Special Agent: Change

The man who cares for the plants in my office is a remarkable person. He's intelligent and perceptive and filled with all sorts of artistry and creativity. It's quite late, and I need to get some sleep before work tomorrow, so this will be short... but the plant man said something to me that has been marinating for a few days now and it's worth repeating:

"Remember that we are all alchemists,
Do not wait until death to be a shape shifter."

That resonated with me. It struck a chord. I'll probably never forget it, actually. Change is not only a good thing, it's attainable and not something that needs to be frightening and intimidating. The trick is to embrace the change and go with it. Fear and pain come into play when you fight the change. So, don't fight it. Don't wait until it's too late to better yourself. Lesson from the plant man.

This is how they fuck you

Joe Pesci plays the annoying little guy in the Lethal Weapon series of movies. In the third one his most memorable rant is about "how they fuck you". It's always something, he insists. If it's not the cell phones then it's the soda machies, but it's usually the cell phones. They cost too much to begin with and then they cut off your call and force you to call back, costing you more minutes - that's how they fuck you. Pesci is beyond convincing that it's just a matter of a bad signal area. It's nothing short of a weasely little way to get one over on you and drain your wallet.

I feel the same way about rental trucks.

You see, I'm not a stingy person who can't stand to part with her money under any circumstance. I'm a full believer in "you get what you pay for", but when it comes to moving, you don't get what you pay for, you pay for whatever you can get and still keep your shirt - not even a good shirt, the crappy one with the hole in the armpit that hasn't fit you since you shrunk it 2 summers ago and now only sees the light of day when you're involved in some sort of activity that involves getting dirty and the possibility of ruining any article of good clothing.

I don't have a lot of stuff, in fact I have so little stuff that I don't need even the smallest of small moving vans. I only need a cargo van. Problem: cargo vans are practically never rented one way so if you're moving anywhere outside your current home's reasonable driving radius you're screw-topped worse than a bottle of Big House Red. Since I don't have enough stuff to fill a 10' moving truck (and that's the smallest they have) it would be a big waste to rent one, but for shits & giggles I checked it out. You know what I found? The range of prices quoted to me went from $1,400 - outrageous - to $2,600 - preposterous. No joke. That's how they fuck you.

Plan B (courtesy of the man, who is much smarter than me in times of immediate stress [and probably most of the time, now that I think about it]) consists of renting a mini van and packing it all in. It makes sense, and it's much less expensive - $600. We're going to have one hell of a road trip as we make our way to FL. It should be fun. Well, it should be fun and it will either be fun or brutal. I'm putting my money on the fun. Loves me that smarty man.

Halfway Home, not Halfway House

I did it today. I gave my notice that I'm resigning from my job and moving to Miami. Whew! What a relief!

Sort of... It is definitely a relief in the sense that I don't have it hanging over my head anymore just waiting for the perfect moment to discuss it with my boss. The truth is that there is no perfect moment to quit any position. But this timing happened to be strangely synchronistic. I had decided that I needed to talk to my boss in the next couple of days to tell him I'm leaving and to figure out how much notice I could give. Well, this morning he walked in and told me he resigned yesterday and that his last day will be next Wednesday. Sort of opened the door for me... so, I walked right in and said there's no time like the present to talk about shitty timing, and I'm leaving, too. It was actually quite funny. I'm going to stay another month and then head down south. He said he was glad I was doing something I want to do and he wishes me the best. I mean c'mon, what else is he going to say at this point, right? He's jumping ship (albeit for a better job, a much more impressive title, and a heftier paycheck), why not the rest of us rats? I just hope that we're able to find someone to take my place before I go. I don't want to leave the other 2 teammates in the lurch. But now it seems that no matter how long or little I stay they'll be saddled with a much larger workload. I'll do my bset to finish out the projects I have going now and get the ones starting soon into a position where they can be easily taken over. That's about all I can do. I'm going to do everything I can to make it as painless on the other 2 as possible. I just don't know how successful I'm going to be at that. It's one thing for the bossman to leave, it's another for me to go, too and leave them with double workload to distribute. I know, I know - not really my problem. Would they have these same feelings if they were the ones leaving me? Who knows. What I do know is that I need to get over it.

