Tropical Destination New Jersey?

Jersey, I love ya, but I think you may be overselling yourself by juuuust a little bit here?

This is What I Got for Waking Up in Vegas

I first read about Bloggers in Sin City (BiSC) in 2011 on Terra's blog, in, like, a million posts, & with each sentence I read, I wanted that - all of that fun, all of those emotions, all of the inside jokes that made no sense to read about. When 2012 rolled around & Terra's recaps returned, I clicked "Mark as read" because I couldn't bear to read about another year of fun that I'd missed, all because I was A) too poor, & B) too nervous to do something crazy like spend a long weekend in Las Vegas with 70 strangers.

But then I did it. I realized registration had opened & that there weren't a ton of spots left, & I emailed Doniree in a frantic state to see how much time I had to get the money together, & I registered without even hearing back from her because I didn't want to miss out. That massive run-on sentence should give you a feel for the way my brain was working at the time. But suddenly, I was signed up for BiSC, & Simone was going to be my roommate & it was happening.

Going to BiSC was scary. Why? Well, because writing is pretty easy for me, & when I write, it's pretty easy for me to appear less horribly anxious than I am in real life. When I can pick & choose which pieces of me you see, like I do on the blog, my anxiety usually seems like a self-imposed, Lena Dunham-esque quirk & less like a debilitating, panic-inducing medical condition. It's not always the latter - in fact, sometimes it really is the former! - but when the bad parts take hold, man, it can be really bad.

When I left for Sin City on Thursday morning, though, I didn't even take my anxiety medicine because I was all dead-set on being superhuman & less scared of social settings than I usually am. Wait, what? I should've known that wasn't a thing, but I didn't want to rely on medication to keep me calm. "These are my people!" I told myself. "I'm going to be great!" But if we're being honest? I wasn't really that great. I was scared, a lot, & I just wasn't quite me throughout the trip. I was an almost-me version of me, a me whose anxiety manifested itself as a weird self-esteem issue I don't actually have, causing me to seem jittery, standoffish, & self-loathing a lot of the time.

Don't get me wrong: It was so much fun. Bloggers freaking love each other, & we have a million nice things to say to each other upon real-life meetings. I spent much of the weekend hearing how great my hair is, how porcelain my skin is, how Jennifer Lawrence-like my voice is - BiSC is good for the ego, y'all. I also:

• Spent great quality time with my roommate, Simone, who I've wanted to meet for approximately three years (which is as long as she's been blogging), eating Canadian maple cookies & talking about life in our hotel room at the Flamingo.

• Went to a bar made entirely out of ice, where off-brand UGGs are both required & provided (crappy watermarked photo seen here).

• Got an insanely good swag bag that included business cards from Moo, wine glasses from Stack Wines, food goodies from KIND Snacks, sunglasses from Firmoo, & other great things from other great companies.

• Flashed my badge & jumped the line at the swanky PURE Nightclub for a rooftop party where all 68 of us were dressed in white - & because it's Vegas, someone told me on the way there, "Have fun at your wedding, ma'am!" 

• Ate at In 'N' Out, wore a wig to brunch, & feasted on a plateful of nachos at Margaritavilla like total tourists

• Even felt comfortable day-drinking in a bathing suit in public!

Still, I spent my time thinking I wasn't doing it right. I didn't bond with as many as attendees as I would've liked to; I appear in approximately three BiSC photos & took none of my own. I could feel myself being shy & strange while the bubblier, outgoing parts of me struggled to reach the surface. I worried: "What if they don't like me? They won't want to read my blog anymore! Wait, what if I don't like them? Then I won't want to read their blogs anymore! What if I'm ruining the Internet for myself?" I got stuck in an bubble of anxiety that kept me from... well, from myself. And from all these wonderful people.

On the last day of the event,  event organizer extraordinaire Nicole stood in front of the group at brunch & talked about All The Feelings, which is a BiSC theme - everyone has a lot of feelings, & everyone tells you about them. She was followed by Doni, then Jamie, then a couple dozen other folks, both BiSC veterans & newbies, who told the whole group, through laughter & tears, what a difference this event has made in their lives. And I sat there on the fringe, silently nursing a wicked hangover, I felt myself going through an extreme series of emotions. I spent 90% of the speeches thinking, "Crap. I don't have any of These Feelings. I knew I did it wrong!" & doing some serious moping. As the last few people got up to talk, though, the moping was slowly overtaken by something more along the lines of, "Are you kidding me? I have These Feelings Plus."

