Recovery...

Yesterday was the twin's first birthday and I never thought I would be so emotional about it. I must have cried at least twice yesterday. The girls didn't cry and Andrea didn't cry...but Aunt LaLa was oh so very emotional. I think it was a combination of things. We spent a lot of time and energy getting ready for the party, so that by the time it actually came to fruition it felt like a great big sigh of relief. Also, seeing the girls' birth video after the party reminded me of the first time I met them. Please remember that falling in love with these two girls changed my life in every way. I was a different person a year ago and in a way, I feel like I have been growing right along side them. Watching them learn to crawl, walk, chew, clap, communicate, laugh, play...words cannot describe my joy, so my tears had to. I managed to keep it together until after all the guests had left (38 people in all) and then crashed.
Today I decided to devote the entire day to myself. I woke up late and stayed in my pajamas til shorty after 1pm. Then I decided that I would spend the money on a much needed personal spa day. I went to get my eyebrows threaded...a technique I found in LA to be much better than waxing but more painful. Then ventured to the nail place to get a pedicure and a bikini wax. Those of you who have had bikini waxes know that this experience is only slightly less violating than the female doctor. It is especially uncomfortable when the beautician tries to strike up conversation. I have learned to combat this by reading a magazine while the torture is taking place. I made it through two issues of OK! and an Allure before my day was over.
I am ready to embrace my week feeling very girl-y and rested.

This one goes out to my single ladies....hello? single ladies?

When you have been single for as long as I have been single...you start to develop interesting habits. For example, for the past week I have been doing laundry, folding it and putting it nicely in the space next to me on my bed. It's a little weird. I sleep on half my bed while my clothes occupy the other half. I could very well put my folded laundry into the drawers where it belongs but instead I just leave it next to me. What makes it more strange is that when I get up in the morning, I go to the drawers for my clothes for the day. I have done this periodically in my two and half years of singleness. I'm not sure why. I'm sure psychologists would say that I am filling some sort of void but I am really happy in my single-hood. (As you can see, I am testing out which word for "single" best fits my situation) It's not as if I am lazy either. I go through the trouble of washing my clothes, folding them and organizing them into categories, I just leave them on "their" side of the bed. Maybe that's it. Maybe in all my singularity (by far my favorite) , I just need a side. When you belong to a couple you each have a side. Side of the bed, side of sink, side of the closet, etc., but when you are single, every side is your side so it doesn't feel like a side. I could have used "side" less in that last sentence but you get my point. When you don't share anything it's hard to feel like you are part of something bigger than yourself and then your world becomes very small. So for now....I have a side and my clothes have a side. Maybe I should get a dog?

Success!

The migraine is over now...thank you all for your positive thoughts and solidarity.

The thing about Migraines....

So if you have ever had a migraine you know what I am about to write. They are the worst. Depending on the type of headache it can feel like Freddy Kruger is scratching the inside of your face off or Thor is putting down the hammer on the inside of your skull. The worst part, there is very little you can do until it passes. I stay curled up in my room with the shades down and the lights off for hours. Sometimes I just sit in a super hot shower and cry. The problem with crying is that it just makes the headache worse. You want to cry because it hurts so bad but if you do you are just asking for more pain. If, perchance, you make it through the to-cry-or-not-to-cry stage, a whole new symptom presents itself. The nausea. This is the part I absolutely hate the most. You want to throw up because you feel so sick but you know that if you do your pain intensifies exponentially. Most people get a headache after throwing up so if you already have one, good luck. On the other hand, if you don't throw up you have to sit with this sickening feeling on top of your already pounding brain. You can't really writhe in pain because movement makes the world spin and you can scream because sound echos inside your head. If you are like me, you start to lose circulation in your extremities and those pin and needles just add to the aggravation. The medication that doctors dole out for this kind of pain can often make things worse. Besides, the side effects are things like..blood clot, stroke, vomiting, dizziness, etc. Why would I want to risk any of those things when I am already in excruciating pain? Why don't they just say, "This will either help you or kill you. Good Luck!" If you have never had a migraine, consider yourself lucky. One day they will develop some sort of helmet you can put on that sucks out the migraine like a vacuum cleaner. Until then, my fellow sufferers, keep on truckin'.

