On Self Medication.

I'm actually a pretty thrifty and money conscious person. 

I carefully review my bank statements to make sure no erroneous charges have occurred, I bring a sack lunch to work everyday (PB&J, bag of chips, apple) and I have had the same 20+ pairs of underwear for years. I'm happy with all of these behaviors and habits. 

But I recently realized I was spiraling into an online-ordering-FedEx-tracking-rip-the-box-open-frenzy and have decided to go on a self prescribed spending freeze for no less than 30 days. I'm 11 days in.

It wasn't even that I had shopped my way out of house and home or that I had ripped into my savings all that dangerously. I spent a little too much here, gave into the post-Thanksgiving, pre-Christmas, post-Christmas sales a little too much there and though I still have money in the bank, that money isn't growing. And I want it to grow. So, the spending freeze was implemented in the middle of the straight up winter freeze. 

And it is HARD. I have a pimple right now. A big doozie. I woke up, saw it and knew that purchasing an on-sale, cashmere swing sweater from J.Crew would slap a salve right over that sucker because I would know, and the zit would know (??) that in a few days time I'd have a brown box waiting literally at my door with a soft, totally unneeded and unnecessary garment to put on and feel pretty in. 

It is HARD. It is cold outside, winter seems unending, my favorite yoga studio suddenly closed its doors and my usual, dedicated gym routine has faltered amongst all this. I wondered if purchasing a pair of new jeans, in a size just a little too small might be that motivating kick I need, might push me to dust off the cobwebs because I knew that they would be arriving soon, eager to be tried on and hopeful to fit. 

It is HARD. I'm BORED. It's not the exciting time at my work. It's quiet on the streets of Chicago. The movies in the theater are those January - March releases that aren't good enough to motivate you to get out the door to actually see them. So looking at gorgeous prints, shapes, textures and styles online just seems to be the only way to feel a sense of promise and to have something to be excited for. 

And all of this, from personifying pimples and sweaters to wrapping your body up to fight the elements to feeling a lack of motivation all multiply until suddenly you've spent $1,000 in the last month. On clothes. And then you just feel dumb and young and kind of embarrassed and you decide to freeze. 

So I'm 11 days in. 

On Snobbery and Snark.

Last night I went to the tribute to Roger Ebert at the Chicago Theater and I thought it was lovely. But I know that there are people who secretly (or maybe not so secretly) thought it was not. It was long and there was a choir of gospel singers and many people spoke about Roger and his impact on them, film and Chicago.

When the gospel singers came out and when grown men cried at the microphone in front of thousands, I could feel people rolling their eyes. I could actually see people giving each other that "is this for real?" look to their seatmates. I even did it for a second, gave into that moment when you are uncomfortable at the emotion in front of you so you whisper something snarky to your neighbor or you look away. We snark and we snicker because it's too much for us. We haven't processed our grief our or emotions or our nervousness. It's the moment in sex ed class when you laugh at the video where the girl gets her period at the sleepover because you haven't gotten it yet, or if you have, you don't know how to ask for help. It's the moment during the campfire sing along when everyone starts clapping but you are too cool to clap. 

Here is the thing: you are never, ever too cool to clap. And even though I don't have rhythm I learned a long time ago when I worked as a camp counselor that the kids who DON'T clap and the kids who DON'T get into the fun are actually the ones who look silly and foolish. 

The puberty and camp examples are ones rooted in childhood and adolescence, which dovetails into my pseudo thesis statement: we are all too old to be snobs. 

When you  are a kid, you are figuring it out. You are learning the ropes and finding out who you are and if you are even a summer camp kind of kid. I wasn't a summer camp kid, so I nerded out and did my fireside clapping in a different way by embracing the theater group at school, by spending a lot of time in the library, by having a far-too-serious high school boyfriend. We make mistakes when we are younger and that is universal and that is fine. You can't force the kid to clap along, and when you see him refusing to, you know better. 

But it's not always that easy to see that allowing yourself to feel and give in, or even not care in a friendly way, is the more loving, generous thing. I'm trying hard lately to not take things personally, not get angry, not get frustrated, to understand. But when we compete and we covet, we turn to snark. 

At the Ebert tribute, I felt the snark and I fought it. I clapped, I cried, I let myself really understand that all these people were in this theater because of a man we cared for. Not because they wanted to be seen, and certainly not because they wanted to "rate" the evening's presentation. I let myself be there and be present in the moment because I used to highlight all the movies I had seen in Ebert's movie review book, because I used to have a crush on Siskel, because I was always so happy when their show came on the TV - it was my only glimpse at films I didn't have access to in Winterset, Iowa. 

That was last night, and already just a few hours into the afternoon, snobbery and judgement have slithered into my day. On the train this morning I wanted to get on my phone and play a game (it's called Ruzzle and it's amazing). But when I saw everyone else with their head in their phone, I thought "ugh, we are all so terrible. We should be reading a book or looking out the window or balancing our checkbooks, not looking at Facebook or playing games on our phone." But...why not? Why not spend your commute doing whatever the fuck you want? If it doesn't interfere with your fellow passenger and it doesn't cause you bodily harm, why not? Get your phone out. Be on it. Text, play. And don't judge the people on their phone because you choose to read The Feminine Mystique during your train ride instead. 

Cry, clap, Ruzzle. 

On Annoyances.

