Monday, October 05, 2009

My Dear Hidden Blog, How I've Missed You

So I have this other blog, that's supposed to be the main event, the documenting of my life....and I never write in it. Somehow the fact that its a family blog, the fact that its not all about me, well, that just makes it boring to write. I guess its not new to anyone but me...I am a solipsistic blogger. Hello, my name is Synge and I'm self least in the blogging sense.

This here blog is my hidden blog. The one WB never wants to find because it has stories of my dating life before him, and he's Puerto Rican and jealous. Make that very very jealous. Its silly, but it feels almost like a betrayal to be writing here in this hidden blog, for that reason.

However, I need something that is mine and mine alone. I'm realizing more and more how important that is. And while I may not be as witty as in my former New York life, and I certainly don't have the same sort of interesting [read dramatic] stories as I did before, I'd like to come back here and visit every so often. Its like my little internet pied-a-terre, where I can come to be alone and sit in a comfy chair and just be with myself. A roaring fire would be nice too. And maybe some hot sake. Everything is better with a little hot sake.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Why I Have Been a Blogging Slacker aka This Time I Really Do Have a Good Excuse

Ummm, surprise?

Bet that explains a lot, huh?

So I must confess - I have another blog. Yes, I've neglected this wonderful blog which has been steadfast and true, for a newer younger blog. But hey, I'm cooking a baby here and I only got but so much energy (which is really ummm, none) per day! So here's the new BABY BLOG, which I will be primarily posting on. I'm still going to keep this one around (hidden on my profile so that WB can't find it - he's been adamant from the start about not wanting to read it...he can't take reading about all my previous exploits with the men) to write about grown up things that I wouldn't want everyone in the world to be able to read. But I will probably be posting less often. Right now my world pretty much revolves around pregnancy anyway, and that you can read all about on the BB...gas and all.

The other little tidbit of news is that we're leaving New York at the end of this month (like less than 3 weeks away...yikes!!!). After four wonderful years, many adventures, and a hell of a good time, I'm saying goodbye to this place I love so dearly, at least for now. Its a hard transition, but the more the pregnancy progresses, the more I realize that I don't want to raise a child here..not unless I win the lottery and get filthy rich. Its too hard, not enough nature, and the pace is exhausting now...I can't imagine with kids! Also, a huge factor in the decision, if not the main one, is that Maman would not get a chance to really be able to be a part of this child's life for whatever time she's got left if we don't move close by. She's can't really travel much, and we couldn't go back and forth with a baby like we've been doing. Its hard on us, and we're ostensibly grown-ups (though thaht's debateable) would be incredibly disruptive for the baby (and the debateable grown-ups as well). All in all I feel pretty good about the decision, though there's a tiny part of me that has a hard time letting go of this particular incarnation of my dream. That's normal, I know, and it doesn't mean that I'm not excited about motherhood (because lord knows I am!), it just means that I have a transition process to go through. And I am....right after I finish freaking out about the actual physical realities of the moving process (namely that I have wayyyy too much shit! And its got to be packed! FUCK!).

And now I'm exhausted from writing this and I need a nap. See? That's why I've gotten very little done in the past 12 weeks.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

There Are Tiger Pictures at the End If You Can Just Sift Through All the Babble

Yet again I come crawling on my hands and knees, begging apologies for my blog negligence. I could cry on your shoulder about the horrible strep throat of death I had last week, which kept me in a feverish state of constant sobbing due to the fact that I evidently swallowed about 26 straight razorblades which were seemingly lodged in my throat and were not about to abandon their prime posts. Yes, it was gruesome and horrendous and the poor Boar was desperately trying anything and everything to make me just the slightest bit more comfortable. I did appreciate greatly the 8am run for no-sugar added real fruit popsicles. Especially since I was literally that specific in my request. I also appreciated his voluntary banishment to the couch, which I might add is in the room without the air conditioning. He is an angel indeed.

Yes, I could cry on your shoulder about all of that, but I have survived and am feeling human once again, and really, we all know that I'll be lax in my posting again, strep or no strep.

So instead, I'll complain about the fact that my refrigerator is completely broken and we had to throw away absolutely everything inside it, condiments and all, thus effectively flushing about $200 right down the toilet. Yay! There is nothing I love more than flushing my 2 jobbed hard earned perpetual exhaustion causing money down the toilet! To make matters worse, my super shows up to look at it today, stares at it for about 10 minutes before concluding that its broken. Gee, thanks! I hadn't figured that out from the stench of food gone bad! He has no idea how long it will take for them to get a repairman in there to fix it, so now we are stuck throwing even more money down the toilet by outsourcing every meal. Lovely.

