Photo

The Prompt:

Sift through all the photos of you from the past year. Choose one that best captures you; either who you are, or who you strive to be. Find the shot of you that is worth a thousand words. Share the image, who shot it, where, and what it best reveals about you.

Forgive me, but I’m going to cheat…again.  I’ve chosen two pictures, not just one.  As it turns out, this prompt was not as easy as I anticipated.  I had, literally, thousands of photos to go through from my year.  Out of those, there were maybe 50 with me in them.  Generally, I’m the one behind the camera.  I’m not photogenic in the least, and it’s very hard to find just the right angle in just the right light to get a picture where I don’t look like I have a wall-eye or suffer from Parkinson’s.  Anyway.  This prompt made me feel like maybe I DO suffer from multiple personalities, each one showing a drastically different side of me.  I had it narrowed down to about five, each one depicting pivotal traits in character.  At the close, I ended up with these two:  the closest I could come to ME, in microcosm.

#1: True Grit

Fuggedaboudit

I took this picture myself.  It was taken in the passenger seat of my girlfriend K’s Jeep right after she’d picked me up from a salon visit.  The aesthetician had just finished MURDERING my eyebrows.  (I remember now why I do them myself.)  I happen to feel beautiful when I look at this picture.  It downplays the size of my nose (which I am INCREDIBLY self-conscious about), shows off my killer tan (the first I’d had in four years!), warns people that they really shouldn’t fuck with me (look at the the jut of my jaw, the easy hang of the just-lit ciggy), and hints at a deeper humor/sadness (my eyes really are my best feature, I think).

#2: The Wanderer

I am the fucking Jedi-Master at packing for airline travel

This second photo was taken the day I left for the east coast for two months over the summer.  That is the only bag that I took with me, aside from my purse, which you can see partially on the left side of the photo.  That’s my pedicured right foot (size 6.5) in there to show scale.  I took this photo too.  There are a lot of things this picture show about me.  Independence, wanderlust, simplicity, excitement, adventure, searching misdirection….  I LIVED out of this bag for those months.  It contained everything I needed, and I was even able to discard a few things along the way.

There were other photos that contained me smiling, laughing even, but smiles don’t really come easily for me.  Showing those, I’d feel like I’d lied to you, dear reader.  I thought about adding photos of sweating beverage glasses on sandy beaches with backdrops of rainbow sunsets, but the sand aside, they wouldn’t have been dirty enough–though Jeebus knows how important my margaritas and vodka are to my existence!  There were cutesy, impish images of me winking at the camera, but those were just mugs, and not True.

Anyhoo.  No flowery prose for you today.  Just two images that have come the closest to catching me as me as I get.

Merry Christmas!

Healing

The Prompt:

What healed you this year? Was it sudden, or a drip-by-drip evolution? How would you like to be healed in 2011? (Author: Leoni Allan)

And there it is.  It’s the question that I’ve been waiting for/dreading since the beginning of this challenge.  Listen, I’m Italian, I was raised Catholic and I’m a girl.  These three things alone lead me to synthesize just about everything in my life with a larger than normal degree of guilt.  I couldn’t, even with the promise of a million dollars or the threat of a bullet through my cranium, give you an example of the last moment I enjoyed without at least a small degree of guilt.  It’s who I am.  You see?  Even here, I’m beginning with a manner of apology in advance.

That said, I want to write this post with guilt locked in a closet.  I’ve told much of my past year’s story already, and I think I’ve made clear that I understand the “wrongness” of some of my actions.  As such, I’m going to tell this part of the story without (further) apology.  Mistake me not: this experience was RIDDLED with a guilty conscience, (and rightfully so!), but it is a story that merits its day in the sun.  Everything in life is multi-faceted, complicated…bedeviled.  But what follows is true; it was part of my year, it’s the answer to this prompt, and it deserves to be told.

What healed me this year were the attentions of a man who is not my husband.