It was then that I started to realize just how much BiSC taught me about myself, when I wasn't looking & didn't even realize it. Above all else, being there  it taught me that I'm really tired of being so scared all the time, & I never want to feel so anxious meeting such amazing people ever again. It taught me that I don't want to miss out on the good things because I'm too afraid that they'll become bad things. Meeting 67 people who have really incredibly nice things to tell me about myself taught me that maybe I am too hard on myself. And BiSC reminded me that life is good, & I'm living it, & I'd better just start living it instead of being so afraid of it all the time. 

I came home & told Nathan I want to find a therapist. I haven't started looking yet, but I will - I promise. And next time I get paid, I'm signing up for a life coaching session with Ashley of Your Super Awesome Life, even though I confess that my initial reaction is "OMG LIFE COACH HA YEAH RIGHT, ME?" I also made a list of things that make me happy, things I want to do, long-term things & short-term things & dream-big things. I'm just... trying harder. Doing better. Living life. I owe it to myself to be as happy as possible, & I can't be happy if I'm too busy being panicky.

I'm so, so grateful that meeting people from the Internet isn't considered murdery anymore. Thanks, BiSC. I owe you one.

Photos from, in order, Karlyn, Doniree, Minus5 Ice Bar, Caryn, Caryn, &... Caryn again.

My Big Facebook Mistake

I really love social media. Right? Obviously. No one's surprised to hear that the girl who joined Twitter way before anyone understood why Twitter was fun (Twitter hipster?), who turned her social media hobby into a full-time social media position, has an affinity for, uh, social media. In fact, a coworker recently said to me, "I just realized i have no idea what you do with yourself when you aren't working," & my answer was pretty much, "When I'm not doing social media, I do social media."

It seems that every blogger on the planet has written about taking a break from Facebook, & I've always read their posts, rolled my eyes, & clicked that X in the right-hand corner. I've never felt stressed by the online space (or so I thought), & I had no interest in ratcheting down my own use.

And then... that day came.

A few months ago, I started feeling burnt out on the Internet. For the last year, being active on social media has been my full-time job - & suddenly, I started to feel way overexposed. Look at all the shiny Internet things! They take up so much time & energy & effort! Also within the last year, my anxiety has level has ramped up close to its summer 2010 status, which is to say that I'm perpetually on edge & tense at nearly all times. When I was able to take a step back & try to figure out why the anxiousness returned, I had to be honest with myself: The Internet was overwhelming me.

I'm careful about my online presence, somewhat cultivated. I'm honest & raw, but I don't share everything - & I truly try not to overshare anything. But everything is just so public: Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, the blog, you name it. And with my anxiety worsening, I suddenly felt like the whole world was watching, like I'd let too many people get too close - & I decided I wanted to whittle down the audience.

On a whim, I deleted hundreds of people from my list of Facebook friends, trying to create a smaller space. I deleted almost everyone I work with. I deleted anyone I wouldn't feel comfortable wishing a happy birthday. I deleted almost everyone whose socio-political views make me angry. I deleted all the blogger friends I've never met in person. I deleted people I haven't spoken to since college, people I never really knew, friends or friends, my mother's friends... anyone who wasn't family, a close "real-life" friend, or absolutely fascinating. But you know what? I had so many "friends" on my Facebook list that I couldn't even get through them all without getting exhausted, so I began to just weed them out as I saw them, indiscriminately.

And then Elissa died. Elissa died, & I saw how her Facebook page blew up with love, with people who wanted to create a community around the sense of loss that her death left for us, whether we knew one another or not. At her funeral, her mom asked some of our friends to continue posting happy memories to her Facebook page so that the family could enjoy those stories & conversations.

