until october 2039...

...i am owned by the bank. why, you ask? because i bought a house. or as my dad put it, i fulfilled one of the american dreams: i became a homeowner. and even though i don't technically move into the house until next week, and thus making today ever so slightly anti-climatic, i am very, very excited. i felt like i signed my life away at closing with all the papers that bear my autograph. and i thought signing an apartment lease was bad. i chickened out of buying the washer and dryer, and now i slightly regret this - only slightly, because that's a pretty big bill as well. and after all, spending thousands upon thousands of dollars in one day is exhausting. i may go to bed soon, and it's not even 9 p.m.

i have felt in the past year that none of the growing i was doing was good enough. sure, i had a job - but my friends are getting married. sure, my car was paid off - but my friends were having babies. i got the idea in my head that buying a home would help me grow. it would put me on the same level, because in my head, nothing is worse than being left behind, especially not when everyone else is having all the fun. so last may, i met with a realtor and started this process. almost five months later, i am a homeowner. my intentions may not have been ideal, but the end result isn't one i regret at all.

and - it has to be said - some of those friends who got married are no where near ready to buy a home. so i do have one leg up on them.

the growing continues.

bless this band

coldplay and something corporate will always be favorites. but there is no band like sigur rós. they're from iceland, so i can't understand what they're saying. but even if i spoke icelandic (it's really a language), i still wouldn't be able to understand them all the time, because sometimes they speak vonlenska, or hopelandic - basically a nonsense language. lead singer jón Þór "jónsi" birgisson made this language up specifically for his music. most of their songs are long, six to eight minutes usually, and a lot of times they're just instrumental. their albums range from way out there - ( ) is fascinating in that it's different than anything i've heard (and yes, ( ) is the name of the album) to more traditional (i use that word loosely with this band), like the one i just downloaded, Ágætis byrjun (translated: "a good beginning"), which has some of the most melodic sigur rós songs i've heard.

one of the best things i love about sigur rós is that they're completely open to interpretation. every song on the album ( ) was untitled, though they did include nicknames for each song. the pages in the album cover were blank, so people could write in their own lyrics (as most of the songs are instrumental). even the name of the album is available for each listener to decide for themselves.

but probably the best thing is that sigur rós is just so different. there is no comparison i can point out to this band, no one out there i've found who comes close (though if you have ideas, please let me know!). i am not one to go for "out-there" music, but there is something about the way they string notes together with random instrumental combinations and jónsi's haunting falsetto. it's the most evocative, emotional, powerful music i've ever heard. i don't know what they're saying, and more importantly, i don't need to. it doesn't matter. the sounds are enough.

* under the did-you-know category of the day, "bless" is actually good-bye in icelandic. i love that the word for farewell is also a lovely word in english. and also that's probably the only word i'll ever be able to pronounce in icelandic. vonlenska, anyone?

that was then

i was in a classroom, barely watching the tv, more interested in the issue of the newspaper coming out in a few days or a week or two weeks. i saw out of the corner of my eye "the sears tower" on the crawl, and everyone gasped, but they were only evacuating it.

in the next class, we watched the news. we saw someone falling. they were wearing red or brown or green, as if it matters, tumbling like a doll.

i was expected to concentrate in algebra, and all i wanted to do was scream at my teacher, are you serious? do you really think my mind is on equations today?

we didn't have to concentrate in english. we got to write our feelings. i was working on some meaningless thing about smoke and fire and darkness when a siren went blaring down the street. even though we knew - we knew we were ok, we were thousands of miles away, no one would attack boring indiana - our heads still went up, our blood still pounded. for two seconds we were there.

we went to annette's house for lunch, so we could watch the news. on the way back i leaned my head out the window to a sky: blue, cloudless, empty. no planes. i remember thinking how strange that was. i couldn't understand. but that was then.

book diverson: "shelter me"

i have to write one of these when i read a really good book, especially one that's not a romance, since that's so rare for me - plus i won't be reading new romances for a while, since i can't stomach the judgmental librarians at the cbus library (only, only reason i miss indy - computer checkout at the library!). plus when your grandmother hands you a book and says, "read this," you should.