And now, to leave you with the few pictures I took during our office trip to the awesome Bronx Zoo before I realized that I had brought a bunch of uncharged rechargeable batteries, just to make this post even more ragtag than it already was:

Friday, May 25, 2007

Evidently I'm Ancient

The other day as I was doing the two job shuffle, going from one to another right around the time the local high school got out, I overheard one of the funniest converstaions I've heard in a long time. Imgine the following, but in rapid squeaky I'm cooler-than-you teenage voices:

Girl 1: Well just think, when you're 18 you can do whatever you want, and no one can tell you you can't do something.
Girl 2: Yeah but by the time I'm 18 I'll be old and a grown up and my life will be over and I won't even want to do any of the fun stuff I want to do now. It'll be too late, I'll be old and boring.

Ah yes, I remember when I turned 18 and became a spinster rocking in my rocking chair and communing with the neighborhood was indeed over. If only I'd been able to stay out late and go to certain parties my life would never have been such a useless wasteland of nothingness. The world will never know what genius would have befallen it had I only been able to do wjhatever I wanted to as a teenager. Life is so unfair, dude.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Do Not Disturb

Yesterday I wrote a post about how frustrating it is to keep secrets. In general. Because it is frustrating. However, it was clearly a mistake to post it here in the blog, as it has prompted a very unwelcome bevy of inquiries by several close friends who read this blog. The gossip train is running full speed and I'm really slightly pissed about it.

If I say I have a secret, that means it is something I do not wish to or cannot disclose. It does not mean please call me 3 times in one day (and counting) while I am at work (I work 2 jobs remember? I'm usually at work until at least 10pm) and cannot pick up the phone. Because frankly, no matter how many times you call, I will not tell you what the secret is until I am able to, if I am ever able to. I would expect a little respect for my privacy. I would never badger someone to tell me something if they said it was a secret; I would assume it was a secret for a very good reason.

I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but it has been a very frustrating day. Perhaps I was naive in thinking that I could post about something that was bothering me without it becoming a huge deal. I was told by someone that if I post on a blog which I know friends read that I am asking to be harassed, so I want to set the record straight right now that I do not wish to be harassed and am genuinely sorry I ever write that post. Please respect my need for privacy and discretion.

(That being said, I must also include that my friends love me very much and their harassment does come from a well meaning, if erroneous, place. )

Thursday, May 03, 2007

Photo of the Day



Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Photo of the Day

31 Kisses for 31 Years


Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Photo of the Day

Urban Cotton


Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Next Week Maybe I'll Even Tackle Pottytraining

At 31 years of age I am just now learning (hopefully) enough self control not to pick my scabs.

Sad but oh so true.

Friday, April 06, 2007

On Sudden Death vs Fatal Illness

A friend at the sdj just received the news this afternoon that his mother died suddenly. The news was unexpected and the affect positively heartbreaking in such a way that I have no words for it, just a heart that aches for him and what he's going through. There was a domino effect, of course, and everyone within a 10 cube range got on the phone and called their mother, suddenly hyper-aware of the fragility of life.
Everyone except for me.
I mean yes, I did immediately get on the phone and call Maman, of course, but my experience is different because frankly I'm already more than aware of Maman's mortality. In fact her death is not a distant nightmare possibility, the spectre of which can be erased with a simple phone call. Her death is a reality, and a more imminent one than it is for most of my coworkers.
It got me thinking about how surreal it is to live with the knowledge of approaching death. Maman has been talking about it more and more, admitting (at least to me, probably not to my father) that she is dying, and we don't know how much time she has left. It could be 10 months, it could be 10 years (though that is highly unlikely, as her tumors are growing again, she's back on the hard core chemo regime, and her body's tolerance is pretty damn low at this point). But she summed it up well when she said that you can't get consumed by the knowledge that death is a soon-to-be reality, or else you're already dead, completely paralyzed by the idea. I think its definitely similar for those on the survivor end of the spectrum. Even knowing that Maman is going to die... its not a reality I can fully give over to, nor is it a reality I can ignore. I'm not deluding myself into thinking she will get better, because she won't, but I'm also not letting fear take over my life (which I think is what is happening to my father).
When my brother commit suicide, it was both a sudden extreme shock and no surprise whatsoever. He had been mentally ill for a long time (longer than anyone but me knew), and had already tried to commit suicide once before so it was always this looming threat hovering menacingly over every aspect of daily life. I even ran away to Europe for 3 months to escape the fear and the pressure of caring for him. Yet when it finally happened, it felt like such a shocking punch to the gut, knocking the wind right out of me. I think we can't ever fully wrap our heads around death, and even when we know its going to happen, the shock of it can never fully be erased. We can't fathom the finality of it until we are experiencing it.
So in my opinion, knowing that Maman is going to die does not in any way make it an easier pill to swallow than a sudden death, it just means I'm more aware of mortality in general.
And maybe just a teensy bit jealous of those who are blissfully unaware.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Love It