1. High heel wedge sneakers.


I get the high heel. I get the wedge. I get the sneaker. I like all three elements, but when put together they are so hideous to me - on par with blasted out Uggs (you know these: salt stained, grease spots, slouchy leg. Probably shufflin' along because when you wear Uggs, you are forced to shuffle). Even Marc Jacobs can't pull this look off. And Marc Jacobs is the coolest! He recently wore silk pajamas to his own show at Fashion Week in Paris. 





2. Trying to unsubscribe.

I've been trying to unsubscribe from a bunch of lists. Every morning I check my inbox and it's just chaos. Madness in the form of deals, alerts, summaries and newsletters for places and things I don't care about. Some of these lists I've been on for years. I've clicked on the subscribe, I've replied with the stern, all caps requests "UNSUBSCRIBE ME PLEASE." But they don't stop! I get an email from this website called Active. They tell me about fun runs (it's essentially always and only about fun runs) in Iowa City...where I went to college...over ten years ago. 

My boyfriend has an immaculate inbox. Everything is archived or deleted almost immediately. He never has more than maybe six emails at a time. Right now, I have an inbox of 6,416 emails. They have all been seen by me, but sometimes in the morning or when I'm multitasking, I'll click on one of these list emails and forget to delete them. So they are there - lurking and clogging up my inbox, dragging me down in a spiral of President's Day sales, percentages off and daily deals. 


3. Winter blues.



I have them right now, bad. I think everyone has dealt with some form of anxiety, depression or general mehs before, and I'm in the thick of that feeling. Each day I look out over what I have to do and nothing really thrills me. I'm tired before I get up, I'm uninspired, I'm crabby.

This isn't freaking me out much - this happens around winter time for me (usually in the slushiest of weeks I'm also dealing with grant deadlines and looming events to plan) so I'm not terribly concerned or thinking about calling up the old therapist and scheduling an appointment. But I am tired of it. The task avoidance with a smidge of isolation means I feel like a weirdo who naps too frequently.

On Not Being Sick.

Ten day swing in Chicago. I'm sorry, what? 

Pic courtesy Monty Montgomery.

The weather in Chicago has been wackadoo lately. A week ago I had the crazy person layered look going on (when you have so many layers on it makes you look slightly unhinged and fragile), early this week my coat was all unzipped and I was fanning my damp self on the train, and today we are back to chilly billy.

There is loads of talk about barometric pressure (something I always blame zits and a bad hair day on) and jokes about how Mother Nature is bipolar (can you imagine if there WAS a Mother Nature and she WAS bipolar? We'd be fucked).

I'm keeping quiet because a. it's annoying to talk about the weather to anyone but strangers during awkward conversations and b. I'm terrified that though I've dodged the flu bullet thus far, the other germ filled shoe will drop and, by dropping, spew out germs all over my face and make me sick.

Wait. AM I terrified? Actually, no. I'm disappointed that I haven't gotten sick. And hopeful that I will.

Because it's actually kind of, just a little bit, awesome to get sick. No fake calling in sick to work because you can't face another day of whatever job you do that destroys your soul. When you're Sick with a capital S, you get to boldly call your boss and hack into the phone and then fall back into a guiltless, paranoid free fevered slumber.

Significant others stroke your brow and bring you ice cream! You can make yourself a little sick bay nest on the couch and do NOTHING ELSE but watch a marathon of anything you want. No one can judge you. No one can look at you the next day and say "Well, you sure got better fast." Because you DON'T get better fast. Cause you are sick as shit, people.

And when you start to feel better and you have your first solid meal or you can go for a feeble but energizing walk around the block after being in bed for two days? That food tastes like magic and that walk makes you feel like a super hero.

Today I had a banana and a multi-vitamin (gummy, obvs), chugged a Nantucket Nectar - the only good juice on the market - and washed my hands every time I went to the ladies. Maybe I'll skip a hand washing tomorrow, or forgo the juice and live a little by being bedridden with a 100 degree temp.

Me, if I'm lucky. 

Actually, I've never been here before.

Today is my first post and it's 10 degrees in Chicago. I'm at work wearing leg warmers and a sweater that is causing hair static. So I'm a power player today, obviously.

Last night Jack (the greatest boyfriend) and I got back from 2.75 days on Washington Island, Wisconsin. On the trip I baked cookies, ate venison, drank moonshine and walked on frozen Lake Michigan. Being back today is...challenging. Thus I will contribute nothing but a few images that are warming the cold cockles of my heart and which illustrate how - somehow and without warning - I am way behind the times.

Girls. I think it's brilliant and annoying and stylish and sexy, everything I want in my television. And I love this photo from a mid Season 1 episode. The show makes me miss the very few girlfriends I've ever had (Kelly, I'm thinking of you) and though it doesn't make me miss my 20s because they were messsssed up, it does make me miss the idea of my 20s. The biggest reason I like the show is that, unlike Sex and the City or most television, Girls doesn't make me hate my body, my clothes or my face. 

Pinterest. Holy shit. So, you are saying that instead of BUYING those expensive sweaters I find at La Garconne and ShopBob, I can scratch that itch by just pinning photos of them on my Pinterest boards? This is changing everything. I can post pictures of food and Joseph Gordon-Levitt? It's basically a sticker board, so it's fully awesome. I'm pin-ing: http://pinterest.com/rfons/

Frozen Lake Michigan, sunset. I almost burned an oven full of my aforementioned chocolate chip cookies because I was so taken by what this sunset looked like. If you listen carefully, you can hear the lake ice cracking. This video was taken outside my family's place on Washington Island, and for a minute this weekend, I decided to never leave.

In other news, I think I'm going to get bangs again. Cause side swept only works part of the time, half of the time.