we fell asleep, all piled on top of one another on K's bed, listening to the same information spouted on the news over and over again, waiting to understand what was going on.

I have never posted about walking through barricades on my way to work the next morning at 14th Street. There was a batallion around lower Manhattan. It was in that moment that I realized that we were truly under attack.

I have never posted about the way that I just up and left my office in the middle of the day because I was so overwhelmed and the emotions came so quickly and so hard that I couldn't possibly think about putting together investor packets for a Broadway show.

I have never posted about that one night that I stayed in my apartment alone. It was the only night I stayed there for weeks because I had nightmares all night. I needed to be with people at all times. I didn't care if I had to sleep on floors. As long as I was with someone else.

I have never posted about the burnt smell of the air that came in the days that followed. All of a sudden, the air just smelled...burnt.

Or the rain that came on Friday morning - and my own tears matching those of the sky as I watched them dig as hard as they possibly could through the rain.

I have never posted about the missing signs that wallpapered the city. The flowers on every corner. The desperation that oozed from the walls. The way you actually stopped and looked and hoped and prayed like you never had before that perhaps you would bump into that stranger on the street.

I have never posted about the way people looked at each other for a long time after that. The city was different. It was quieter. Everyone was connected in a way they'd never been before...without words, without introductions. Just with compassion.

I have never posted about the vigils in Union Square. Thousands gathered looking for a place to understand what they were feeling. We all felt lost - but at least we felt lost together.

I have never posted about the horrific fear I had of getting on the subway again. How I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other - not on where I was going. Because if I thought about that too hard, then I turned around and went home. Just one step at a time, until I found myself on the train practically holding my breath until I was above ground again.

I have never posted these things because I am not a good enough writer to be able to possibly depict what that day was. Or perhaps I just don't want to. It might just be that it's hard enough to bring back these memories, never mind the emotions that go with them. I don't want to forget, but I'm not so sure that I can let myself fully and completely remember enough to write about it. Except that, in that moment, we were all equal. Everyone in all of New York City. We were all just people - no color, no class, no religion. We were people who needed each other.

And that smell - the smell of burnt - had me back there, reliving these moments like a film where the images flash before your eyes...it's all there. A single smell and I was transported there instantly.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:31 PM 1 comments    

Labels: introspection, NYC, past

Ten Days - Part 16
Monday, September 29, 2008

The next morning we awoke for our final day of exploring Bagan. We set off to buy some gifts for family and friends and rode to one of the few temples that you can actually climb.
We decided to go for it and scale the steep and scalding stairs, and were rewarded with one of the most stunning views I've ever seen. The air was hot and dry, but standing up there we had a bird's eye view of all the golden temples glistening across the plains. The sun hit them in such a way that it looked like the ground was radiating gold and the land was peppered with beautiful bright orange and hot pink flowers. I stared out and I felt like I was on another planet, so far removed from our world. No “new construction”, no high rises -only trees and flowers and land as far as the eye could see. It was a beautiful way to finish seeing this old city. And trust me, I would have been very happy had that been my last view...

We continued on to see a few more temples and then looked at a map to determine whether or not we should backtrack toward the hotel and bike into Nyung Yu (the city where we would have to return our bikes) or if we should bike through New Bagan on the way to Nyuang Yu. On the map, the latter looked like the shorter route. Word to the wise...when you’re trying to gage distance, never trust a Lonely Planet map.

At 12 PM, we set off on a main but barren road to make our way to Nyuang Yu. Burma Boy stopped early in the ride to take some pictures, but told me to keep going – that he would catch up with me. I think he was afraid that if I stopped, I’d never start again - and he wouldn't have been so wrong. Riding in that heat on the pavement with the sun pounding on my back, I began to space a bit. It wasn't until about 20 minutes later when I stopped for a moment to look behind that I realized 1.he was nowhere in sight and 2. I had a flat tire. Truthfully, I was more concerned with getting my tire fixed than with finding Burma Boy. He’d catch up with me eventually and he had demonstrated that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I was actually enjoying the time to myself. I hopped back on my bike and pedaled harder and harder as the ride began to get progressively difficult. I don't know how long it was before I finally found a small hut on the side of the road where I paid them 50 kyat to put air in my tire. Burma Boy probably would have blown hot air into the tire himself before actually paying someone to HELP him but I had become very clear that certain things were worth paying for. From the smiles on the faces of the people who had helped me, I’m certain I had overpaid for their services. But when I was riding like normal again, I knew it was well worth it. Occasionally I would look behind me, but Burma Boy was nowhere to be seen. All I saw was dry land, the occasional temple, and the never-ending road ahead. Once again, I found myself chanting my mantra, "just keep going, just keep going, don't stop, don't stop" Over and over and over and over.

Around 2 PM (need I remind you that this is TWO WHOLE HOURS after we had set out on this journey?) I came to an intersection where I recognized the road leading us to our destination. There was a tree with a good amount of shade and, given that I hadn't seen my travel partner in quite a long while, I decided to stop for a moment and wait for Burma Boy. I leaned up against the tree trunk, wallowing in the shade, and drank the remainder of my now hot water. I started to wonder if I was ever going to make it to Nyunag U which then turned in to am I ever going to make it back to the hotel which then turned into how long should I sit here and wait for Burma Boy? But I was enjoying the rest and the break from the pounding sun and I took a moment to myself - the first one I'd actually taken to slow down and ponder since I'd arrived. I reflected on the fact that I’d made it to this point in both the bike trip and the Burma trip. I took in my surroundings - like really took in where I was in the world. The fact that I was in Burma. Burma, also known as Myanmar. ON a second date. Took in the fact that I was thousands of miles away from everyone I loved, that I’d had no connection with them for days. I took in the fact that this was the first moment I'd given myself to think about the trip without wondering why things weren't going the way I'd thought they might. But in the entire time that I sat there - 20, maybe 30 minutes - I never once said to myself, "Why haven't you told this boy that you think he's been a jerk at times? Why haven't you asked him if things feel as different for him right now as they do for you? Why haven't you asked him where the boy from the emails is?" I know it's hard to believe - especially as I sit here as a 32 year old woman re-reading and reworking this story and going over it again 5 1/2 years later. But I never asked these questions.

I closed my my eyes for a moment and took in the fact that I was going down the pensive road you go down at the end of a trip – and I wasn’t even at the end of this BIKE RIDE, never mind the end of the trip. We weren’t at our destination yet. A few moments passed before I opened my eyes to see Burma Boy standing over me, staring at me in awe.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 4:56 PM 1 comments    

Labels: 10 Days in Burma, past, writing exercise, yeah...i'm a little bit crazy