A Leap

The Texan took this of me...It's so far, my all-time favorite photo (for now). It's me taking a leap, being the forever hopeful. It was back in 2007. We were at our almost-secret place in Louisiana for a second time. It was such so picturesque and unassuming yet intense, that place. The kind of place that made you feel tingly all over from the sweetness in the air. and the kind of place where you can leave everything up to happy chances and no plans are necessary. the kind of place that when said out loud, all of my crazy idiosyncrasies sounded endearing like my love for crepes, all kinds of crepes any time of day, savory and dessert, and my phobia of hand-shakes...yes all of those weird things about me...he found delightful...in that place. right there, the garden by the lake.

it's 2009. it's the craziest of times. i'm newly married. with a husband. a real husband. the kind that wants a real meal on the table everynight but is too sweet to expect me to slave in the kitchen. the kind who grinds away on his laptop every night, making deals happen because he sort of promised me the universe. the kind of guy who does our laundry every Sunday and shrinks every beautiful sweater I have from Anthropologie and kisses me good morning every morning. and i don't know how i got here. to this place. where life keeps wanting to lurch forward. when i just everything to stand still. unmoving, in this newlywed stage, when tenderness pervades every moment, where dinner every other night is candlelit and he brings me tea in my favorite pink daisy cup...AND AND...i want my mama to stay the way she is and i want my adorable nephew Izzie to stay 3 years old for at least another ten years, until i'm ready for him to go to pre-school. and i want to stay in this perceived state of half-adult, indefinitely, forever. i want to stay little miss obsessive and not get over people's insensitivities because getting infuritated and staying infuriated is always more fun anyway. i want to stay always in love with Marc Jacobs, although I am slightly peeved that he up and got married to some Brazilian without warning me. but i know...things wane. and things get old.

Boy, am I an old maid. Long gone are the days when I used to bar-hop from the West Village to the East Village with my forever New York Girl and our dimpled chauffeur from Brooklyn. We'd stay out until 4 am, sometimes 5, but never made it home before 3 am, she the ever effortless social butterfly, and me sampling the girly shots at the bar, what with a designated driver and all. On those nights, our goal is to always dance freely, get a few of the fellas' numbers, and leave just as classily as we arrived.

This past Saturday night, I put on my signature black leather bomber and finally made it out to an East Village bar for one of my closest gal pal's "I'm moving to L.A." fete. The scene was hip and the air electric, I'm walking amidst happening divas hitting it up with the downtown boys to find my friend for a hug, a special ruby-concocted drink and a begrudging kiss farewell. It was easy, she was the only one wearing a tiara. After a few "hey babys" and some unnecessary, unaccidental nuzzling, I left the scene and walked out into the crisp spring air, capped by a planet-speckled night sky, exhaled loudly and thought, yes..I'm too old for this crowd. I hopped into a taxi and thought about what was waiting for me back at my UpperWestSide apartment: a warm bed...and a warm guy.

I still get celebrity crushes...and I'll nurse them until the clouds condense and I fall hard to the ground. It all seems very adolescent and foolish, but it's fun to visit fantasyland once in awhile. However, I've never been partial to the pretty boys of Hollywood, not Leonardo, neither Brad Pitt, and I never quite understood the appeal of George Clooney. Instead, I've always been drawn to the altruistic, flawed guys with the huge chip on their shoulders. The guy who falls ferociously in love with you, but still turns his back on you because he's got another life to save, another mission to complete. The kind of guy who jumps out of windows onto a waiting horse and gallops in hot pursuit of the bad guys, or the kind of guy who will single-handedly hunt down an entire gang of mobsters to avenge his ladylove. For this reason, Kiefer Sutherland for the longest time, held a sole monopoly on my affections. Pierce Brosnan too, also had a strong hold onto a tiny crevice of my heart for being the best James Bond ever. And now it's come to...Hayden Christensen. I loved him as Anakin Skywalker. There was always something dark and brooding about him and that was the kicker. I fell...

It was the same way with the Texan. He's this sweet, kind, country-homegrown Catholic mama's boy who saved me from that debacle years ago, when I lost my innocence, when I thought every shred of young was ripped out of me...and I lost that dreaminess that always made me, me....he came along, took me for a spin and made the rescue. he said, "come to the show." and I've been addicted ever since.

Delicious Mediterranean tapas in an intimate alcove of a Spanish restaurant with my favorite New Yorkers. All-you-can-eat tacos at Mercadito in Alphabet City on a lazy Sunday afternoon. People and puppy-watching in Central Park and drinking fruit punch in the warm spring breeze. Holding hands with the Texan as we meander through the East Village, pondering in which neighborhood we should buy our starter apartment...yes, I had the perfect weekend...

I started shooting still life recently and this is my favorite shot.

It's 70 degrees today. Finally a taste of spring in New York and I'm ecstatic. I'm digging out my vintage-print Kenneth Cole espadrilles and I'm going out for a little skip.

A Southern Rite

When the Texan and I go back to Houston, the first place we always go to is Thai Spice. We always order the pan-fried Tilapia, steamed mussels, and sauteed veggie delight with tofu. Washed all of that down with a Thai Iced Tea and I can nap happy.

Tall Tales

Do you ever just wake up one morning birthing completely different convictions from the day before? Last night, after watching the movie "August Rush" on my Continental flight into Houston, TX, I decided right then and there, that I was going to follow what practicality has always feared: becoming the next Kandinsky. And then I woke up this morning and I was a wannabe hard-core advertising exec once again.

What a tale it is, to be spoiled by options. I once met a megalomaniac at a bar on 35th Street and he told me that his only vice was being spoiled by options.

What kind of options, I asked.

"Oh you know. Brunettes from my job. Brunettes in the apartment above mine. And now, you."

I snorted and took a sip of my rum. And then I glared. At this physically flawed, blue-eyed man in the expensive Dior shirt. How is it, that YOU, have that many options, I thought. Maybe it was New York that produced him, this megalomanic, walking around in circles and circles thinking he had all the time in the world to hunt for whatever and whoever it was, that was worthy of him "giving up his freedom," that one thing that makes him say "i do. now and forever." not caring whose heart he trampled on.

But...maybe I'm one of him too. Because I've dabbled Here and There. Explored some of those options. All for my self-gratification...because for once, I wanted to live and live only for me. Not what my southern family wanted, not what my love wanted. Because once I started living for me, it was sooo damn hard to stop....