He was taller than me, and dark; dark lashes closing over green eyes that were olive when they looked through me.  He drank whiskey and looked like he should, dark tattoos extending over powerful forearms in macabre faces of black and grey.  He was perhaps the hardest man I’d ever met, and I had trouble not staring in curiosity.  I was unabashedly attracted by the way we looked standing next to one another; a wolf and a lamb.  He was, without trying, everything that I fake–his hard edges were earned, while mine are finely crafted to have an artifice of tough.  I immediately wanted to goad him–to see the flash of anger that surely resided in his workingman’s hands.  I wanted to cut my teeth on him, to tempt fate.  I wanted to look into that abyss, to lure it out.

We met innocently enough over drinks with mutual friends.  I was in his town for a long weekend with a girlfriend, and enjoying a night out in belated celebration of my birthday.  It was, of course, small talk at first: the weather, what I thought of Wilmington, when I’d gotten in and the like.  But as the evening progressed, so did the conversation, running into books and politics and my job.  That night stands out to me as the night that recalled an older, younger (it makes sense, I swear!) version of myself.  I remembered, that evening, what it was like to meet new people, to have unforced, meaningful conversation, and to be engaged on intelligent topics, intelligently.

Over the next few months, and upon my return home, those conversations would continue.  He and I became fast friends.  I discovered in him, a rather kindred spirit.  We had (loosely) similar experiences as children and struggled with the same sort of social anxieties.  looking back on it, I can’t point to one specific thing that made me feel so connected to him, but connected I was.  I was in the middle of one of the most stressful periods of my life, and my chats with him were little oases of relief where I found myself smiling at the considerably NOT small joy of relating to another human being.

As each of my days seemed to get significantly worse and the stress increasingly difficult to handle, I began to count on these conversations and the reprieve they provided.  They helped me to breathe easier, and not choke on the unease and disquiet that was slowly smothering me.  I was getting things in those hours that I’d forgotten I needed.  Attention.  Interest.  Care.  I was using my brain and having a fabulous time talking about things I’d read and what I thought about them.  He was holding me together.

After a few weeks, the conversations drifted past simple friendship.  He wrote me beautiful words that made my stomach leap in that way it does when you’ve met someone new.  When he talked to me, it was poetry and my brain leapt along with my stomach.  I furnished my dreams with his words, and decorated their walls with his images.  ”I think you are so beautiful” he said to me, and I blushed.  Each exchange sent a thrill through the center of my body, and I was careful of what I said, lest my running mouth shattered the world he’d created with his image of me.

When I went back to Wilmington over the summer, I spent quite a bit of time with him.  Our conversations continued, and the bond increased.  Not touching was, admittedly, a Herculean effort.  His proximity, at times, was nerve-racking, if our arms were placed too close together in a cab, or at a bar, the hair on mine would stand up, fairly screaming for that touch.  There was no faking my way out of it with a smart remark or a raised eyebrow, I was attracted.

We spent a couple of full days together, and he introduced me to his life and friends, showing me what he termed, endearingly, “a large time.”  I allowed myself to get lost in those feelings, and reveled in remembering what it was like to be paid attention to, heeded, laughed with and smiled at across a crowded room.

I left his city and continued my summer journey much mended from the cracking shell that I’d become.  I left knowing what I had to do in order to repair my life.  I left with a recharged battery.  I left feeling appreciated, and knowing that I deserved it.  We don’t talk much anymore and have since amended our relationship to a strictly platonic level, but there is no doubt that that experience healed me.  It resuscitated my life at a time when I needed it most.  It’s a plain truth, and unvarnished. It’s hard to admit to because it involved less than admirable actions on my part; but life is untidy, we make of it what we can and carry those lessons with us.

Friendship

The Prompt:

How has a friend changed you or your perspective on the world this year? Was this change gradual, or a sudden burst? (Author: Martha Mihalick)

The answer to this question is no, they haven’t.  My friends, new and old, have served to only reinforce my perspective, which is something to the effect of: the world is something to be constantly wary of, but not so much that the wariness precludes from enjoying and being surprised and astounded by its treasures.