Suddenly, I felt like I'd made the wrong decision. Why did I feel the need to delete so many people? Is not being super-close reason enough to remove someone from my life entirely? Facebook provides us the opportunity to connect with people we wouldn't otherwise be able to connect with - & so long as we're connecting with people we like being connected to, what's the harm? Does someone need to be my real-life best friend in order to make it onto my list of Facebook friends? Isn't there room in my life for other people, too? So long as I'm paying special attention - & outside-of-Facebook attention - to the people who have a real impact on my life, is it necessarily a bad thing to be connected to a number of people who only exist within my life in the online sphere?

The questions go on & on, & the answers aren't necessarily black & white. In fact, I'm sure many people have different answers to those questions than I do, & that's why disconnecting makes sense for them. For me, though, the answer has become clearer: I like connecting with people, & I like connecting with people through Facebook. If my anxiety is creeping up, it's on me to sort it out - but limiting my social circles, even my online ones, is not an answer to that problem.

This is all to say that I made a mistake, & I can't really undo it without looking like a moron. Luckily, some folks have already re-friended me, no questions asked, & I'm pretending like it never happened (unless they're reading this blog post, in which case... thanks, guys!). As for everyone else? Well, either they'll return or they won't - but if you're one of them, & you'd like to reconnect... forgive me? Pretty please? You know where to find me.

Jersey Strong, But Really (Alternate Title: I Cried the Whole Time I Was Writing This Post)

[Warning: This post contains lots of photos. Also, lots of emotions.]

Prince Harry made headlines today when he visited Seaside Heights, N.J., the town where Jersey Shore was filmed & which Hurricane Sandy essentially laid bare. Have you seen post-storm photos of a roller coaster sitting in the ocean? That's Seaside Heights, & that roller coaster was torn down today. It used to be on the shore, of course, not in the water, & it was a main attraction at the Casino Pier boardwalk, one of two competing amusement park piers that were a summer destination spot for families & guidos alike.

Let's talk about the Jersey Shore for a minute, shall we? I'll get to Seaside Heights shortly, but let's start with nearby Asbury Park, home of American legend & all-around badass Bruce Springsteen. I'd been to AP only once before - last October, just before the storm hit - but a few weeks ago, Nathan & I found ourselves in town on a Sunday, grabbing coffee at America's Cup & brunch at Toast.  Though downtown Asbury Park appears unscathed (at least by now), I was shocked by the remaining damage we witnessed along the boardwalk just a few blocks away. Signs say the Jersey Shore is open for business, but, well, it sure doesn't feel like it:


The AP boardwalk is mostly in tact at this point (it reopened in March), but there are still telltale signs of damage:


The beautiful old Convention Hall at the end of the boardwalk is open to the public, but only sort of. Many of the doors are still boarded, & not much is going on inside - just a store or two open for business.


The abandoned old casino at the other end of the boardwalk, creepy even before the storm hit, has been even more gutted than it already was, & it remains closed for the forseeable future.

Along the boardwalk, a few places are back in biz, but the majority of stores & kiosks are still unopened, visibly damaged, boarded up - with no indication as to their return.

Because I thought the remaining damage in Asbury Park was devastating, Nathan wanted to take me through Seaside Heights, which is only a few miles away from our home. I'd never been - either before the storm or after - & he wanted to show me some of the real devastation there that is, essentially, in our own backyard.

I cried more than once that day, as we drove through a beach town that was clearly once a bustling summer hotspot but is now, in the bluntest of terms, absolutely trashed. At the boardwalk, called Funtown Pier, you could almost envision the way this place used to be, just a few short months before - bright & colorful, loud & crowded, home to so many people's best summer memories. In one night, though, Hurricane Sandy wiped it away.

When we arrived on that windy April day, the boardwalk itself was open but many of the stores & restaurants along it were still severely damaged, not yet ready to re-open for the upcoming summer season - if at all. There were sandbars in places where no sand should be, a remaining telltale sign that something wicked had this way come. We bought penny candy from a taffy shop, one of the only stores open that day, doing some small part to support the once-vibrant Casino Pier as it tries to rebuild itself, this place, these people.


The beach that runs parallel to the boardwalk - & the amusement park that used to stand there - was closed, decimated, blocked off with fences & police tape & signs warning lookyloos away from it.