"shelter me" is a debut novel, and it is biting with wit and humor and laughter, which is slightly strange because it's a story about a terribly sad event - a woman whose husband died in a freak accident, leaving her a single mother to two young children. the book follows her first year without her husband, a year of lots of downs and lots of ups, and even some surprises - like when a contractor shows up a few months after her husband's death to build the porch her husband had planned for her.

juliette fay has created a lovely story that is written in the spirit of billie letts or lorna landvik, both writers that i love. they have a very conversational tone about them, less lyrical and deceptively descriptive. i can easily hear janie, the heroine of the book (because she really is a heroine if there ever was one) saying the things she says, just as i can taste the indian pudding one of the characters brings to thanksgiving dinner. i loved the cover of the book with the quilt sheltering the two people, because that's what the book felt like to me, an achingly sad, yet hopeful place that i escaped to for two lovely hours. my grandmother was right. read this.

no more indy

my shoulders feel so much lighter now that i am finally out of my apartment. it took many trips back up to the north side, but thanks in a HUGE part to my dad, brother and mom, i'm out. finally. FINALLY. i loved my apartment, my first home that i paid for and organized and was responsible for. but i am so, so happy to be done with it. it's such a hike, and i was sick of the traffic and the driving and the everything. i was done, ready to move on, which is the perfect place to be in when it's actually time to move on. there was no sentiment, unusual for me, as i left, mostly because the things that had made the apartment mine - my stuff - was gone. it was just an empty living space with a few more nicks on the walls and stains on the carpet (thanks hamlet). now my mom's house is literally overflowing with my stuff in boxes and bags and thrown everywhere. i need to get to my own place pronto. i can't wait.

20 pounds in 30 days?

you've got to be kidding me. but that's what it says on the front of the dvd. 20 pounds in 30 days, gone from my tall, tall frame. i'm a big girl, no question (38D, what what!), but those pounds from college - ok, really from freshman year - have lingered and lingered. the few times i was dedicated to the gym, i did lose some weight - and i was actually able to pull myself up on the tube from the water, something i'd never been able to do, a true testament to my hard work. so i'm doing it again, trying to be healthy, because in the end it's really not about losing weight and i like my curves.

(*side note: girls who are sizes 00-6 do not have curves. i'm sorry, but you don't. and i have absolutely no sympathy for you. people.com describing this girl in the caption as curvy really fucking pissed me off. sorry, i couldn't find the original caption, but that she-waif was actually referred to as curvy.)

so here i am, day 2, lying in a pool of sweat, ready to kill jillian michaels. i wasn't sore today per say. but i cannot do a push-up to save my life, and she has me doing 30 seconds of them. 20 pounds my ass. which may be how much it actually weighs.

my cousin frankie

my cousin frankie, who i consider my best friend – she will be my matron of honor some day – is getting married this weekend. i never had a sister, unlike frankie, and I always considered her my sister. we lived an hour apart, but we were together a ton during my childhood. I spent a few days of spring break every year at her house. our slumber parties usually consisted of four of us snuggled in a bed together, me putting everyone to sleep with a made-up story.

once when we were watching oprah, she had several doctors that specialized in sex education on her show. one was the author of "what your mother never told you about sex." frankie and i immediately went out and bought it at borders, giggling the whole time, especially when the check-out guy said, "yeah, we usually sell a lot of these when oprah has the author on her show." we proceeded to read the book to each other poolside, with a magazine hiding the cover. for a few years we passed the book back and forth, until aunt cathy - frankie's mom - found it, we think, and threw it away.

another time we were in sanibel together and decided to put fake tattoos on our butts. frankie's was a lovely star shooting out of her crack. we took a picture to memorialize the event that i found years later, still laughing as i looked at our beautiful behinds.

we used to walk around in our bikinis to make the son of my grandmother's neighbor notice us.

i peed my pants in the movie rental store when frankie suggested a movie called "concealed weapon" for my brother - with a picture complete with a gun hidden in a woman's lacy stocking.

frankie found dozens of letters i had sent her when we were little, before even the land line phones were available to me. i usually told her stories about my snake or my school or dance lessons.

i always wanted to be frankie. i wanted to wear what she wore, do what she did. i'll never forget how happy i was that she was copying me when she decided to try flute lessons. she didn't last on the flute, but it was the fact that my heroine was emulating me that made me so happy.

we had endless shopping trips together, shared bottles of wine, made desserts out of a box that were the yummiest cakes or cookies or brownies. we spent holidays tucked into my grandparents' bed, watching parades and christmas movies that we had seen a thousand times. we laughed at the absurdity of our mothers, at ourselves when we were young, at the stupid things we had done in college. we called each other when we started working, lamenting how tired we were or how far away we lived. it figured the minute i moved to her hometown, she was 10 hours away in minneapolis, a day-long car ride, a $300 plane ticket. suddenly holidays were the highlight, if only because i got to see frankie. i always planned on naming a daughter after her, and accidentally told her that one evening after too much pinot grigio.

and now she's getting married, the first of the 12 grandkids to do so. and i love her husband-to-be. when i walked in his sparkling clean condo and had a rice krispie he made for us on the spot after frankie mentioned she was "hungry for dessert," i knew he was perfect. and, as my aunt cathy tipsily said to a party guest, they will make beautiful babies.