Now - it's time to start packing! (again!)

Bathroom Un-humor

You know what sucks? I'll tell you. Being stuck in the bathroom with intestinal issues that could double over a pro wrestler. This is not a once in awhile type problem for me. You'd think I'd have it figured out by now. I've done everything I know to do - I've cut out certain foods/groups of foods, I've taken lactose intolerance meds just in case that was the problem, I've added more fiber to my diet. Nothing, no results. Sometimes I think cheese makes me sick, sometimes a steak will do it, sometimes I think it might be citrus. But, most of the time I'm simply clueless about what the hell my problem is.

From what I've read online it seems that I have stress-induced IBS. That sucks. It's not something I can get a prescription for and be done with it. I can alter my diet, although there is no guarantee that the intestinal gurgling and subsequent unpleasant bathroom experiences will subside. I need to find a gastrointestinal specialist who can tell me definitively what my afflicition is and what the best course of action is to counteract the nasty symptoms. I'm just very sick of being sick. This morning I woke up feeling like there was something sharp & spikey sitting in my belly. Not one of my favorite sensations, that's for sure. I'll go a week being fine, and then *boom* I'm stuck in the bathroom, sick as a dog.

Speaking of dogs, I miss Duke.

Like a Polaroid Pitchaaaah...

I shook it. I shook it for hours. It rocked. Last night I had a great night of comedy and dancing until my legs felt as if they may turn to limp noodles right there on the dance floor. JC & I had gone for a jog in Prospect Park earlier in the day, so we already had a good work out notched in our belts. We went to the comedy show, got a bite to eat, and then were lured into a bar by the infectious sounds of 80s infused goodness that came wafting out to us as we passed on the sidewalk.

Talk about spinning right 'round, baby right 'round, like a record baby, right 'round. We spun, swung, shook, swaggered, and swerved literally for hours. It had been quite a while since I'd gone dancing, and I had honestly forgotten how much fun it is. Our little group was awesome last night. We were so high-energy and had such a great time laughing and dancing our asses off. I hope we get to do it again sometime soon, because I had the best time. It's a good feeling to be with a group of people who really want to have fun and aren't shy about shaking their money makers on the floor.

p.s. To the chick behind the hot dog counter - karma will get you. Bad surly attitudes are nothing to be proud of. If you hate your job so much perhaps you should find a new one. Just a suggestion. This life is far too short to spend very much time doing work you can't stand. Plus, a smile never hurt anyone. I realize that one of your many lip piercings may be new, and you don't want to stretch that part of your face out too much, but even half a grin would be so much more attractive than your standard-issue scowl. My 2 cents...

Take your beating like a man, Doubt!

One of the biggest struggles in my 27 years has been self-doubt. That nagging, awful internal ghoul that lurks in the darkness that makes me question my motives and all that I set out to do. It's not constant, but it is a perisistent bugger.

I've found that many of my closest friends have fought themselves on any number of issues. Fighting oneself is probably the most difficult of bouts. My friends approach things with strategies quite contrary to my own, but the goal is the same - win the fight and overcome the demons inside, the ones that tell you "no" or "you're really not cut out to accomplish this" and even "quit now, you'll never get there, you're not nearly good enough and how dare you think you might be".

This impending move to Miami is something that I know is a good thing. By leaving New York I give myself a chance to breath, to be with the man I love, to give myself a chance to grow a relationship that is one of the most rewarding things I've had in my life. I want to be there. I want to be with him. There is no question, no doubt about that. The doubt lies in what I'm going to be able to accomplish in terms of design, fashion, success in business. Can I do more here? Can I do more there? Can I do anything at all if I don't get these doubt demons to leave me alone long enough to work up the courage to get my clothes out there - get them in the hands of the people that matter? That has nothing to do with geography, only my own damn shortcomings in the confidence department.