What we saw beyond the fencing was horrifying, stomach-turning; at one point, I thought I was going to throw up, & instead I just started crying these hot, silent tears that I couldn't stop. Even now, having seen much of it myself, I can't look at pictures of the Funtown Pier taken by professional photographers in the immediate aftermath of the storm without that vomity feeling turning my stomach again. It wasn't just sad - it was scary, too, in that eerie sort of way that the ocean sometimes is, when you remember that it's not just beautiful. It's also powerful, & we are, quite simply, not.

Only four of Funtown Pier's 40 amusement park rides made it through the storm, & more than 50 feet of pier fell away when waves began to batter the coast. What's left of the beach was scattered with the carcasses of once-welcoming rides, now knocked over & covered in sand, rusted & mangled & dirty.

A year ago, this was a place tourists & locals alike flocked to for a fun day at the shore; I never saw that side of Funtown Pier, but I could almost imagine it before me, kids licking ice cream cones & begging their dads to win them cheap stuffed animals at dart-&-balloon games on the boardwalk, their biggest concerns sunburns & splinters & long lines.

What hit me hardest at Funtown Pier was the sight of a beautiful old Ferris wheel sitting solidly in the ocean, attached to almost nothing on land. Though it was still standing, its position - again, solidly in the ocean when the pier below it crashed into the sea - rendered it wholly unsalvageable. Nathan & I visited on a Sunday; just a few days later, the iconic Ferris wheel was demolished. 

When we left Funtown Pier, we drove through the town of Seaside Heights, down the road that runs parallel to the beach, where many people people live(d) & rent(ed) modest summer homes. The beach access roads were all closed down, orange barrels advising explorers to turn the other way or risk police questioning. Down some of the streets were Dumpsters, cranes, construction vehicles, people out working - & down other streets, there was almost nothing at all, because there's simply so little hope of rebuilding. We saw houses & apartment complexes that burned to the ground when they caught fire after the storm, homes that looked as though they'd been hit halfway through with a wrecking ball, homes you could see straight into & outr the other side of, homes in piles of rubble with caved-in roofs lying atop them, homes with boarded-up windows & phrases like "We'll be back" spray-painted upon the siding. Big homes, little homes, homes with Halloween decorations still hanging in the windows. Homes where maybe no one will ever live again.

It took me almost a month to write this post, in part because I'm bad with time management, & in part because I was so emotionally impacted by what I saw in Asbury Park & Seaside Heights that I just didn't know what to say. I've lived here for nearly a year now (!), & for months, I've carried on with my life just miles away from absolute devastation. I never visited it, never volunteered to help rebuild after it, hardly even thought of it beyond seeing it on TV. My heart broke for the people affected by it, but I didn't fully comprehend that these people are my neighbors now.

The other day I was in the locker room at my gym, changing out of my sweaty gear, & I overheard a conversation between two women. One was saying that it turned out to be a blessing in disguise that she couldn't have children because she can't imagine experiencing homelessness with kids in tow. Homelessness. As I eavesdropped further, I realized that she had been displaced from her home in the storm - & that "displaced" is not even the right word because her home is gone now, & she's living on friends' couches while she tries to figure out what to do next. The Jersey Shore is full literally thousands of people like this woman, living in my town & in my gym & sitting next to me in Starbucks, & I didn't even get it, you know? I just had no idea, not really.

And what am I doing about it? The answer is still nothing. I just don't know. I still don't know, & I don't feel good about that. But I know that's it's horrible & painful & unbelievable & that, if nothing else, visiting the shore last month solidified one thing for me: For so many people, Hurricane Sandy was not just a scary thunderstorm that tossed a few docks into the backyard, like it was for Nathan & me. This shit is real, & it's still really bad, &... & we're connected to it, whether we want to be or not. We live in New Jersey now. We are part of New Jersey now. We were here for this, & we're still here for this, & that matters to me much, much more than I thought it did.