There are two things you should know about me before reading this post.  The first is that the only thing that I require of the people I know and love is loyalty.  The second is that it’s incredibly difficult to become my friend, because I know, without a doubt, that no one I meet is as loyal as I am. There are any number of therapists that could (quite accurately) give the reasons why I value Loyalty (big “L”) so highly, but honestly, the reasoning is not so important to know here.

I am so in love with the feeling of friendship, of camaraderie, of earnest reliability and staunch devotion that I will forgive just about any transgression against my standard in order to enjoy those moments that AREN’T disappointments.  That joy, no matter how short-lived, is so potent to me, that I don’t generally have a line in the sand for others.  You’re right, dear reader, to be unintentionally repeating the word “desperate” to yourself.  I am, rather, and always have been.

For as long as I can remember, friendship has been a lesson in humility for me, and this year was no different.  People will amaze and warm you, they will disappoint and hurt you, and they will straight-up abandon your ass when what you really needed was for them to pull you closer.

This year, I saw all three of those things, separately with three different girlfriends.

I was forgiven, without pomp, terrible selfishness.  (Don’t think I don’t recognize and honor that D.E.  You, sir, are a jewel and a bonanza.  You are the closest I’ve ever been to being understood by another girl.  I miss you everyday, and though I’m bad at showing it, value you to the highest degree in my life.  Thank you for appreciating what I was trying to figure out and giving me a pass.  )

I was left waiting by the phone, and finally, totally stood up.  (Oh, A.D.  You are my flight-of-fancy-friend.  Lighter than air and prone to keeping things to yourself in order to let others (read: me) shout to be heard, it was your turn to be selfish.  I was hurt, but I totally understand and love you anyway.  I learned that from D.E.)

I was judged and dismissed, and not even to my face.  (The only words I have for you, C.V. are harsh ones and most of them are born of disbelief and genuine hurt.  There is a list of people miles long who have more right to judge me than you do.  It would have never occurred to me to consider you fair-weather, but you are.  I made mistakes, of course I know that.  Your opinions? I counted on and valued them.  Your judgement?  You can shove up your ample ass.)

In the end, my friends did what friends are supposed to do this year; they supplemented me where I was deficient.  They supported me, they brought to my attention that I wasn’t the only one with problems, and they reminded me that I must be more discerning over who I let my guard down in front of when trying to figure out the machinery of my life.

5 Minutes

The Prompt:

Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010. (Author: Patti Digh)

My toes in the sand, the glorious sand, on Bald Head Island, NC, Wrightsville and Sunset Beach, NC, Hampton Bays, NY and Mastic Beach, NY.  I don’t want to forget a single second of any of those trips I was so lucky to take this year.

The beach at Bald Head Island, NC

Drunken golf carts on Bald Head Island, NC for my birthday trip in April.

No better way to get around!

Drunken Shakespeare in the Park.  D and T paid a member of the company to read me a sonnet during intermission.  It was delightfully embarrassing.

Thai food and a hand-epoxy’d bar surface

Drunken afternoon spent at a new winery and then watching the newest installment of the Twilight saga at the theatre.  (Don’t judge me monkey.)

K.A. will kick your ass if you even try to say we ruined a perfectly good afternoon with Jacob and Edward.

Drunkenly breaking J.L’s pull-out couch with M.D at the end of a crazy evening at the Turtle.  It was really already broken, but in our stupor, we laughed and laughed, especially when we couldn’t get it to go back into the couch.

Yes, we ended up sleeping (read: passing out) on the floor. Bachelor's!

People watching at the Tiki Bar in Patchogue where we realized that the fact that you had to be 27 to get in WAS NOT as good a thing as we had anticipated.  Three cheers for old friends and being the youngest ones there by 15 years at least.

The Mystery Machine, Goonies house, a birthday Bismark, lunch at the Rogue Brewery and marauding the town of Astoria, OR with D.E who stands by my side stalwartly despite the mistakes I make.

A perfect girls' weekend for two.

The return of Safety Meetings after a four year hiatus.

Pravda; a fantastic vodka bar in Wilmington, NC

Cabaret Burlesque; such a great show!

Is it fuzzy because I'm artsy?

“I fell off my shoes!”

