the boring details

It's summer and about 135 degrees. Fahrenheit. That's 57-ish if you live in Canada. A girl from Canada stayed with us for a few days, and she was like, "Is it always like this, eh? I can't dry my hair." and I was like, "Dude, it is always like this in the summer, and think about it. You are only in the very top part of this country. When I lived in the bottom part of the country, I used to have nightmares about drying my hair."

Well, anyway, I've been spending a lot a lot of time eating Italian ice. Actually, I've been spending a lot of time eating Italian ice (in heels on a corner in the East Village, on a walk through Fort Greene, at a Carrol Gardens street fair, etc.) and some time trying to figure out if I have one dollar (or two dollars if the boy wants Italian ice, too) and if not, where I can get some cash, because mostly you can't charge Italian ice.

I have a sandal tan line. I think the last time I had a sandal tan, I was in high school. It is actually a tan line, not just dirt. Sometimes it is partly dirt. The rest of my tan lines I've been changing up: scoop-neck tank top from going to Target, slightly askew oxford-shirt V from going to Trader Joe's. Currently, the most distinct print is one spaghetti straps and one extra wide handbag strap.

~b

fall, and why maybe i'll write again

We’ve had weeks (months?) of take out containers and piles of laundry and I’ll-be-home-soons that turned into I’ll-be-home-in-time-to-fall-asleep-and-if-we’re-lucky-make-it-out-the-door-tomorrows. The run-downs turned into some sort of cold that started with a sore throat and ended with three days of intense nausea, which would have seemed unbelievable as a sickness if we hadn’t had identical symptoms. Thursdays have really been feeling like Fridays, and I’ve felt so threadbare as to be invisible enough for an automatic door at the grocery store close on me (literally-- it hit me in the shoulder) and to have strangers sit on me on the subway even more than usual.

Last weekend, we both had the same day off for the first time in ages, and after a day of apple picking with friends and watching movies in bed, I realized that, as much as I love his reassuring presence and the way the garbage disappears and clean laundry appears, I’d missed talking to him.

My busy season ended today; Ted’s is just getting starting. I left work at 3; he should be home before 8. I feel like celebrating being able to be a good girlfriend again along with the chill in the air.

I bought a six-pound butternut squash.



~beatrix

extracurriculars

“Wait. Doesn’t Ted care that you are out with me?”
“That would be hypocritical. And I’m with you. And. . . and we live in a studio. We’d go crazy if we didn’t leave once in a while.”

I had escaped with Pete into the well-air-conditioned world of an electronics showroom with comfortable sofas in Columbus Circle after a quick bite of Whole Foods sushi on what was not just the hottest day of the year, but the hottest day in six years. We were both sporting electric 3D glasses and settled in for a past-due chat about his recent write-up in a big publication and his current status with his (crazy) girlfriend and other Important Things.

“Well. . . No. . . . You wouldn’t worry about that.”
“About what?”
“You don’t worry about ending up with someone just because it’s there and you think you owe it to them.”
“I used to, but not anymore.”
“Right.”

The afternoon before was spent with John, who was in town for a few days and soon introduced to the oasis of the Temple of Dendur which, located inside the Met and with a view of the park, is the best place on the Upper East Side to spend an unrelentingly hot day.

Ted would have joined us, but let me go alone to catch up with an old friend when I decided that would probably be better. He went to the zoo and kept cool at the movies.

I love him and he knows. And I know that love is better when it’s more about trusting than about possessing. And we both know that you can’t keep love if you squeeze it too tight.

~beatrix

so. . . sorry. esp. about that salad dressing

I’m sorry I

-Cried when I had to walk to work in the snow
-Took an hour and half to get dressed because I was angry at my wardrobe
-Insisted that I had a staph infection on my face even though it was obviously just a pimple
-Fed you a vinaigrette I made with expired mustard
-Told you the mustard was expired but didn’t tell you it was expired by more than a year and a half
-Wasn’t fun at that birthday party and am so old that the sounds in clubs give me headaches
-Apologize, even at inappropriate times.

~beatrix

today, i will forgive it for not being spring yet.

i would write something for you today, but in case you haven't seen the news, it snowed a lot today. and it was the biggest, puffiest, most beautiful thing i have ever seen and i was late for work because i kept playing in it and just stopping to throw it in the air. i really considered skipping work to make a snowman, but then remembered how responsible i am.

if i wrote something for you, it would be full of revelations like "if you open your mouth, it snows in your mouth!" and "look! the snowflakes look like snowflakes!"

in case you forgot, i'm from a warm place.

~beatrix

in honor of what is reportedly the most depressing day of the year

I am tired of wearing boots and there’s not a number over freezing on the ten-day forecast and it’s still getting dark at 4:30. I’m not dressed at 5:30, and I’m not sure how long those dishes have been in my sink. I was going to do Projects before I have to go back to work on Monday, but maybe showering counts as a Project. Fruitcake does not count as dinner. I haven’t been drinking enough water.

Happy New Year.

I effing hate January.

I’m going to turn 28 on Tuesday. Twenty-eight seems old. I know the date and details of my 10-year high school reunion. I should have done Something by now. Maybe not getting fat counts as Doing Something.