Three Ways New Jersey Handicaps its Drivers

Let me preface this post by saying that I don't hate New Jersey anymore. I don't. OK? So don't give me crap about giving New Jersey crap. It's kinda nice here, actually, & I don't hate it, but I do think there are a few key ways that the state of New Jersey is totally shafting its lifelong residents when it comes to preparing them to drive in states that are not New Jersey. Observe:

1. Yellow lights last forever. When Nathan first mentioned this to me, I thought he was mental. No way do the yellow lights here last noticeably longer than they do anywhere else! Right? Wrong. The more I drove in New Jersey, the clearer it became that something is up with this yellow situation. You could be two blocks away when a light turns yellow & still make it through before it changes to red.
   
   I read a lengthy, detailed story about yellow & red lights in New Jersey townships, but I don't have a great grasp of traffic-related technical jargon, so I'm still sort of lost. All I know is that when I'm in any other state, I now find myself slamming on the brakes to stop before red hits, forgetting that I've become accustomed to freakingly long yellows.

2. Turning left is unheard of. I've already explained to you the concept & functionality of jughandles, & I shared with you just how weird I think they are. As time goes on - & as I become more familiar with my surroundings - I admit that I've begun to see the value in jughandles, even if I still find them wholly unnecessary. But let's be clear: I still know how to turn left on green. I may not have the legal opportunity to do it in New Jersey, but I'm familiar with the idea, & I won't hesitate to implement it in states that will allow me to (slash require me to, because how else would you get places if you couldn't turn left & didn't have jughandles?!)
   
   I have a friend, though, who's Jersey born & raised, & I recently learned that after Hurricane Sandy, when all the traffic lights were out, she panicked when she reached an intersection where she had to turn left - even though so one was coming at her from the other direction. She just, like, couldn't do it. Not turning left is so ingrained in Jersey residents' driving habits that trying to turn left is, it seems, foreign to & difficult for them. That's some Zoolander shit right there.

3. The thing with not pumping your own gas. It's illegal to pump your own gas in New Jersey, which is absurd & can cause confusion. Sometimes it's great, like when it's very hot or very cold outside, & you don't have to get out of your climate-controlled vehicle to refuel. Sometimes it's awful, like when there are seven open pumps & one attendant on duty & three people in line before you. You could gas & go on your own, if you were allowed (& knew how...), but instead, you have to wait in line like a helpless, obedient child until the attendant gets to you. So much time is wasted at highway rest stops this way. And also, back to my original point, a great many native New Jerseyans do not know how to pump their own gas - & are are possibly proud of it?

Also, as a related side note, I learned just yesterday that in the Garden State, it's illegal to talk on your phone while you drive. Quite illegal, in fact, as can attest a fried of mine who received a $100 ticket for committing this offense, which he, too, did not realize was a criminal one. The more you know.

Stuff I'm Enthusiastic About

For a brief period of time, I wrote a little series of posts called "Gamechangers," all about stuff I just, like, like. Lately, I've been liking a lot of stuff that I want to tell you about, so I'm bring that ish back, but I'm just going to call it "Stuff I'm Enthusiastic About," because I think that really sums up the gist of it. Readyyyy? Go!

Right now I dig:

Goin' to London: I took a week off at the end of June because I essentially forgot to take vacation time this year, & if I don't use my paid vacation days by the end of the fiscal year (June), I lose them. It's sort of like being forced to take time off! I'd originally planned to do a staycation - sleep in, run errands, watch a lot of Ellen - but so many of my friends are globe-trotting right now, & I've got a titch of the green monster, so I started thinking I should try to get some travel in myself. My little cousin is living in London for 18 months, so I just booked a flight to visit her! More on this to come, obviously.

Drinkin' wine: While I was in Austin for SXSW in early March, a fellow attendee gave me a $60 voucher for NakedWines.com. I was skeptical - because ain't no such thing as a free liquid lunch - but I was pleased to find that A) it was totally legit, & B) NakedWines.com is awesome. That voucher (plus $13 from my own wallet) got me six bottles of wine, delivered to my doorstep within the week. Now, my wine rack is full for the first time in my life, & I'm looking forward to trying to become a wine-lover. (In case you're interested, I bought: F. Stephen Millier Angels Reserve Viognier 2011, William Henry Riesling 2012, Rachis by Randy Hester Sauvignon Blanc 2012, & Da Da Da... Lodi Chardonnay 2011.) 

