Trust Does Breed Magic

Recently I listened to Tina Roth Eisenberg's Do lecture on "Trust Breeds Magic."  It was an inspiring talk for any creative or entrepreneur and provoked me to do some thinking.  In typical fashion my busy and wandering mind took me beyond the obvious of career objectives.  It took me to my habits.  You see I trust most of what I do on a day-to-day basis: my beauty & hygiene routine, the food I pick out for my meals and most importantly what I wear.  I trust my sense of style.  That's not to say that I never step out to places like Target in my house leggings, because I do.  However, I trust that 77% of the other customers walking through there are in theirs too, or worse off actual pajama pants.  Moreover, I spend a very small fraction of my life out in said house leggings and other homewear.  In fact they are only to be utilized off-premise when doing "home" related things.  The remaining time I spend outside of my house I am in formalized yoga and athletic wear for the gym, business casual for the workplace, and classic eccentric wear for where ever my social calendar takes me.  Now those are broad terms, and I am not so arrogant to assume that certain brands must pertain to any one category.  I am only arrogrant enough in this realm to say that a diversified portfolio of trusted colors, patterns and tailoring more often than not yield...well, magic.  Anna Wintour astutely observed in the documentary The September Issue that most people fear fashion.   Imagine if this type of fear did not exist in the world?  A-lines would be honored, florals would blossom and people would feel and thus be pretty in pink.  It sounds lovely, does it not?  It's all so easy too if we just trust.  Love can happen at first sight, and it can happen when you least expect it, in the simplest of settings at Banana Republic upon spotting a hot pink peplum skirt on sale.  When it hits you, it will be magical.

{Image via This Is Glamorous}

Let's Kick It

New Year's is the type of holiday that Type-A folks live for.  New Year's Eve, not so much.  Too much fretting over the next morning hangover preventing productivity on a holiday.  Not to mention the number crunching of figuring out the true value of packaged bar deals  It's all just such a nightmare.  Back to New Year's Day though.  That's a holiday neurotics such as myself can get on board with.  Making new to-do lists, consolidating Excel spreadsheets, and taking inventory of life's small details then turning them into actionable items.  This is what the holidays and good cheer are made of.  I've been making resolutions for years now and while many have worked out, of course others have not.  You can't let a few habits that fade away though discourage you from making new lists.   That would be quitting.  So here's to 2014, a year sure to hold a shoebox full of bullet points.

• Keep up on my correspondance.  The written kind that is.  Like snail mail.
• Watch the entire existing Downton Abbey series.  Because I'm sick of people telling me they know me better than me.
• Only use vocabulary I really really like in my everyday rhetoric.
• Take more pictures, and get better angles.  Perhaps obtuse ones.
• Get in a water drinking routine.  [One can make a routine out of anything.]
• Have more dance parties.
• Always make sure to say "hello."  Because it's hella obnoxious when others' don't.
• Send the email today, not tomorrow afternoon.
• Make just as many plans, if not more while being the most flexible of the bunch.  After all, life was meant to be at least somewhat ironic.

{Image Credit: Helmut Newton via This Is Glamorous}

Puppy Love

 

I wasn't planning on becoming a mom.  One day it just sort of happened.  When you see the pup that's meant to be yours, it's all very sudden.

As it turns out, becoming a mother (be it to dog or human) is exactly how they say it is: challenging.  Rosie though isn't a difficult puppy; it's just difficult to raise a puppy.  Especially whilst juggling a full-time job.  I worry about her...a lot.  So my daily agenda has experienced some changes as a result.  Lunches have turned into short strolls up and down my block, which has resulted in being on a first-name basis with the septagenarions of the neighborhood.  I timed to the minute the two routes leading back home to see which one would get me to "Rosie's house" (her crate) the quickest.  Not to mention the numerous last glasses of wine I've sacrificed in order to ensure getting home in a timely manner so I didn't have to return to whimpers.

One day when I was feeling an inadequate parent for not being able to spend enough time at home to master "sit," I subsequently thought "Thank God."  I am getting this 9-5 working mother guilt behavior, coupled with first-child over-bearing parental guidance over with now.  It's not that I wish Rosie a burdensome adolescence  (over-bearing parental guidance tendency).  I just feel it's less stressful to deal with the other dog-walking moms at the park talking behind my back than it is the carpool moms of human beings (9-5 working mother guilt tendency).

Beyond just maturing past playground gossip though I am learning to give my undivided attention to playtime with squeaky toys.  To not sweat the small things like chewed up leggings.  And maybe most importantly to let someone go ahead of me for the bathroom.  At the end of the day all any of us parents are really looking for are those special moments when they curl up on your lap on a cold winter night.  Right before they abruptly jump up and start splashing around their water bowl all over the kitchen.  How long until they graduate from obedience school?

DMILF doesn't have the same ring to it

A friend (it was Suzanne) recently chided (congratulated?) me on my new status as a "stay at home dog mom." A little more than a month after adopting our puppy and about three weeks since I quit my part-time gig, it's both ridiculous and accurate.