Monday, April 02, 2007

Interspecies Conversation Between a Monkey and a Boar

I sent The Wild Boar a link to this Hemmingway Challenge from the Guradian, which I found via the ever awesome Sarah Brown (who's Cringe night I keep meaning to go to. Somehow I have yet to make it there alive). Here are the emails that followed:

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
Superb new mind. Adversity. Small room.

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
a little obtuse for my taste

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
Wow,obtuse? excuse me
I just threw a pebble
That’s all

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
Main Entry: ob·tuse Pronunciation: äb-'tüs, &b-, -'tyüsFunction: adjectiveb : difficult to comprehend : not clear or precise in thought or expression

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
(ŏb-tōōs', -tyōōs' )adj. ob·tus·er, ob·tus·est
-Lacking quickness of perception or intellect.
-Characterized by a lack of intelligence or sensitivity: an obtuse remark

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
Its used more frequently in the connotation of the first definition*

From: Wild Boar To: Le Synge Bleu
sil·ly Pronunciation[sil-ee] adjective, -li·er, -li·est, noun, plural -lies.
-absurd; ridiculous
-Le Synge Bleu

From: Le Synge Bleu To: Wild Boar
I love you

[* = my very own obtuse remark, due to very awkward phrasing]

This is a rather typical exchange. Yes we are dorks. Dorks who flirt by way of dictionary definitions. Its a damn good thing we found eachother, though the prospect of us procreating is a scary thought indeed.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Mes Nouvelles...Vitement

I'm in the midst of packing so this will be ultra brief and super-non-entertaining. My gramdmother died yesterday and I'm getting ready to fly to France for the funeral. My mother doesn't know yet because my father wouldn't let me tell her while they were on a mini-vacation in Charleston, SC...which I think is totally wrong. He will tell her tonight, when they get which point it will be too late for her to be able to go. Even if she isn't strong enough for the trip, I firmly believe that it is her choice to make - a choice he is effectively robbing her of. He said "If you saw her smile...she's the happiest I've seen her since she got sick. I'm not going to take that away from her." I understand his reasoning, and I know he truly believes he is doing the right thing..however, I believe it is truly the wrong decision and ultimately controlling and disrespectful. I believe he has no right to do this. Unfortunately her cell phone is off and he will not pick up calls from me. After our last discussion (read argument) he hung up on me and hasn't turned his cell phone on since.If he were my husband, I would consider this act not only selfish, but unforgivable. A marriage certificate is not a liscence to steal one's power of choice, cancer or no cancer.

So in a truly adolescent move on my part, I charged the $500 ticket to Paris on his credit card. If he won't let Maman go, I'm going in her stead and he's paying for it.

I'll be back in a week and deal with the aftermath then. for now, I have to believe that going is the right decision...for me, for Maman, and for the generational stream of women in my family.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Just Call Me The Phoenix. Or Call Me From Phoenix. Or Call Me In Phoenix, Except I'm Not There.

This post is so overdue and outdated it’s got a perm and feathered bangs. Seriously. But considering the fact that seldom do I have really good news to share, and even more seldom is it related to what actually means the most in the world to me (in addition to sex and stinky cheese, that is…but not together, that would be way too messy), so overdue or not I’m still gonna toot my own horn and I’m gonna do it with gusto damnit!

Except that every time I sit down to write I get distracted by far more important things like, umm, knitting. And biting my fingernails. And imagining what we could do to fix up the bedroom if a) we had any money and/or b) I actually cleaned it enough to find the floor on my side of the bed. But as I’m really trying to stop procrastinating writing down something, anything, for this here neglected, torn and tattered excuse for a blog, I might as well rally the forces and muster up a little excitement here.

The weekend before last, I was on stage! Yes, it’s true, believe it or not. I know its been so long that you probably thought I wouldn’t even know a stage if one mugged me on the street, and frankly I asked myself that very question on numerous occasions…in fact I was so certain that my creative juices had run dry and my acting muscles so atrophied that artistically I resembled nothing more than a metaphoric shrunken head. Or a raisin. And the two always looked kind of similarly frightening to me.