Gettin' trim: I started Weight Watchers in January, & while I'm not always perfect at sticking to it (um, there are Stella D'Oro Fudge Cookies in my car right now...), I've found it to be a really easy-to-understand, mostly-easy-to-follow program. I'm not losing as much or as quickly as I'd like because, um, cookies, but I am seeing a difference & feeling better overall - & also my jeans fit again & are even a little bit too big, which definitely falls into the category of "stuff that's awesome." And if I do lose copious amounts of weight, I promise not to become a Jennifer Hudson (which is to say that I won't abandon the traits & talents you know & love me for in favor of talking about being skinny all the time).
 
Makin' sandwiches: Nathan & I went to a street fair in downtown Red Bank two weekends ago, where I picked up some Raspberry Hot Pepper Jelly from Jacky's Jams and Jellies, made locally in Pine Beach, N.J. Fruit & heat? Gross. Except no. This jelly is the stuff culinary dreams are made of, & I created the World's Most Perfect Grilled Cheese™ (patent pending in my imagination) with it: three Babybel Light cheeses, sliced in half, with 2 tbsp. of jelly & a sprinkling of mozzarella cheese, pressed on multigrain panini bread in my George Foreman grill. I would eat this every day if I could do that & still end up looking like Jennifer Hudson. Instead, it'll be my new favorite-but-infrequent comfort food.

Eatin' cheese: I recently won a giveaway on my friend Suki's blog Super Duper Fantastic, & my haul arrived in the mail today: five blocks of fancy Sartori cheese! Basically, I have never been happier or more excited in my whole life, which is saying a lot, because it arrived on a less-than-stellar day. For lunch this afternoon, I had one serving of their Rosemary & Olive Oil Asiago cheese on Saltines with a side of carrots & yogurt, & then I pretty much died & went to Wisconsin (in which Wisconsin is heaven because, you know, that's where this cheese comes from). Seriously, I may never buy another kind of cheese ever again for as long as I live. Wonder what kinds of gourmet grilled cheese I can invent next?

So tell me: What are you enthusiastic about right now?

Bad Jokes, Good Man: A Tribute to My Grandfather

Two things occur to me: The first is that there's been a lot of eulogizing & emotion-sharing on this here blog lately. What with my tribute to my dear friend Elissa, & my piece on the one-year anniversary of my grandmother's passing, & my reflections after the Boston Marathon bombings, I've talked a lot about death lately in this space.

The second thing that occurs to me, though, is that I've never really told you about my grandfather. He passed away in 2008, & even though this blog existed then (five & a half years now!) I never wrote about his death here because I didn't think my readers would respond positively to, like, me. Stuff with emotion. I kept it strictly funny in those days, almost nothing person, & sharing my eulogy for my grandpa didn't seem to fit into that structure.

These days, though, I share of myself more freely (see first paragraph), & you guys seem to be supportive (thank you!) That's why today, on the five-year anniversary of my grandpa's death, I want to share with you the eulogy I gave at his funeral half a decade ago. He was one of my favorite people in the whole wide world, & suspect that I will always miss him dearly.

*****

If you knew my Grandpa Sandy at all, you know that what defined him most was his undying sense of humor. Granted, I only knew him for 23 of his 83 years, but I think it's a safe bet to say that his orneriness didn't come about with age. The way his two sisters tell it, it was a lifelong thing.

If you didn't hear one of Grandpa's jokes or stories the first time around, there was about a 99.8% chance you'd hear it again– he was notorious for telling and retelling the same ones over and over again. Perhaps most well-known and groan-worthy within our family was The Rutabaga Joke. At every Thanksgiving dinner, without fail, my Uncle Jim has insisted we serve rutabagas, even though he has consistently proven to be the only family member interested in eating them. And every year, as my cousins and I rattled off our same old list of complaints about rutabagas, my grandpa would stop the conversation and chime in: "Rutabagas, eh? I don't like that name. It sounds mean. They ought to be called polite-abagas."

