40 hours

How do you all regular folks get it done?

(By regular folks, I mean folks with 40+ hour work weeks).

I have been unemployed since May, and I have never been busier in my life. And no! It's NOT all time spent looking for a job (although I do that every day). I cook, I clean, I run errands, I make phone calls, I go to appointments... just the business of being me takes up all my time. I am not even finding time to work out, people. I am booked. (To be fair, I am running the kitchen for my roommate LAS and I. And I sometimes run errands for her too).

Of course, sooner or later, carpet bombing New York City with my resume is going to mean I'll get a job. But when I do, who will take out the trash and sweep the kitchen floor? Who will make the phone calls? Who will go to the post office, stop by the pharmacy, braise the chicken?

I just don't get it.



Other news: I am doing well. About ten times a day, I think of something new to feel grateful for. Feeling content, calm and happy is something I am not used to, but I would like it to last. The only way I know to make "it" last is to say gratitude prayers and make gratitude lists. Anyone else have a method of hanging onto happy?

Boundaries? Not really.

I have about seven minutes (perhaps less) to post before I must return to my living room and join my roommate for a back episode of Project Runway.

What's that, you ask? Nina... has a roommate?

Yes. Yes, Nina does. LAS and I are now roommates in New York City. What's that? You think it's really risky to move in with someone you met on the internet?

Well... for me, this move involved relocating about 2 miles east. For LAS, it involved relocating about 883 miles east. Bigger risk for her for sure. Plus we have been getting to know each other for... four years. That's long enough.

And what about the old advice that you should never become roommates with your best friend?

Well... this is about the most uncomplicated and unconfusing decision I have ever made in my life. I have no doubt this is going to work out, whatever smart people might say about boundaries. LAS has been here a week and we are having tons of fun.

So how are all of you?

Try this

Cossette is getting married soon, as you all know if you read the previous post --- also, I just told you. So she is trying to get more exercise so she will look hot in her dress. OH. In case any of you care about such things:



If you are a girl or a woman or a friend of a girl or woman, you know you need some tight abs to look good in that dress. TIGHT. ABS.

So we've been having a little contest. Each day we hit the floor and do as many crunches as we can without stopping and email each other the number.

Reader, give it a try. Get on the floor, do as many crunches as you can without stopping, and comment your number. (No fibbing!) Highest number gets a present from me.

Perfect, perfect

Item the first: Please go immediately to P's blog and lavish upon her the love and devotion that is her due. Heaven never dreamed up a more beautiful bride. I mean it. Go and give love to the most beautiful bride in the history of marital perfection.

Item the second: I had grand plans for my future. They included me never going on another date as long as I lived, vacationing every year with my friend Cossette, playing board games together until we both grew old, selecting the same retirement community and dying at precisely the same moment of some painless and unknown ailment. It was the perfect plan.

Cossette met someone. Two months ago. And guess what? She is getting married in Vegas on the 21st of September. This is not perfect for me, but I have met the man who has destroyed my life's agenda, and I must say he is perfect for her. And about that, I could not be more pleased.

So now I need someone else to grow old with. Anyone play monopoly?

Three minute post

My flight boards in three minutes, so I have three minutes to tell you that my boss offered to write me a letter of recommendation and I now have until December to decide what to do.


This is welcome news.

Also, I am more confused than ever about what to do. But at least now I have more time to be confused.

Here is a picture for you:



That is me, Tex, and Tess in Iceland. Very overserved.

I love you because you are so beautiful, and I can't help myself.

Owning the slow lane

Today I went to the gym. (I have gone to the gym every day since January 1st). (I am still not hot).

But so anyway I was at the gym and I figured since I had the swim suit with me I would swim laps after my normal work out, you know, sort of like bonus calorie burning.

(Digression: I swam competitively in college, which is to say I drank a whole lot and then compensated for it by showing up to practice each afternoon and gasping my way through a division three work out in the SLOW lane. I was never in it for crushing other people with my speed and prowess. I was into detoxification and, to be perfectly honest... perfect form. I thought of nothing as I swam those laps (NOTHING! NOTHING!) except perfect form (oh and maybe should I sleep with my BFF's boyfriend... yes or no?).

So today dove into the slow lane and OH MY...

I cannot begin to tell you what the water felt like. Memories of all those mid afternoons and early mornings spent lapping back and forth across the pool rushed back my limbs and suddenly I was half way across the pool and oh my God... it was, no joke, heaven. If there is a heaven, mine has a long course swimming pool. With the little flags over the top for backstrokers.

Happy. Glide, glide, breathe glide, flip, glide, etc.

Then someone else got in my lane, and that is when the second most unexpected thing happened. I got, how you say, aggressive. Almost hostile. I had to be faster than she was and I made damn sure I was. Glide, glide, breathe flip truned into a ferocious attention to gaining time on the turns and stepping up tempo and breathing efficiently SO I COULD CRUSH THE ENEMY.

(I crushed her).

But seriously, I was surprised at myself. A lot. I haven't seen that person in a long, long time. In college, I owned the slow lane. I was the fastest person in it and my form was exquisite, but I lost races. I was just not that fast. I lived with it. I had big boobs and I drank a lot so I figured I was doing the best I could given my physical and personal limitations.

But now, at forty, with even bigger boobs, and serious limitations I won't even begin to list, all that losing has caught up with me. I don't want to be slow anymore. Or medium with good form WHATEVER ALREADY. I want to win.

And all this has me thinking: what happened? I am not competitive. I don't compare myself to others. I feel good about others' achievements. I like not standing out. RIGHT?

Well, hell if I know. In the pool at least, I am just not that person anymore. It makes me wonder what else about me is changing. (I'll take change. Pretty much everything about me is material for revision).

Love love love. It's the only thing that matters. (Ok, that and winning).

Place Holder

In order to maintain my "back" status, I am posting this uselessness.

Is it useless?

It depends.

Have you heard of Joseph Arthur?

....

Good heavens.

....

Get you some.

Daisy

Today I was walking to the Cooper Square Post Office and I was breathing the delicious new summer air and feeling just excellent. I thought it could get no better. But then it did.

About ten paces ahead of me was a kid, black variety, about 14 or 15 years old. T-shirt so big the sleeves ran on past his elbows. He was carrying a big bouquet of flowers - many peonies and roses and daisies. Just excellent.

So I walked about ten paces behind him for a few blocks, and then as happens often in New York, the traffic light stopped us at the corner of 6th and Bowery. There were three of us on the corner: me, kid, and woman, white variety, who had to be 100 years old sporting a sassy straw hat and pulling a wheeled back pack.

Of course, normally when people stop at corners to wait for the light to change, nothing happens between the stranded pedestrians except maybe eaves-dropping or shoe examinations.

This was so much more excellent.

The kid, standing between me and the sassy hat lady, surveyed his enormous bouquet, selected a beautiful, perfect daisy, and handed it to Sassy Hat, and said. "This one is for you, beautiful lady."

Sassy Hat was so delighted. She giggled. She threaded the stem into her hat and strutted across the street with her wheely pack as if she were the most beautiful creature in the world. And it made my day, which was already excellent, much more excellent.




How was your day?


Love,

Nina

PS I am little bit racist maybe to identify their varieties. I think. Maybe? I can't tell. If I am a little bit racist you can tell me and I won't get mad.