With ample free time on my hands and an adorable new fixation to fill it, things have gotten a little weird. I would, and have, referred to my dog and I as being "close."

 In no particular order, here are some of the stranger things I've done for/to my pup in the name of good parenting:

• Felt a totally strange sense of swelling pride when anyone refers to my dog as "handsome," "good-looking" or "studly," as if my own genetic material is to thank. (This happens all the time, by the way. He's a canine Ryan Gosling.) *BEAMS*
• As a person who despises baby talk of any kind, whether between parent and child, couples, or ESPECIALLY when perpetrated by those people who inexplicably believe others find it attractive when they speak like they're only partially developed . . . I hate that I talk to my dog in a mixture of gibberish and high-pitched coos of admiration. I make myself cringe. I cannot stop.
• Once, at a park, Gibbs got one of his raging boners of excitement and in the course of running around covered his red rocket with grass and other debris. Not understanding (and I still do NOT get this) what would happen to the muck once it receded back into his body — like, where does it go? That cannot be good for him — I looked around and furtively wiped his doggie dick off with my sleeve. I am confident that no one saw me only because I have yet to be reported for bestiality.
• We have a series of inside jokes and it is definitely possible that only I find them funny. For example, I often speak to my dog in private in an Irish accent (he has almost certainly never been to Ireland) and have given him several additional nicknames — Mr. Wiggles, Little Man, Boobie (???) — that probably only confuse him but which I consider to be special terms of endearment. 

But although I am self-aware enough to see and acknowledge the crazy, if this is wrong, I don't want to be right:

EnLISTed

Last week I attempted to write a rebuttal to my dear friend Caroline's attack on the GSElevator's "How To Be A F%#king Man" post.  It fell way short of anything I would consider readable.  Which I suppose is telling in some ways.  I fall under the category of twentysomething girls who have no idea what they are looking for in a guy from one day to the next.  We live in a world where a "contemporary man" can be easily muddled with an "arrogant a$$hole."  Or are they really the same?  According to Caroline, yes.  When I first read GSElevator's post, which by the way made its way to CNBC and Business Insider (a daily go-to of mine) I was sold hook, line and sinker.  The post is written in such a manner that certain key points stick out more than others, especially to girls who pride themselves on "standards."  It seemed as though Cary Grant himself dictated phrases such as "you will regret your tattoos," "when in doubt, kiss the girl," and "measure yourself only against your previous self" to some young protege.  They were enough to overlook the tips like "own a handgun" and "do 50 push-ups, sit-ups, and dips before you shower each morning."  

If I'm being honest I agree with 63% of this list.  Of the remaining 37%, 15% comes from disagreements with the actual "advice," while the other 22% comes from giving the notion that such a man, or better yet-population of men-even exists.  I know men who brunch and roll up their ties in a designated tie drawer.  I also know men who take the time to understand ERAs and become regulars at more than one bar.  These are not the same type of man.  The 15% of points I inherently disagree with is able to be overlooked.  You should always give any person that much variance for benefit of the doubt.  

The 22% is the problem that twentysomethings-not just girls, but the whole demographic-faces: long checklists.  A few years ago, fresh off graduating from college, mine and Caroline's friend Julie and I took a road trip to Chicago for St. Patrick's Day.  At the time Julie was seriously dating her now-husband, Ross and the picture of a life together looked very clear.  While mine was as fuzzy as our weekend there.  Though I did not think of it as such.  On the way home Julie and I discussed our "futures."   Hers included the basics: someone she enjoyed bringing to family parties, a partner for DIY home projects, and a personal comedian-even if it was sometimes at the expense of his Star Trek anthology.  Mine included all of the above (though I couldn't really see a Star Trek trilogy finding a place amongst my Sex and the City collection) with the additions of being financially savvy (wanting and financing multiple homes), being cultured (traveling to a new foreign country and new U.S. city every year), and owning a boat.  OWNING A BOAT.  I'm sure I don't have to tell any of you, but that's not even a quality.  These were just a few items among a laundry list I had in my head, but did not have the time to vocalize all during our trip home.  Again-this was a few years ago, and I am [not-so] proud to admit that it did not take long for me to realize such things were just...well, all the things you are thinking.  If I was making a list though, why not throw those on there?

Lists, outlines, bullet points-whatever your preference-are one of today's greatest forces of evil.  People exist.  Lists do not.  I cannot even purchase a full grocery list at the treasure trove that is Trader Joe's.  So how is a person-inherently born with faults-supposed to embody one?

When I originally drafted and [irresponsibly] posted this response last week I conceded to Caroline.  If it's possible to take that back, I'd like to call it a draw.  While I agree that the "Contemporary Man" seems more fictional than heroic, I find it at the very least aspirational.  After all, guys should be ambitious enough to read a piece even more lofty than one that could be found in The Economist.  However, I'll always take a guy who prefers his whiskey over his concern for sartorial togetherness.  And I think that a girl who prefers otherwise should be entitled to her gem.  Both, I am quite sure, could turn out to be fine, nice men living in these contemporary of times.