That was grandpa's humor. He was the king of puns and had the kind of comedic timing that could save even the dullest of conversations. No matter how serious – or argumentative – the rest of our family got, Grandpa was always waiting in the wings with a pun or a punchline to divert our attention and lighten the mood. As the rabbi just said, he was a trained expert in "keeping up the troops' morale," a skill that he applied not just to his time in the military but in his everyday life, as well.

And the best part about my grandpa was that even when he wasn't telling jokes, he simply had the sort of personality that lent itself to good story-telling – the kind that, even in his absence, I'm sure will continue to make for good story-telling.

He loved the Ohio State Buckeyes with a passion, so much that after my grandparents' house caught on fire, my mom salvaged his smoky, burnt Buckeyes banner, even though my Grandma tried to sneak it into the trash can. He loved the Buckeyes so much that he once taught his pet bird, Barney, to whistle the Ohio State fight song. He loved food. On a trip to Hilton Head, he once dared to try alligator, and he was notorious for making midnight snacks of other people's leftovers. To my grandma's chargin, he kept bags of popcorn in his car and trail mix in his bedroom, and he loved nothing more than a good free sample from Sam's Club. He made jewelry for his daughters and me out of dental gold, the kind meant for filling teeth, and held a special place in his heart for my mother's mutt, Missy, whom he lovingly referred to as his "granddog." And in his later years, he became famous among friends and family for his refusal to use a cane and his insistence, instead, upon using his giant walking sticks.

My grandfather was a good man. He was the sort of man who saved the tie he wore on his wedding day and wore it again to his anniversary party 50 years later. He was kind and loving and hard-working and friendly, and overall, he was simply a good man. He will be sorely missed as the silent but mighty patriarch of our little family. And so today, in honor of my grandpa, I'm about to say something I never thought I'd say, something I hope my cousins will forgive me for. Today, despite years of complaints and dinner-table mutiny, I am submitting a formal request for this year's Thanksgiving dinner. We probably won't eat them, and we will probably still whine about them, but this November, in honor of Grandpa's memory, I ask my Uncle Jim — please make sure to bring the polite-abagas.

On Falling Into Lakes

Today was a work day full of calls & meetings, & before I knew it, it was 2:15 & I'd yet to eat lunch. Oh, is that my stomach? Of course, I had to be in another meeting at 2:30, but I decided that gave me just enough time for me to run to a nearby coffeeshop, settle in, order a sandwich, & hop on the call. I knew I'd be a few minutes late, so as I walked, I sent a quick email to my boss from my iPhone.

Here's where I'd like to clarify that the route from my place to my favorite coffeeshop is through a residential neighborhood, with a sidewalk the whole way & approximately zero through traffic. I pay special attention to crossing the major street that runs through town, but after that, it's a walk in the park - almost literally. I pass two senior living establishments, two townie restaurants, & a whole lot of trees, & then boom, favorite coffeeshop.

So as I emailed my boss, I was walking on a sidewalk, toward almost nothing, when a yippy, unleashed little dog took a sharp corner from behind a building & ran right into my shins. I looked down at it & laughed, cooing something in my stupid voice reserved for animals (don't pretend like you don't have one). I smiled at it owner, a very done-up woman who could best be described as a Jersey grandma, 70-something in a purple tracksuit with heavy makeup & big hair & penciled-in eyebrows. She didn't smile back, but still, I gave her an "Excuse me" as I stepped around her dog & carried on down the sidewalk. When my back was to them, she yelled after me:

"That's how people fall into lakes."

I stopped & turned, said it again, this time as a question: "Excuse me?"

"That's how people fall into lakes," she repeated. "Walking & texting."

I tried to stay friendly, keep it light - "Luckily, I'm not walking near any lakes." - but she wasn't having it.

"I don't know," she said meanly. "There sure is a lot of water in this area."

I stayed stoic, but I was fed up. "There's no need to be so rude to a stranger," I told her.

"There's no need to text while you walk," she retorted. "It would serve you right if you fell into a lake!"