Australia

Australia is by far one of the WORST movies I have ever seen. I wish I could get the three hours of my life back. It was like watching a movie with multiple personality disorder. The opening credits mention something about the Stolen Generation being the mixed children in Australia that were stolen from their parents...so OK, it's about that. Nope.
In the first third of the movie it was about cattle driving. Awesome, a western. Nope. Then it is about the relationship that Nicole Kidman's character develops with the (for lack of a better term) "stolen" orphan boy and the cattle driver. Not quite. Then it's about World War II and Japan's invasion of the country. Maybe. The best part of the movie happened in the first half hour when Hugh Jackman took his shirt off and poured water all over himself. (Sorry...but he is totally on my list and that one moment could sustain me for days) I am not sure what the studios were thinking nominating this for any type of award. Nicole Kidman looked like she was sick through the whole film and her lips were big and puffy like she had done botox. Honestly, give the lady a sandwich! She looks like she is one carrot sick away from death. If the camera adds ten pounds then she must be able to see her own organs. There were moments when she and Hugh Jackman were making love and I swear I thought he was going to break her just by lying on top of her. She used to be bigger. Far and Away, To Die For....she used to have an ass. See what Hollywood does to you.
Hugh Jackman is beautiful. He was the only reason I didn't stop watching but by hour two and a half, even the eye candy gets old. I respect the man as an actor but there was no saving this movie. He could have done a tap dance naked. That might have done it. Considering the insane plot line, I think they could have fit it in somewhere. Ridiculous amounts of money were poured into this film and it tanked. Completely fell short of all it's expectations. I can say with great certainty that I enjoyed The English Patient more than this movie. If this wins an academy award for anything other than scenery, I will have lost all faith in the movie business.

Sorry Hugh, but you have been demoted down the list for making such a poor business decision.

Lucky Me

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world!

I have the greatest nieces and nephew anyone could ever ask for. My sisters and brothers are the most supportive, generous and understanding people. My extended family, the Schwartz Family, has made me feel so welcome, so at home and they have shown such generosity and grace that it truly renders me speechless. I will always love my parents for bringing into the world and trying to navigate me through it. My friends, no matter how far away they may be, show me endless love and support in the face of their own, very real, problems. How do you thank the people that you love? How do you show them that your life would be as dismal without them in it? Thank you notes can be somewhat trite and often offensive at the waste of paper. Emails seem so impersonal. Thus, I have resorted to blogging. In the past...I would have written everyone who has done something wonderful for me a dramatic, yet, well thought over poem. This year, there are entirely too many people to thank and my writer's block increases with each passing day. I wish I could describe the sadness that I felt less than 6 months ago. The most appropriate metaphor would be as if someone had locked me in a room and shut off the light. I had lost hope, love, confidence and the freedom to be me. How do repay the ones you love for turning on the light, opening the door and giving me another chance? I'm not sure I can...ever. In the words of the lovely Ms. DiFranco,"I owe my life to the people that I love." Those words have never been more true for me than they are now.
I love you all and I would NOT be the woman I am today without you.

Here's to you!

Happy New Year!!!!