Platform sandals + Whiskey + Sidewalk planters = Face plant and road rash

The punch that broke my camera.  Someone pulled up my dress (twice) on Hallowe’en and I had my camera in my punching hand.  RIP.

Caffe Lena with my Dad

The sound of my Dad's acoustic guitar means HOME to me.

Catch up beers at the Monopole in Plattsburgh, NY and the sudden rainstorm that soaked us all later that night at the Naked Turtle.

Laughing until my stomach hurt with my mother when I almost rolled off the 50 year old double mattress that we were sharing at my Grandparents in Connecticut.

I don't even care that I'm wearing my glasses in this one. It's so rare to get my mother to JUST LAUGH and this moment was just really pure and joyful.

Holding babies Caden and Jack and smelling that crazy and intoxicating baby smell coming off the heat of their fuzzy little heads.

Venus Flytraps

Remembering what it’s like to be listened to; truly listened to

Homemade Margaritas

Rubbing my best girl’s pregnant buddha belly and being heartbroken that I couldn’t be more involved in the process of the first child born to our small clique.

Martin Van Buren!  And the psycho ninja turkey on the Taconic. “What the fuck is GOING ON RIGHT NOW?!”

None of those moments would have been close to as funny without the original MVB: T.K.

Desire denied

Recovering Love

I know that the addition of pictures makes it obvious that this post took a bit longer than 5 minutes, but I swear, that all the text (except for this epilogue) was completed in the alotted time.  I simply thought that this entry could benefit from some visual aids.

Party

Prompt:

What social gathering knocked your socks off in 2010?  Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.   (Author:  Shauna Reid)

I think not.  The second I read this prompt, I couldn’t stop thinking how stupid it sounded.  Granted, finishing it would be a form of reflection, but in the end, who cares?  Who wants to read about some party I went to and what people were wearing?  I mean, I spent two and a half months this past summer traveling home and spending time with family and old friends.  The idea of recounting even the highlight reel of this trip is exhausting, not to mention, completely pointless.

BUT….I signed up for the challenge and finish it I will. Rather than bore you, dear reader, with pages of descriptions of people and places you don’t know, I decided the best way to participate today was through photos.  Here’s a glimpse into my life over the past year.  Enjoy!

I held my *first ever!* newborn baby this year.  It was during the Rose Bowl (Go Buckeyes!) and he slept through the entire ordeal.  After this, I was forced to admit that babies aren’t as scary as I’d originally thought.

A Little Elf

I helped my friend D ring in her 30th birthday on a girls’ weekend trip to Astoria, OR.  We found the Goonies House, the Mystery Machine and countless other treasures.  It was rainy in the classic Pacific Northwest way and I cherish every second.

The Goonies House!

My husband (not pictured) and I  hauled our asses out of bed at 4:00am on a number of different Saturdays to watch the Six Nations Rugby Tournament at Fado in Seattle.  There aren’t many better ways to start a morning than with an Irish Breakfast, Bloody Marys and whiskey shots.

Italia!!!

Rugby is a large part of our life, and this picture was taken the weekend of the DIII Championship Tournament.  It seems tame, but that’s only because I can’t show you the pictures of male genitalia flying around a stripper pole or the various other homoerotic situations that I caught on film.  Suffice to say, a grand time was had by all.

Attempting to look sober

The following are a series from my trip east over the summer.  Friends and family are food for the soul.

The Satellite; Wilmington, NC

The Most Amazing Handmade Margaritas EVER; Papi's Texican Grill-SC

Shots in Asheville, NC

Cabaret Burlesque; Wilmington, NC

Old Friends and a Tiki-Lounge; Patchogue, NY

A Kiss For a Very Pregnant Girlfriend; Shirley, NY

Three Generations of Sicilian Ladies; East Berlin, CT

And finally, come the remaining months of the year upon my return to WA.

L'Ecole Winery; Walla Walla, WA

Hallowe'en with The Quake; Port Orchard, WA

Thanks for your indulgence (if you’re even still reading).  Hopefully tomorrow’s prompt will be more insightful and interesting.  Cheers!