Look, I get it. Texting while walking is "more dangerous than crystal meth," & I'd certainly never do crystal meth. I like to think I'm a smart person. I don't text & walk in cities, or near train tracks, or in areas I'm not familiar with. Could I be hit by a car while walking & texting? Sure, but I could also be hit by one while walking & not texting. Anyway, it was pretty clear that this woman didn't care about my safety nearly as much as she cared about being a sanctimonious "get off my lawn" type.

What I wanted to tell her was that it would serve her right if her adorable little unleashed dog got run over by a car, but that seemed too mean to the adorable little unleashed dog. I wanted to tell her it would serve her right if she died alone in her apartment & that adorable little dog gnawed her arm off before anyone found her, but that seemed too mean, period (yes, sometimes my mental filter works). I wanted to tell her that if I fell in a lake - which would be literally almost impossible, given that there are no lakes nearby - it'd be my own damn fault & she would never even know about it. I wanted to tell her that I work my butt off, all day, every day, sitting alone in my living room, such that I sometimes can't even get a bite to eat or a cup of coffee without missing the first 10 minutes of a meeting, without feeling harried & panicked, without checking my email while I walk. I wanted to tell her that in a world full of bombs & shootings & all kinds of terrible things, she should be ashamed of being so mean to a total stranger - or to anyone at all.

I stared her down for a few seconds, trying to decide what to say. And then I swallowed hard, & I turned around. And I took a deep breath & put my phone in my pocket & walked away. And I remembered to "be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."* And also because I'm terrified of lakes.



*I have no idea who said this, but it's one of my favorite quotes. I'd always thought it was Mother Theresa, who is apparently not even in the running.

*Apparently people fall into lakes while texting. I'm lookin' at you, Bonnie Miller & Tiffany Hess.

I Like My Friends More Than I Like My Cat. And Yet...

It has come to my attention that a great many of my dear friends are unable to visit my home because they're horribly allergic to cats, & I have a cat. Remember this dude?

As testing recently revealed, I, too, am allergic to cats, though not deathly so. My doctor confirmed that my allergy is likely lessened by my owning a cat, & it's possible I'm no longer so allergic - to mine, at least, though maybe still to others.

I'm just bummed. Like, bummed to the point of anger. Because what are Claritin & Zyrtec & Allegra & inhalers for if not to fix this crap? Why doesn't any of that stuff actually work? Get your act together, pharmaceuticals!

I'd been trying so hard lately to like it here, & I've even begun to. Victory! I really hoped that when spring & summer rolled around, the local festivals & our proximity to the beach would lure visitors, & I could share my newfound love - OK, like - of the Jersey Shore with the people I love. And now? Now at least six - no exaggeration, six - of my closest friends have told me they can never set foot in my apartment because it will hinder their ability to, like, live.

Look, don't get me wrong. I'm absolutely not mad at any my friends. I understand allergies; if my friends lived inside oak trees, I would never visit them, either! It's not like anyone chooses to have respiratory problems. I'm not mad at them - but I'm just kind of mad, period. I really thought I'd found a great, beachy loophole that I could use to entice folks to visit... & now I can't. Because breathing & shit.

Guess I shouldn't waste my money on buying a bed for that guest room, huh? Womp.

PS: Sorry for this angry rant. Sometimes you've just gotta yell it out.
PPS: Any of you allergy-free folks want to come to the beach this summer?

Think I'll Go to Boston, Think I'll Start a New Life

During those 16 months that I lived in the far-away foreign land of New England, my frequent overnight trips to the great city of Boston were an emotional lifesaver. In fact, I came to love the city so much that I hoped with all my heart Nathan would be stationed there next.

Today, from 263 miles away, I'd almost forgotten about that love - until this afternoon, when it all came flooding back.

I'm relieved that all of my friends in Boston are safe, but I'm devastated that so many other people's friends & family are not. My heart is heavy for them, for their city, for our country. And beyond that? For once in my life, I'm truly without words. Only feelings - & there are just so, so many of those.

Tell someone you love them. Do something kind. Make the world a better place. And don't just do it today, on the bad days - do it every day. Please, please. Do it every day. Because that's the only way we're ever going to combat the hatred that drives people to do things like this. That's all we can do - love people, no matter what, & press on, regardless.