but first we all have to get through the wedding of the year. frankie will go on her honeymoon, and i'll go visit her in november, my married cousin, all grown up. it's how it should be.

fall fashion

diversion post alert: even though it's still august, which means it's sticky and hot in indiana, fall - or at least september - is right around the corner. i can't wait to start wearing my fall clothes, though i can live without the cold for a while! the stores of course have all started putting out their fall clothes, which makes me pine for my cozy sweaters and tights even more. the great thing about some fall trends is that they're mostly classic. forget the leggings and gauchos of the past - if you invest in these pieces, they'll work for seasons to come, instead of being one-note clothes. some of my must-haves for fall:

long sweaters

one of my favorite trends, as this is one that will work long after they're popular. these are showing up in thick wool and thin merino (like the one to the left), in colors that work as well for spring as they do for fall, making this a three-season sweater. they work with dresses, skirts and pants. add a belt around the natural waist (a la Michelle Obama) for a really polished look.


shoe booties

a slightly harder trend to pull off, even though it shouldn't be. these have been around for a while, but they're popping up more as the season changes. a true fall-winter accessory, dressy booties work with dresses, pants and skirts and come in lots of materials, from suede to leather to fabric. for a different look, they're also popular in a sandal/gladiator form. i love these.


shrunken jacket

one of the most adorable pieces. so versatile, so easy to throw on and go. the classic styling means this jacket will work as well this year as it will in ten years. as cute with jeans as it is with dress slacks and heels. i can't wait to grab a cute scarf to go with the jacket on my way to work. another plus: gray is a great alternative to black and looks amazing with almost every color. perhaps the best part about this jacket is that it's effortless: you don't even have to think about getting dressed in the morning. just grab this and go.



plaid shirt

this one's in pretty much every year. there's just something about plaid, something slightly childlike, or maybe i'm reverting to my catholic school girl days. plaid is dorky and preppy and casual and dressy all at the same time. the color combos are endless; my personal preference is green and blue, and i could kick myself for not nabbing a ruffled j. crew plaid blouse with those colors a few years ago. but the great thing is plaid always comes back year after year - it will always be in style. and fashion should be fun and comforting - to me, the epitome of a fitted plaid shirt.

dealing with things way beyond my maturity level

if it's meant to be, it will be.

i really, really fucking hate that god-awful cliche. mostly because it sounds like i have no control. and i have to have control. control and white wine = two of my best friends. when i don't have control, when i feel outside my comfort zone, when i start edging past the ability to schedule and label and categorize my various conflicts and problems, when i can't make a list on my pastel pink post-it note - that's when i start to spiral down into a pit of self-doubt and deprecation.

most of the reason i don't believe in fate and destiny and all that crap is it implies i have no control over the decisions that will lay out my life - that they're already decided and mapped out in some blueprint in the universe. i don't want to be some helpless person who has no control over her future, even if i am some helpless person with no control over my future. i know i can't predict or plan or even guess what happens next. but i would rather fool myself into thinking it's possible, that maybe, just maybe all my dreams and hopes will come true, and all my fears and doubts will just be dust in the wind.

a fear

so i don't know when this started - maybe landing in indy in the middle of a thunderstorm, maybe on september 11, but i have turned into a really bad flyer.

i love airports. i love the hustle, the controlled (for the most part) chaos. i love watching planes land and take off. i know there's a theorem to it all, but it completely mystifies me that we've figured out a way to get a piece of metal that ways thousands of tons off the ground and keep it in the air for hours and hours. i could do nothing all day except watch planes land and take off, especially jumbo jets, because apparently i'm a five year old boy. but i hate flying. i hate take off the most, that horrible feeling watching the ground slowly float away, as the plane shakes for the first time going up in the clouds. i hate the silence as the plane is descending, and then the sudden pops as gadgets and mechanics start working to get the plane on the ground. i hate the unknown of it all, the sheer hopelessness and helplessness if anything went wrong. and i hate - i really hate - how even though there are thousands of flights every day all around the world, i can't help but think about those 'what-ifs'.

maybe what i hate the most is i have to fly if i want to get to places i want to go. sure, i could drive to arizona...if i had three days to kill. but i can't drive to ukraine to visit olesia. i can't drive to russia to fulfill a lifelong dream of mine. and i really can't drive to china to adopt that baby girl several years down the road.

when i flew to europe last year, it was really scary for me, and also incredibly annoying that i couldn't stretch my legs except when i went to the bathroom. my dad, who flies all the time for his job, gave me melatonin, which didn't put me to sleep, but did take the fear away. i know i'll have to fly again, with fear in my heart and melatonin in my stomach. and for all the worries, it was worth it to see london and paris...and even more to get home safe.