Let’s rewind before I launch into more hideous metaphors (as I’m prone to do when tired. Or typing. Or breathing…). The adventure began because my friend Buff (named so for his role in the show we were both in when my brother died, which if that won’t cement a friendship for life, I don’t know what will) ditched my birthday party. The rat. I sent out what I hoped were cute thank you e-cards through evite (because evidently once you hit 31 you suddenly are under the mistaken impression that you possess manners you never did heretofore) and they were automatically sent to everyone who had responded yes, whether they were a no show or drank me under the table while I mumbled a faint cry for a huge pink sombrero and more guava Margaritas. Buffster was the former, and being the awesome friend he is, he immediately called. Being the even awesomer friend he is, he asked if I would like to participate in Core24 – a 24+ hour (excluding sleep time) theatre project with a company he’s involved in. Of course I immediately became an overly thankful bastion of desperation, so ecstatic was I to finally have a scrap or two to feed the actor in me.

And it was much more than a scrap or two, let me tell you. First and foremost, it was one helluva fun ride. We all met (by all I mean actors and writers) at the theatre at 10am, where the parameters were drawn out of bags. Each 10 minute play shared a similar theme, line, and prop, and each playwright then chose their own genre and their own actors. The theme was drawing the curtains, the line was Vengence is mine sayeth the lord, and the prop was a 3 hole punch. My playwright chose farce – my least comfortable genre. This turned out to be such a gift, though, as I went farther out on a limb than I normally would have gone, taking risks right and left…and best of all, I was funny. They laughed from before the first line right up until the end blackout. And all this from having only Saturday night to rehearse a bit and learn the script (the final ending of which we didn’t even receive until past 11pm…yikes!), Sunday day to rehearse until our 5:30 “tech” onstage, and working with an actor who didn’t know his lines but was a fabulous improviser (except when he forgot key business) from whom you never knew what you’d get….and it was gloriously fun and challenging in a good way! Everyone I met that works with this fairly new company was incredibly nice, and funny and smart, and it was all in all exactly what the doctor ordered.

And best of all, better than the compliments on my performance I received, better than the great laughs the house gave during the performance, better almost than stinky cheese, was the fact that no one, not one single person involved in the whole thing, invalidated me as an actor because I haven’t been performing much at all in the last 2 years. No one. Just me. Everyone else seemed to be pretty much of the opinion that its par for the course as a New York actor, and everyone’s gone through ups and downs like that career wise…whether due to personal tragedy or just plain old growth time. That was priceless, internets. Absolutely priceless.

Wearing a French maid costume with cowboy boot slippers was pretty fun too.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Reason Number 2 Billion Six Hundred Seventy Three Thousand One Hundred Five

The Wild Boar and I are both on a super strict super healthy diet, and I'm proud to report we're both losing a bunch of weight. But amidst a holiday engineered by the sugar industry, its definitely a challenge to maintain, especially with raging pms (min, not his, in case yuo were wondering). Enter my perfect and super thoughtful and considerate Boar to the rescue. Instead of flowers or chocolates, I got something even better - an edible fruit bouquet, which smells and tastes as delicious as it looks. The card accompanying it reads Here is a healthy way to show you how much you mean to me. I love you truly and cherish every moment I share with you. Yeah, the love and cherish parts are great and all, but what really gets my heart is the healthy. **Sigh** How long have I waited for that? And how much trans fat did I put up with along the way, right?

Tonight we're going to Gobo, which is not only super healthy, but also one of my favorite restaurants of all time. When my parents came up for my birthday last year I took them there, and my father who incessantly mocks vegetarians absolutely loved the food. Some really spacey monkey girl completely forgot to make reservations until last night, however (after deciding months ago to go there), and so we're stuck going to the Upper East Side (read Siberia, but even colder) location instead of the West Vilage for a 9:45 reservation. Hmmm...I can think of a few things we can do in the meantime to work up our appetite....

Happy Valentine's Day to you all. While I acknowledge that its a wholly commercial endeavor designed to fuel the uber capitalist machine, I must confess that this year its a commercial endeavor that I'm loving. Who'd have ever though life would turn out like this? Here is my not-so-commercial Valentine's Day gift to you, from a super talented friend of mine. Enjoy!

(ps. I got the Boar these. I don't think they're edible, and certainly not diet friendly, but I gotta admit they sound pretty freakin awesome. Plus they made me fall in love with B&H...but that's anoter love letter for another time.)