So, what do I do about this? I keep plugging away, making clothes, and those clothes have got to get on some bodies who have influence. They've got to get on the radar screens of some people who know people who know people. And the only way for that to happen is for me to make it happen. It needs to happen here and it needs to happen when I get to Miami. No ifs ands or buts. The doubt can't win this round. If I'm not letting doubt hold me back from moving to a new city where I know one person (even if that person is my favorite person) then there's no rational reason that I should let it stop me from becoming the success that I know I can and should be. No fucking way.

The Duke!

Duke. That's his name - the dog. The luckiest dog in the world has a name and it's a good one. Ellington was a fantastic musician and from what the man tells me tonight Duke is exhibiting some musical skills of his own - he's got an impressive snore.

I miss Duke and the man very much tonight. I had a wonderful weekend with them.

Dog Days

You know what I like a whole lot? Puppies. They're on my what-makes-me-happy list and for good reason. Today a very cool thing happened. I'm down in Miami visiting my new home and my man (don't I sound like Katie Holmes talking about Tom Cruise? "My man" - oy vey, she got on my nerves last night on Letterman) and we went to pick up our new dog this morning. He's a rescued pooch who was found wandering in some farmland south of Miami, where there is no water or food to be found if you're of the canine variety and you don't have opposable thumbs or indoor plumbing.

He was very gaunt (he's supposed to be around 100 lbs. or so), he was so skinny you could see only ribs & bones, he had lost all of his fur because it fell out due to mange and malnutrition, his back leg was dislocated and he was severely dehydrated. A very kind woman was driving along the road and spotted him. Lucky for him, she had just driven through McDonald's and picked up a couple of Big Macs. She unwrapped one and set it on the passenger seat... pooch climbed up and scarfed it down. That was mid-April. Since then he was taken very good care of by a generous vet and his staff. This guy is awesome (he travels the world helping sick animals and you can just tell the man has a heart of gold) - he took such good care of the dog that he's put almost all his weight back on (still has about 15 lbs. to go, I'd say), his fur has almost all grown back, his skin is almost all healed up, and he's the nicest animal I think I've ever met. He's so grateful, he nuzzles up to you like he's a cat, w/o regard for his own size. I'm convinced he thinks he's a Yorkie or something.

The folks at the vet's office were calling him Mister. I don't know if that will stick, but whatever his name is he's Lucky, that's for sure. And we're lucky, too - because we have the sweetest big boy of a dog we ever could have hoped for. Maybe Mac - for Big Mac. A friend suggested Ronald, maybe Frieswiththat. Mickey might work. Mickey D. Any suggestions?

Home is where my heart is

I know full well that I'm not the first person to ever be head over heels about someone. I do, really. I'm not a complete idiot. But here's the thing - as much as I know that it sure feels like this is the most unique, life-changing, mind-blowing experience had by anyone who has ever lived. And the best part is that it's mine. Mine. Well, mine and his. He being the man. The Miami mastermind. The big daddy of the design world and most luscious of brilliant lovers. Oooh weeee, he makes me nuts. In a good way, of course. Gawd damn, I said gawd damn.

The fact that this man thinks highly enough of me and has enough faith in our relationship to ask me to move into his home with him is something that moves me just as much now, if not more, than the day he asked me. There are some things that can't accurately be captured in words, such are my feelings for him. He inspires me to think big and feel truly and laugh and cry and sing in the shower and gaze at the moon and wish on stars and aim higher and love harder and speak softer and listen intently and hug like it might be the last time and always, always, always want to be the best me possible. There are no words to capture how much I love him. I can't wait to be able to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and wake up next to him knowing that I don't have to go home in a few days... because home is where we are.