Finally, 2009 has arrived. With it, hope for the future. Usually people make resolutions for the new year but I have found that those don't work out so well for me. Everytime I would resolve to do something the pressure of keeping it would inevitably lead me to break it rather quickly, i.e. stop smoking, eat better, stop swearing, etc. Last year I made a "decision" rather than a resolution and gave myself a 90 day time frame. I ended up sticking with that decision for many months after my 90 days were up. So this year I am deciding, not resoluting. (I don't know if that is a word but you get my point.) I have decided to be more decisive. He-he-he.
Truthfully, I have a tough time making decisions. Jason will ask where I want to eat and it is my gut reaction to say, "I don't care," or "Whatever you want." I am going to be more decisive. I am going to really think about what I want before answering questions and if I truly don't have a preference that I will just pick something. I am hoping this will lead me to a more conifident decision making lifestyle. Also, I hope my decision making will rub off on those I live with. The anti-decision making curse is either genetic or a side effect of extreme exhaustion. Deciding to let someone else decide, although it is a decision, is not always effective when the household itself is shifting the decision responsibility.
I have written the word decision so many times that it's starting to look funny.
So I'm off to make great decis....I mean...plans.

My Stockton-Stockton Adventure.

Out of all the places I thought I would be this New Year, Stockton was not one of them. Alas, my open-honest-non-committed-dating-situation led me to be a Stockton in Stockton. Of course I made plans at the very last minute, as Stocktons are known to do, and decided to take the Greyhound bus, the least expensive option. I'd taken buses back and forth to Boston when I lived in New York and honestly, it wasn't that bad. Unless of course you took the Fung-Wah bus..in which case you were taking you life in your hands for the bargain price of $15. The Greyhound to Boston is a five hour trip so the EIGHT hour trip to Stockton I assumed wouldn't be great, but I could do it.
Next time I'm taking a plane.
I arrived at the bus station in LA at 12:45am. I expected to have to don my Brooklyn-girl attitude when I arrived but it was actually quite nice. There was a hot food station there, some Asian kids on laptops and Conan O'Brian on the 5 flat screen TVs so my fears were quickly calmed. I grabbed a Snickers and a bottle of water for the trip and made myself as comfortable as possible in the teal metal chairs. By 1:25am we were boarding and it seemed like a relatively pain-free process. I boarded the bus hoping like hell for a window seat but they were all taken. I chose as wisely as I could by sitting next to a young Latino kid who I knew was also travelling to Stockton, as I had heard the driver tell him to "Stay on til Stockton". This was my best option. Other options included someone I will call Hairy Man and a younger female we'll call Scary Girl. Hairy Man was just that...completely covered in hair. His entire face was covered in hair. I tried desperately not to stare but I had never seen someone so hairy before. I stopped looking after he caught my gaze with his crazy eyes. Scary girl was sitting across from me. She was scary not because of the way she looked but because of her attitude. She walked on the bus like she was ready to kill someone. She must have bumped into me a half-dozen times as she was putting up her bag. Once a actually saw the Care Bear underwear she was wearing sticking out above her Baby Phat sweat pants. She was swearing the whole time about what I wasn't sure. Finally she sat down, pulled a blanket over her and stuck her feet right across the aisle onto my arm rest. Ahh, the Greyhound..what fun.
We must have made 20 stops along the way. In towns I have never heard of. Towns, I truly feel like America forgot about it. There is nothing to see except strange tumbleweed like plants that looked as though they had already been touched by the Grimm Reaper. When we got to Fresno some folks got off the bus and failed to return on time so we just left them there. Our driver obviously had no patience as he saw them banging on the door and continued to drive. I never got off the bus for that exact reason but that led me to make a very difficult, yet necessary decision. I had to use the bathroom on the moving bus. If you have ever had to pee on a bus you know my dilemma. You cannot touch anything in a bus bathroom because you don't know what crazy diseases have been there before you. The blue port-a-potty water is sloshing around in the hole that is the toilet so you don't want to sit or even get too close to the seat for fear it might touch you. Squatting and trying not to pee yourself is a true test in leg strength and stamina. Not something I recommend. Finally arriving in Stockton at 9:45am I was thirsty, tired and pretty sure I had contracted TB. I saw my PIMP (Practically Independent Male Partner) waiting for me and I jumped-literally- with joy.
I think I will try and get a ride back to LA.