I remember my parents when they were 28. I was five and they were grownups who were Responsible Caretakers.

I am Happy. I have a boyfriend I like and a job that other people want and some days I realize that I live a life of suburban daydreams. I have Plans and at least one really good Idea.

I am accepting invitations and finding activities, because I know that the clutching sensation at my back, creeping down the undersides of my arms is just from too many carbs and the January-ness of it all.

~beatrix

to happy new years

“It might snow today,” Ted’s phone thinks it’s so clever, but it didn’t tell us anything I didn’t know when I opened the curtains or anything he didn’t notice when he went outside to alternate his parking.

2009 ended a lot better than it started.

The snowflakes were so fat, and everything was already covered.

We ate lunch at a restaurant I’d never noticed before, even though it‘s in my own neighborhood. It’s a carriage house with plaid table cloths, blue willow on the walls, and the most beautiful omelette I’ve ever seen. I hope we remember where it is. It appeared so suddenly in our path, I hope it’s real.

“Have you ever made a snow angel?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Oh. I’ve never done it. I’m from a warm place, and IF there’s snow, and IF you flop down in it, you just get all soggy.”

I was taking my gloves off to touch the snow because they were new and I didn’t want them to get spotty. He threw himself on the ground and scissored his arms and legs.

There really wasn’t that much snow, and the sand of the Central Park bocce ball court showed through. I laughed.

“I’ve made sand angels. . . plenty of times at the beach.”

At the zoo, Ted voiced over the chinstrap penguins. I had decided they were from New Jersey, and the performance was miles better than Jersey Shore. He said I could get a bufflehead and let it live in the bathtub. The crane was shivering in the snow. (I’m pretty sure he needed some very long skinny socks.) And the red panda hasn’t escaped, as I suspected, but was padding around in his fur like footie pyjamas.

I wore my new earmuffs, and they kept my ears toasty.

We warmed up and read in bed, set an alarm just in case, and woke up two hours later.

The party part was fine, but we decided we should have our own next year. If you have your own New Year’s Eve party, you don’t have to go outside. I think ours will be pyjama and breakfast themed.

~beatrix

p.s. loveharder.org

p.p.s. please be my friend on twitter because if not i don't want to play anymore. beatrix_here

time lapse

I was wearing summer clothes, but the morning felt slightly more like fall. Time has been moving so fast. When I first met Ted, it wasn’t even spring yet. It’s been significantly more than four months. We’ve broken some sort of record, and I guess I’ve sort of settled into it.

That’s what I was thinking. This is what I was wearing: a navy tank top, a kelly green mini skirt, gold flip-flops, and gold aviators. I looked like summer.

And when I rounded the corner by work, there was snow in the gutters and doorways.

It wasn’t a dream or a meaningful cinematic time-lapse or a metaphor-become-real, just every day around here. People were huddled around an enormous camera, and someone tried to steer me out of the shot. They were just filming something I’ll probably never see.

~beatrix

an open letter

Dear Harper,

Last night Ted and I picked up some Vietnamese coffee and bahn mi for dinner. For a little excitement, we decided to eat on his roof. The sandwiches weren’t quite as good as the ones I get at this sketchy place in Chinatown, but the weather was nice since it had finally cooled off and I could see at least one star. We decided that were are sort of boring, but that we’re learning to live with it.

But then, six stories above the growl of traffic and two above the chatter of a roof-top dinner party, in view of a window-silhouetted girl at a desk and the Empire State building, we had upright, clinging-to-each-other, shouting-into-his shoulder roof sex. And we decided we’re not really that boring after all.

love

~beatrix

maybe the worst children's book ever

“If this was a children’s book, it would be called Ted and Trix and the Torrential Downpour.”

“Or Ted and Trix Should Have Taken a Cab.”

It had seemed like a good idea to walk back to his place when we started. And it still seemed like a fine idea when it started sprinkling. And then it seemed silly to stop once we were halfway, even though it was pouring.

We had one umbrella between us, and it wasn’t helping much. And I wasn’t helping much by walking erratically, trying not to get my boots full of water.

“I have waterproof boots, but they aren’t as cute as these.”

“At least I think it’s slowed down.”

Which was practically a request to the heavens for the hardest rain they could muster. There were no longer rain drops at all, just solid sheets.

So by the time we did get to his apartment we were soaked and my boots were full of water and my hair was enormous. But it wasn’t so bad. My hair had stayed nice long enough for me to meet his mom and to realize she’s not terrifying but cute and would probably make you delicious dinner. And I get the feeling that I’m just one in a steady stream of girls, but I’m more comfortable with that than with this being a special occasion. And the boy held my hand for all three hours of The Merchant of Venice, the story of a Christian versus a Jew.


~beatrix

happy spring

It’s finally springtime.

So I’m sniffly, itchy, making out in that gazebo subway entrance, daydreaming about waking up with Simon, naming the babies I’m going to have with Pete, and planning my wedding to Dev (who might or might not know I exist).

At least it’s finally warm.

~beatrix

lightening

The first springtime thunderstorm and a broken bathtub: can anything make you want a boyfriend more?

Maybe that anxiety attack lurking just below your ribcage.

~beatrix