Beautifully Different

The Prompt:

Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up.  Reflect on all the things that make you different.  You’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.  (Author:  Karen Walrond)

(I find that there is something more than a bit cosmically humorous about the fact that I spent yesterday’s prompt saying things about myself that can be considered less than complimentary and today, I’m called upon to do the opposite.  Instead of calling attention to my flaws, I’ve got to sing my own praises.  I’d like to meet the person that pulls this off with ease.  He or she holds the key to something, I’m sure.)

Look, I don’t know what about me lights people up.  You’d have to ask them.  I’m terrible at accepting compliments, and that has a lot to do with the fact that I never fully believe in the nice thing being said.  I don’t labor under any delusions.  I am not exceptionally pretty.  I’m not an athlete or an artist.   I don’t sing or dance or play an instrument and I can’t really think of anything I do with any special aplomb.  Truth be told, I’m more than slightly odd and awkward and look at it as rather a miracle that I’ve made it this far with friends in tow.

What I can tell you, is that I am a hostess at heart and feel a genuine responsibility for everyone else’s good time.  My friends have in me a girl that will go to extreme lengths to make them laugh.  We all spend enough time (at least I do), alone and miserable with our thoughts, and it is for sure a lovely thing to be able to sit quietly with a friend not talking about anything at all; but to me, there’s nothing as beautiful as a moment lost in frenetic, face-screwed-up, doubled-over, can’t-breathe, god-my-cheeks-hurt, laughter with friends.

Taking this further; to trick a smile out of someone who has accepted me without judging, to get a chortle or even a rueful grin from the mouth of someone I love who’s having a hard time is the currency I’m paid in.  I count any day as a win that I’ve been able to get someone to laugh by doing or saying something outrageous that completely disregards my innate need to blend in in order not to call attention to my strangeness.

An Anecdote:

It was a random evening in Seattle, neither warm nor cold, but at least it wasn’t raining.  My friend D and I had massacred a fortune’s worth of veal shank to make the worst saltimbocca I’d ever tasted.  Maybe it was the wine, or perhaps the champagne, but the result really matter because we’d had a fantastic time laughing in the kitchen while the boys sat in the living room watching some important game of sportsball.  After barely choking down what should have been a delicious and high-end meal (but assuredly WASN’T) we put on our heels and hoofed it to the bar.     As is the case with sparkly, friend-filled nights, we did any number of shots and found ourselves in a rather shabby state.

I was in the middle of a sentence on the way home when D ducked behind a tree (one of those urban trees planted in the dead center of a square of concrete) and ejected the contents of her stomach.  She stood upright at the end, and looked at me with tears standing in her eyes:  “I’m so embarrassed!” she wailed: “We were having such a good time and now EVERYONE saw me puke!”  I looked around and pointed out to her that we were the only ones on the street, that if anyone saw, it was only an old lady peering out the window of her high-rise and who cares about that old bitch anyway?  It didn’t matter.  D was crushed, inconsolable.  I gave her a little chuckle, and shaking my head, asked:  “Would it help if I puked too?”  She looked at me in amazement, and nodded her head, squeaking out a tiny “yes”.  So I did it.  I tottered over to her pile of chunky, half-used stomach contents and I third-knuckled it, leaving an almost identical mass of sewage next to hers.  “Solidarity sister!” I said, and took the crook of her arm in mine and stumble-lead us both back to her townhouse.

I’ve puked for friends and worn fairy wings, dressed up for no apparent reason and arranged for impromptu 30^th birthday lap dances.  I’ve convinced a drunk barfly that my father wrote the song “More than Words” and paid for my college tuition with the royalties.  I’ve had a hand in stealing life-sized, plastic Star-Trek characters from displays in grocery stores and agreed to double dates.  I’ve flung myself to the ground to make snow angels and have developed an almost choreographed montage of old 80s dances that I’ll pull out during a lull in conversation (Shopping Cart anyone?).  Making people snort with laughter is something that I CAN do.  It’s at least one thing that I can give.  It’s a small way that I pay it forward to the world around me.